Gerson Brandt sat alone in his school-room. His elbows were propped on
the worn lid of his black, oaken desk, and his chin was supported in the
palms of his hands. His face had a worried look. The lines about his
mouth had deepened within the last few days, and his heavy brows were
drawn together. He was wondering what could have happened to the
precious Bible. Now that he had become accustomed to the changes brought
about in the routine of his daily life by the illness of Wilhelm Kellar,
he sorely missed the pleasant task of each day making a letter or two
upon the pages of the Sacred Word. It had been his joy and his
recreation, after the long school sessions, to turn to his pens and his
colored inks. Line by line he had wrought the delicate traceries with
many a thought of Walda and many a prayer for her well-being. He had
dwelt so long in the faith that inspired Zanah that he had felt in the
hope of her inspiration a peculiar satisfaction and contentment. He was
a poet and a dreamer, so he found it not hard to believe that this girl
of Zanah would be given a special power not vouchsafed to many souls
that come into the great domain of sin.
It was a week since the loss of the Bible had been discovered. It was
apparent to him, whose nature was sensitive to every suggestion, that
the people of Zanah for some reason distrusted him, and imputed blame to
him because of the mysterious disappearance of the volume that might
have brought the colony the price of many rolls of flannel and many
bottles of wine. The Herr Doktor that very day had been to see him about
devising some means by which more effective search could be made for the
Bible. Notwithstanding Wilhelm Kellar’s illness, the room up-stairs had
been thoroughly searched. With Schneider standing by, he had been
obliged to submit to the humiliation of unlocking each drawer and
turning out upon the floor all his few personal possessions. From his
bed in the alcove Wilhelm Kellar had anxiously watched every movement,
and had shown keen disappointment when the big volume could not be
found. Mother Werther had been present, and had scrutinized each article
as it was put back in its accustomed place in the old-fashioned chest of
drawers. One thing alone she failed to examine, and that was his old
leather portfolio, much worn with long years of constant use. In this
portfolio was concealed his one forbidden possession—the sketch of Walda
made years before, when she was scarcely more than a child. Zanah
permitted not the image of anything on earth to be kept by a faithful
colonist; but he had treasured this, made in a moment of weakness and
loneliness. He had eased his conscience with the thought that he had
drawn not the woman of the future, but the prophetess who would some day
guide his people.
Adolph Schneider had gone on his way but a few moments before. The
school-master still felt the sting of his last words—an injunction to
find the Bible within the next fortnight. Gerson Brandt had spent all
his unemployed waking moments in trying to account for the disappearance
of the big book. He felt sure that there was no boy in the village
mischievous enough to steal it, and no outsider except Everett had been
within the boundaries of Zanah for many a week. Instinctively he knew
that the colonists were judging him unkindly, for even in Zanah
jealousies and rivalries were not unknown. In all his years of colony
life he had escaped criticism, because he had been the one elder
untouched by personal ambition. His gentleness and sweetness of nature
had made even the most selfish and disagreeable person his friend, for
no one in all Zanah had performed the friendly services that belonged to
the record made by the school-master of the colony.
Presently he turned his face towards the window and looked out upon the
summer landscape. The day seemed strangely silent. The late summer
already presaged the coming autumn. The birds had long ceased their
singing. There was not even the hum of a lazy insect. A sense of
loneliness crept over this man, accustomed to the peculiar isolation of
life in Zanah. He half realized that the loss of the Bible meant to him,
in a certain sense, a cutting off of a daily association of thought that
bound him to Walda. His mind had hardly turned towards the girl before
he heard her light footstep as she crossed the threshold. When he saw
her framed in the doorway that opened out on the little porch, he felt
foolishly glad, but although he rose to his feet he did not advance to
meet her.
“Ah, Gerson Brandt, something is troubling thee,” said Walda. “For fully
two minutes I have been watching thee from the porch. What is in thy
mind to rob thee thus of peace?”
“Nay, Walda, my peace is not gone, I trust,” said the school-master; but
he paused, as if the assertion made him cognizant that he might not be
speaking the whole truth. “I have been thinking much about the loss of
my Bible.”
“Yea, that is very strange,” said Walda, standing before his desk, and
looking up into his eyes with an inquiring glance. “I cannot understand
what could befall it.”
“If it cannot be found, my honor is touched,” said Gerson Brandt, and
there was something like a quiver on his sensitive lips. “There are
those in Zanah who will count it against me, because I put overmuch work
upon the book and grew to hold it as my best possession.”
“Nay, nay, Gerson Brandt, the people love thee, and they will remember
the injunction that they must not judge one another.”
Gerson Brandt stepped from the high platform. Motioning towards a bench
in front of the window, he said:
“Sit here near me, Walda; I would speak to thee now alone, since there
may not come another chance before thy day of inspiration.”
The girl took her place on the bench and Gerson Brandt stood before her.
For a moment he was silent. With hands folded across his spare chest,
and with his head bent, he gazed down upon the beautiful girl. He
noticed a change in her face. It had lost something of the childishness
of its expression. It had a graver look. The eyes bespoke a seriousness
he thought foretold the coming spiritual inspiration for which the
colony had waited so many years.
“It is well, Walda, that thou hast reached this time in thy life without
being touched by worldly emotions. Zanah hath watched over thee with a
care that hath kept thee pure for thy consecration to the Lord’s work.”
“To Zanah I owe all my service,” said Walda. “I trust that great things
may be revealed through me.”
She spoke as if she thought of herself from an objective point of view.
“This is an age when men should walk near God. There are strange things
going on in the great world, and every year Zanah’s safety is
jeopardized. Untoward manners and customs are already becoming known
among the young people. There is in my heart much gratitude that thou
hast escaped the temptations to fathom earthly love.”
