He could not sleep. The thoughts that had harassed him, since suddenly he had come to know Walda had all his love, disturbed him as he lay on the high bed. He stared at the window, which afforded glimpses of a starlit sky between the leaves and branches of a tree that had become black in the night. Day was breaking before he began to feel drowsy. Finally he fell into a deep slumber that was not disturbed until the sun was high in the heavens. He was awakened by a remittent pounding, the sound of which came from the front of the inn. He went to the latticed window, whence he could see that several men were building something in the village square. He made a hasty toilet in his primitive dressing-room, where two buckets of water and a wooden wash-tub were provided for his bath. The cold water refreshed him, but he still had a sense of depression. Everett hastened out into the village square. In all the time he had sojourned in Zanah nothing unusual had happened. It was pleasing to hope that at last something out of the common might be taking place. Three middle-aged men and two boys were engaged in putting together a most extraordinary structure. They had fixed in place several weather-beaten beams and a number of old planks that led up to the rude platform. “What are you building?” Everett asked, but the men pretended not to understand, although he spoke in German. They kept on with their work. “Cannot you tell me what this is?” Everett asked. The men were still uncommunicative, but one of the boys said: “These are the stocks in which Hans Peter must sit until he tells where the school-master’s Bible is hidden.” “Where is Hans Peter now?” The boy had been silenced by the men, and he dared not reply. During the breakfast-hour Everett could obtain no further information. He was desirous of seeing the simple one, for he felt in a measure responsible for poor Hans Peter’s trouble. He made a perfunctory visit to his patient. Walda Kellar had ceased to be on duty in the sick-room, and the case had lost much of its interest. Wilhelm Kellar was sitting up in a big chair. He looked weak and ill, but he proudly announced, with a tongue slow to respond to his thoughts: “I shall be able to attend the _Untersuchung_. The Lord hath decreed that I shall see the day of my daughter’s final victory over earthly temptations.” The old man’s joy smote Everett, to whom the _Untersuchung_ might mean the loss of Walda. He turned to whistle to Piepmatz. “I owe thee much for thine aid in helping nature to overcome my illness,” said the old man, speaking slowly. “Thou hast been so kind that thou hast won my enduring confidence. For the first time in a score of years my faith in a man of the outside world is almost restored.”