Johannes rose. I watched him intently. Was it really John? His eyes, perhaps,—but where was their brightness? His nose more likely,—but was it not rather a racial than a personal characteristic? John’s face had been almost feminine in delicacy, and the down upon it was soft and silky. This man’s beard was a mixture of gray and white, and his skin, whatever was visible of it, was yellow and thin like parchment.

He raised his hand, blessed the people in Hebrew, then made the sign of the cross over them. He reseated himself.

Could that be his voice,—a hard staccato thing that sounded like iron struck against stone?

The priests covered their heads with tallithim, and bowing and beating their breasts incessantly, chanted an old Hebrew prayer, mixed with barbaric Latin. The people, still kneeling, repeated at intervals a phrase or a word.

Johannes meanwhile, his head between his palms, meditated or prayed.

The ceremony over, the Patriarch rose. His right arm raised, he exclaimed: “Do not forget our mission, brethren! We are the chosen of the Lord to conquer the heathens and the unbelievers. We are the children of Jesus and of Moses. We are the Fountain of Youth. They who drink of our words shall inherit the earth and heaven forever.”

“Amen,” the people answered.

“We shall go forth embattled,—mighty knights who will deliver Jerusalem and the world. We shall bring perfection unto man. He shall be happy and rich beyond his present dreams. The mountains shall open at his command, and lo, he shall find them filled with gold! The sands on the river banks shall turn to precious jewels; the fish shall be odorous like flowers. Yea, we shall bring Eden once more unto the earth. In the name of Jesus, our Lord and David, His Father, and Moses whose Word is the Word of God, now and forever, Amen!”

“Amen,” the people repeated.

Johannes made the sign of the cross over them. The people dispersed. The priests helped their Patriarch descend and followed him in silence.

I seated myself at the edge of the shore and meditated. Kotikokura, bored, drew pebbles into the water.

“Have you ever seen, my friend, greater poverty than here? Even in China,—you remember—during the Revolution, the people seemed more prosperous.”

Kotikokura continued to throw pebbles into the water.

“Perhaps you are right, Kotikokura. It is just as rational to throw pebbles into a river as to endeavor to discover logic in the universe. I think I shall join you.”

He laughed uproariously. We threw pebbles, vying with each other as to the distance and the height of the waves we could raise.

Suddenly, I felt someone grasp my shoulder. I turned around.

“Who are you?” the man asked stentoriously.

“We are strangers from far-off lands.”

“Why are you disturbing the waters?”

“Forgive a little innocent pleasure, sir.”

“There is no innocent pleasure. Every mundane pleasure is tainted with sin.”

“Will you not forgive two strangers their great ignorance?”

“It is not for me to forgive, but for our Lord. Come along!”

Kotikokura’s nostrils shivered, his fists opened and shut spasmodically. I looked at him, shaking lightly my head. The man we followed was dressed as a priest, but about his waist dangled a long sword. “Will you enlighten me, sir,” I asked. “I am not quite certain, as yet, in what country we landed and who the king may be.”

He did not answer. I repeated my question.

“He who does not recognize Virtue when he sees it, and does not distinguish God’s own country from man’s deserves no answer.”

“How shall a man distinguish God’s own country from man’s?”

He turned around and glared at me. “How dare you blaspheme against Yahweh and Jesus! Is it not self-evident that our country is the most beautiful, the most blessed of all? Have you not heard the words to our Master this morning? Do you doubt– —?”

He placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword. I remembered the horseshoer and the fate of the man who dared to question the divinity of Mohammed.

“How can I doubt when I see so much zeal? Is not zeal the sign of truth? Can a lie inspire such passion?”

He dropped his hand and ordered us to follow.

The Court of Justice was a long room dimly lit. At one angle, a large arm-chair, the exact counterpart of the one I had seen in the square—or was it perhaps the same one—upon two wooden lions with grotesque horns. Opposite an enormous cross with an agonizing Christ and the stone tablets of Moses.

“The Lord deliver us from justice, Kotikokura,” I whispered, “particularly in this land of God. It will be a miracle if we escape unscathed. Be ready.”

He nodded. Presbyter Johannes entered, followed by four priests. He seated himself. The priests remained standing, two on either side.

My captor crossed himself, and made a long complaint against Kotikokura and myself. We were disturbing the peace of the river; we were blasphemous and cynical; we were frivolous, and preferred sin and pleasure to virtue and righteousness. He asked that justice be unadulterated with pity.

Presbyter Johannes stared at me, his brows knit. Did he recognize me? Was I merely a culprit?

He ordered everybody except myself and Kotikokura to leave the courtroom and continued to stare at me for a long while, saying nothing.

“Once more you have blasphemed against our Lord!” he thundered.

“John…” I asked mildly.

“Yes, I am John…and you are Isaac… Isaac Laquedem!”

“John,” I whispered, almost pathetically.

“You rejected the words of the Lamb and you still wander like a hunted beast.” His lips twisted into a malevolent snarl.

“John.”

“I warned you, but you shrugged your shoulders. Do you believe in Jesus now?”

I shook my head.

“Cursed and damned forever!”

“John,” I whispered, and my eyes filled with tears.

“Weep, for you have reason to weep if your heart is stone and your brain a forest of thistles that will not permit truth to pass through except bleeding and mutilated.”

Kotikokura, not understanding the drift of our conversation, looked distressed and his eyes also filled with tears.

“Cursed wanderer and companion of men-beasts!”

“John.”

He looked up, crossing himself. “I thank Thee, O Lord, for having kept me alive long enough to meet Your enemy face to face again. I thank Thee, O Lord, for having permitted me to reach an age when my shameful sentiments toward Your enemy can no longer distort my reason. Amen.”

“John.”

His forefinger pointed at me, his words sharp and biting as a whip that is cracked, he continued: “And now you have come into God’s realm, and once more you have mocked Him! Once more you have rejected Him. You are neither man nor beast, neither Jew nor Christian, but a monster possessed by the Evil One.”

“John.”

“I could release you from your bondage; I could give you peace at last,—but I will not until you accept our Master and kneel before His Cross.”

I shook my head.

“No punishment that I can conceive can add to your curse. Go…wander again! Tarry, until the Lord Himself shall visit the earth again. And woe unto you, Isaac, when that day come to pass!”

I did not budge.

“Anti-Christ! Beast!” he shouted. Closing his eyes and raising his right hand, he continued: “I see the Beast rise out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns are crosses and upon his foreheads the names of his blasphemy.”

He remained silent.

“I see the Lord coming to slaughter the Beast. I see seven golden candlesticks. And in the midst of the seven candlesticks, I see the Son of Man: His head and His hair are white like wool, as white as snow, and His eyes are as a flame of fire. He has in His right hand seven stars, and out of His mouth goes a sharp two-edged sword, and His countenance is as the sun, shining in its strength…”