“Gerson Brandt, is love the greatest of all the sins?” asked Walda,
looking up into the face of the school-master, who bestowed upon her a
look searching and withal tender.
“It is not given to me to judge what is the greatest sin a woman can
commit,” Gerson Brandt answered, slowly. “I have heard that love
bringeth pain and sorrow and disappointment.”
“Yet there are many who do not seem afraid to risk sorrow for love.
Truly there must be some compensation for it,” said Walda.
“There is, there is,” replied the school-master. “At first it
intoxicates; it bringeth fair dreams, high hopes, and a courage strong
enough to face all the ills that earth can bring to men and women.”
“Surely thou speakest with authority, Gerson Brandt.” As Walda spoke
there was a little smile upon her lips. “I might almost think that thou
hadst known the joy and pain of loving.”
“In books I have read of the love of men and women. There is one named
Shakespeare, who long ago wrote much of the history of the human heart.”
“In the Bible are many stories of the love of men and women,” said
Walda, “and sometimes I have wondered why, in this late day, it should
have become so wrong a thing to find on earth a dear companionship.”
Gerson Brandt turned away and walked across the room. When he came back
he spoke in a steady voice.
“When the soul findeth on earth peace and happiness, it is easy to
forget there is a heaven that lasts through eternity, and that these
little years shall be swallowed up in the vast expanse of time. It were
better to deny one’s self joy here in order to be sure of happiness
hereafter.”
“But even to me earth often seems so near and dear, and heaven so far
off, that now and then I can understand why the soul should reach out
towards some one who could share all the little every-day happinesses
and troubles,” said Walda.
“It hath been given to man always to be lonely in the world,” answered
Gerson Brandt. “Each soul must travel like a stray pilgrim who can only
greet other wayfarers and pass on.”
“Nay, Gerson Brandt, we need not be lonely here. In Zanah all are
friends and brothers. So long as thou livest I can never feel that I am
a solitary traveller.”
A crimson flush swept over the face of the school-master, and when the
wave receded he was deathly pale.
“All these years my care hath been over thee, Walda. My prayers have
been for thee; my hopes have been set on thee. When thou hast become,
indeed, the prophetess of Zanah, I shall know that thou art safe
forever. Then shall I find peace indeed.”
“Safe, Gerson Brandt! What dost thou mean? Safe from what? I cannot be
safer than I am now.”
Gerson Brandt made no reply. He walked to the window and looked out upon
the little garden.
Walda was lost in thought for a moment or two. Presently she said:
“Oh, Gerson Brandt, I know that I am like unto Eve, for when thou and
the elders warn me so much about love there comes to me the desire to
understand it.”
“None can understand love, Walda. It is revealed to every man and every
woman in a different form. It is the all-compassing emotion that moveth
the world.”
Walda rose to her feet. Stepping close to the school-master, she said:
“Why, Gerson Brandt, there is that in thy voice that maketh me feel thou
dost know much concerning love, which thou sayest is sinful and
unworthy. Hast thou been tempted?”
“Mayhap I have. Here in Zanah we who keep the precepts of the colony
close to our hearts are safe indeed. By much praying and constant
vigilance we can escape all danger.”
“Surely earthly love could never touch thee or me, and why shouldst we
waste time talking about the pitfalls that will never come in the way of
our footsteps as we traverse the quiet paths of Zanah?”
“It is well to remember, Walda, that even in Zanah, our Garden of Eden,
there is a tree of knowledge; but so long as we taste not the forbidden
fruit we need have no fears.”
“Fears? My heart is so lifted up in these days there falleth upon me not
the smallest shadow of the smallest fear to disturb me. I am full of
gratitude and humility in the knowledge that I have been chosen to be
the prophetess of Zanah, and each day there comes to me a broader faith
and a surer conviction concerning the things revealed to us through the
Great Book.”
Gerson Brandt was again silent for a long time. Once he took a step
towards the girl, who was still standing before the bench from which she
had risen. He hesitated a moment. Then he said, slowly:
“Walda, when thou art given the tongue of the Spirit, thou wilt be
separated from all Zanah. Thou wilt then live close to thy Creator, and,
even though I am an elder, I shall be denied the privilege of speaking
to thee. Lest there be no opportunity to talk again to thee alone, I
will tell thee now that always my thoughts will dwell close to thee. In
my heart the memory of the little girl that I have known so many years
will remain forever.”
The tremor in his voice and the solemnity of his manner cast a feeling
of awe upon Walda. Moved by an irresistible impulse, she dropped on her
knees at his feet.
“Give me thy blessing, Gerson Brandt,” she said; and the man held his
hands high above her bent head as he said, simply:
“God bless thee and keep thee, Walda Kellar.”
The girl rose and slowly passed out of the door.
Gerson Brandt went back to his desk. Again he put his elbows on the worn
lid. Again he rested his chin in his hands. He sat thus for half an
hour. Hans Peter, coming in on tiptoe, walked up a side aisle without
being noticed. He climbed upon the stool, and the school-master roused
himself to ask:
“Dost thou want me?”
“Thou wast thinking about thy lost Bible,” said the simple one, ignoring
the question. “Thou hast no cause to borrow trouble.”
“What dost thou know about it?” demanded the school-master.
“I know that it is where the Herr Doktor seems not to be able to find
it,” said the simple one, twirling his thumbs. “I know that it is lost.
I know thou canst not find it.”
“Hush, hush, Hans Peter. The Bible is not a subject by which thou canst
display thy talent for speaking foolish words.”