Читать книгу Walda. A Novel онлайн

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“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.’”