Jakob stepped out onto the dirt of the road, followed by the baron. He stopped and glanced around in all directions, then motioned the others to come.

In the distance, the sound of a car’s engine came faintly into hearing.

Indistinct at first, gradually it loudened, then split into the unmistakable sound of two cars.

The baron remained where he was, his ears listening attentively, unconsciously urging the single file of nomads to greater haste. It was clear the automobiles were coming in their direction—and fast.

It might be no more than a local farmer in search of loose livestock. They must make the seconds count regardless. It would not do for this many people to be seen, and what remained of darkness was quickly vanishing.

“Come, Ursula,” whispered the baron, “Ulrike… Heziah, my friend—we are nearly there… keep moving, all of you.”

Two huge automobiles rounded a curve in the distance, and suddenly headlights blazed in the pale light and bore down upon them along the straight dirt road.

The band now broke into hurried flight across the narrow road and toward the wood. In the shadowy distance the solitary outline of a figure had emerged amongst the trees and now stood mutely watching as the most feared of Jewish nightmares played itself out before him. Silently the pastor’s son prayed for the fugitives—men, women, and children—who were moving as quickly as they could toward him.

It was too late.

They had easily been spotted. The two powerful autos rumbled across the pitted and rutted road with the wild recklessness of a battlefield attack. Their headlights picked out the fleeing forms in front of them in all the naked exposure of their helplessness.

In the pandemonium of mingled charge and retreat, only Heinrich von Dortmann, son of God, stood unmoving and calm between the two. That courage for which he had so earnestly prayed had descended from on high, and the full measure of his sonship was about to be required of him.

Across the road ran the last of his charge. Only two hesitated.

“Heinrich…?” implored Marion, though her tone revealed that she already knew the truth. Her eyes filled with tears.

Suddenly all time stood still. The sounds of racing engines and scurrying feet faded out of the ears of husband, wife, and daughter. The exchange lasted but a few seconds. Yet in after years, all of life seemed concentrated around the holy remembrance of the baron’s countenance during this brief time-bubble of eternal import.

“Godspeed, Marion,” said Heinrich. His voice was soft, but his entire countenance radiated the quiet calm and authority of his elder Brother.

She did not argue, and slowly began backing away.

“Papa… come, Papa?” pled Sabina, beginning to divine the meaning of her father’s firmly planted steps.

“Go, Sabina,” he said, still softly. “Go with your mother.”

“Not without you,” she cried, bursting into tears.