thy knees before me."

"Oh, mother, I love thee!"

But the old mother reproached him with what he had done--how he had
brought a people to despair and had imposed himself upon them as the
son of God; but all the while she chided him, she loved him dearly.

"It was my wrongs that made me do this thing, mother," he urged.

But she showed him all his wickedness with such vehemence that he
could not answer, and could only weep. Then she spoke quietly.

"If thou art remorseful for thy sins, proclaim thy wrong. Be thyself,
John of Leyden, the innkeeper, my son!"

"Desert my soldiers?" he asked, in a frightened voice. "I have led
others into danger--dare I desert them?"

"Thy mother demands it: it is the only way to right thy wrongdoing.
The blessing of God will only then descend upon thee." The Prophet,
overwhelmed by her command, opened his arms to Heaven as a sign that
he would obey, and Faith threw herself upon his breast.

Now Bertha, utterly distracted by her troubles, had disguised herself
as a pilgrim, and in her madness she had determined to set fire to the
stores of wood beneath the palace. She found her way into the dungeon
just as John and his mother were embracing. As the iron doors were
heard to open again, John turned around and saw a woman enter. As she
saw John she cried bitterly:

"Behold the Prophet!" Both John and Faith cried out upon recognizing
her voice.

"Now, let us perish together!" Bertha said, wildly, approaching John.
Then suddenly recognizing him she stifled a scream:

"Thou! the Prophet is thou? My God, my God! Then let us perish now!"
She stared in horror at the man she loved, who was also the man she
had cursed and despised--the famous Prophet.

"Oh, my child, speak low, speak low!" Faith implored, looking
anxiously toward the iron door. "Abandon thy hate. I have found my
son. He will do right. Have pity upon him," the old mother pleaded.
Bertha looking at him, felt all the love of her heart enfold him
again. The madness died out her eyes.

"Yes. Let us not hate. Let us curse no more. Far from this dread city,
we three were to have been happy. Yes, I love thee still; but still
thou art the infamous man whom I have cursed. Since I love thee, let
this atone for thee," and before he could answer, she had plunged a
dagger into her heart and fallen dead at his feet.

Then John summoned the guard. He no longer cared to live. The officer
of the guard, who was faithful to him, told hi