He spoke as if he were making excuse for some transgression, but the Herr Doktor laughed leniently. “Surely Zanah hath no fault to find with thy book,” Adolph Schneider said. “I want the stranger to see the letters in it.” Gerson Brandt opened the Bible, and as he turned the pages Everett, who stood beside him, felt an overwhelming desire to possess the volume. The old German text was printed upon parchment. The pages had broad margins, and the letters beginning the chapters were illuminated with designs so delicate and so minutely worked out that each repaid long study. The coloring was exquisite, and gold, of a brilliancy equalled in few books Everett had ever seen, was applied with a generous hand. “How long have you worked on it?” he asked. “Five years,” the school-master said, “and it is not finished yet.” Gerson Brandt loosened the linen that he might display the binding of calfskin. On the front cover was a monogram, but before Everett could decipher the letters the linen was replaced. “This is a beautiful book,” said Everett, taking it in his hand and turning the pages. “I would give much for it. Will you sell it to me?” Gerson Brandt’s thin face paled. He stretched out a trembling hand and seized the Bible as he answered, coldly: “This book was not made to be bartered to any man. It is mine. If there is aught in it that commands thy favor it is because the making of the letters has been a pleasant labor done with all my heart.” The school-master held the volume close to his breast. The simple one, who had not left his place on the stool, opened his eyes. The Herr Doktor glanced from beneath his bushy brows with a look of surprise. “Brother Brandt, thou speakest without proper forethought,” said Schneider; “thou knowest that in Zanah all things belong to the Lord and that thou hast not the right to say ‘my’ or ‘mine.’” A dull red swept over the face of the school-master, and in his eyes was a look that told of rebellion in his soul. “For the good of Zanah we might be persuaded to sell this Bible,” the Herr Doktor continued. “It is worth a great deal of money, for Brother Brandt hath spent upon it much of the time that belonged to the colony. How much wouldst thou give for it?” “I should not think of buying the Bible if the artist who illuminated it is unwilling to give it up,” Everett declared. The fear in the school-master’s face touched his heart. For the moment Gerson Brandt had lost the look of youth which strangely sat on features that told of suffering. There was a new dignity in the gaunt figure, clad in its queer garments. Gerson Brandt’s head was thrown back and his lips were tightly closed. The habit of repression, learned in the long years of colony life, was not easily thrown off, and he stood motionless while Adolph Schneider scowled at him.