Everett counted the days until the _Untersuchung_. Only ten intervened.
In less than a fortnight Walda would be cut off from all communication
with him. She would have entered into her duties as the leader of the
colony. She would be the prophetess—the inspired one. He tried to
imagine himself looking on during the quaint ceremony of the
_Untersuchung_, and he had to face the knowledge that he could not stand
by while the girl passed forever beyond his reach. Even while he dared
vaguely to plan some way by which he could win her for himself, he had a
few misgivings concerning her unfitness for his world, which he knew she
would find strange and cruel. He told himself that he could protect her,
that he could make her happy, and that he could help her to become
adjusted to a different sphere. With the unreason of the lover he
imagined how they would live for each other, aloof from all the ordinary
demands of every-day existence. He knew that she loved the few books
that had been open to her in Zanah, and he dreamed of the days when he
would guide her into a broader knowledge, when he would help her to
acquire the sort of an education suited to her unusual mind. He was
confident that her artistic nature would develop in a congenial
atmosphere. It would be his pride to cultivate her glorious voice, and
to teach her to understand the painter’s art, which Zanah held sinful.
His thoughts travelled over the same circle again and again, but always
he came back to the idea that he must act quickly if he would save her
from bondage to the colony—if he would awaken her to the meaning of his
love.
He was thankful for the opportunity her daily prayers at the tomb of
Marta Bachmann gave him to meet her, but the next night after he had
walked with her to the little cemetery he had seen her cross the bridge
accompanied by no less a person than Mother Schneider herself. He had
been compelled to pace restlessly back and forth among the trees,
keeping out of sight lest his presence might be discovered.
On the third night he watched for Walda at the point where the road
reached the shore of the lake. It was late, and he had almost given up
hope of seeing her when she came slowly towards him. For an hour he had
been reconnoitring the whole distance between the lake and the cemetery.
And now, when he beheld her, he felt as if he must claim her by the
right of his love for her. His better judgment, however, told him that
he must be circumspect in his wooing. One impetuous word might put her
on her guard. The touch of his hand had given her a prescience of
danger, for, according to her belief, love was the greatest danger that
could beset her path. When Walda saw him she appeared surprised at the
chance encounter. It was evident she had no suspicion that he had
deliberately waylaid her.
“It is good that I should meet thee here, Stephen,” she said, “for my
heart is so full of joy I feel as if I must share my gladness with some
one.”
“What has happened to make you so happy?” Everett asked. He saw that
there was a radiance in her face, and that her eyes shone with an
unusual brilliance.
“There hath been no outward experience different from those that come to
me every day,” she said. “But, Stephen, my heart is lifted up
exceedingly. I feel in me a new strength. My spirit dwelleth in dreams.”
“Dreams, Walda? What are your dreams like?”
“They are misty—formless. It is as if a light were just breaking over
the darkness of my soul. I feel the whisperings of a divine knowledge; a
marvellous power hath been given to me. Stephen, I know the inspiration
is coming to me. All my doubts are vanishing. I feel very near to God.”
She was transfigured with the intensity of her emotions. In her
exaltation of spirit she was so aloof from Everett that he stood dumb
before her.
“Stephen, hast thou nothing to say? Dost thou not rejoice with me?”
“I am glad to know that you are happy, Walda; but being just a man of
the world, I am selfish enough to feel unreconciled to your separation
from me. Walda, I crave a little part of your thoughts. I want to share
your joy. And now I behold you carried so far away from me that I cannot
even comprehend the transformation which is taking place in you. Is it
prayer that is raising your spirit above the earth?”
“It is not prayer alone that hath made me behold new glories, Stephen,
for through all my years spent in Zanah I have prayed unceasingly. Thou
hast helped to open mine eyes; thou hast been the messenger that hath
turned my face to the light. Verily, it is written that the Lord doth
choose mysterious ways by which to work his will.”
For a moment Everett felt he was, indeed, a hypocrite. He was not an
egotist, but his hopes, which a moment before had been cast down by the
girl’s extraordinary rapture, now rose, for he perceived that he had,
indeed, gained an influence over her.
“I want to talk to you, Walda,” Everett said, after he had thought for a
moment. “Come with me down to the shore of the lake, where there is a
log that makes a comfortable seat.”
Walda hesitated.
“Nay, Stephen, I must hasten to Marta Bachmann’s grave.”
“Don’t you think that sometimes it may be better to talk with the living
than to pray with the dead?” Everett asked. “I thought you were
interested in my welfare. Don’t you know that a few words from you may
change my whole life?”
“If I could lead thee towards heaven it would be my duty to speak with
thee.”
“Well, you can lead me to heaven.”
Everett parted the low branches of the trees so that Walda could pass
through, and as she stepped into the little path to the water’s edge one
of her long, fair braids caught upon a twig. She turned her face
backward as she felt the sharp pull, and Everett, thanking his stars for
a lucky fate that appeared to be attending him on this particular
evening, disengaged the shining hair. He pretended to be very clumsy,
and his head was brought close to Walda’s. The slightest trace of
embarrassment showed itself in the manner of the prophetess of Zanah as
she smoothed the braid and adjusted her cap. She walked forward rather
hastily, and Everett pointed out the log, at one end of which the limbs
made a graceful back for the rustic seat.
“Let me help you over these stones,” said Everett, and, taking her hand,
he led her to the log. He placed her comfortably, and, standing beside
her, told her to look at the wavering shadows in the water.
“All is peace here, Stephen,” the girl said, looking up at him. “In
Zanah there is rest for the weary spirit. Couldst thou not be contented
here always?”
“If we could always be together as we are now, Walda, it seems to me I
could never wish for anything more.”
He seated himself upon the log quite close to her, and, leaning with his
elbow on his knee, studied every feature of her beautiful face. In his
heart was a tumultuous longing to make her know that he loved her, but
her presence overcame him with a feeling that she was too holy to be
disturbed by the knowledge of his passion. Walda said, presently:
“It is strange that when I am with thee neither the past nor the future
harasses me. I am satisfied with the present; it is as if thou didst
encompass my soul with the fortress of thy strength. To-night all my
fears about the future are gone. I am happy, Stephen—strangely happy.”
She leaned back against the gnarled limbs of the old tree, and turned
her face towards the lake.
“Walda, has your religion never taught you that only in the union of a
man’s soul and a woman’s soul can there be perfect knowledge of life?”
She thought a moment, and then answered:
“Nay, Stephen, there is naught in the Bible which teacheth that the
prophets needed any but divine aid. In no place in the Bible were two
souls united in receiving the inspiration of God. Yet it hath seemed to
me that thou wert somehow joined to me in my inspiration. Instead of
separating me from thee, the knowledge that is coming to me maketh me
feel dependent upon thee.”
Stephen touched her hand, and she drew it away to hide it in the folds
of her blue cotton gown.
“You don’t mind having me near you, do you, Walda?” he asked.
“Nay, Stephen; it hath seemed lately that I craved thy presence too
much.”
Everett felt his pulses quicken.
“I know that thou hast been sent to me by divine dispensation,” she
continued. “But since the spirit of prophecy hath begun to come to me,
thou dost stir my heart. I know that I must withdraw from association
with thee and with my people. To-night there cometh over me a vague
alarm. I am happy near thee, and yet I fear this peace may vanish.”
“You cannot deny me the privilege of speaking to you in these few days
before the _Untersuchung_,” Everett answered. He gently took the hand
Walda had hidden in her gown, and, holding it in a firm clasp, said:
“I have a mind never to let you go from me, Walda. I need you all my
life. I cannot look forward to the years out there in the world without
you.”
“Dost thou mean, Stephen, that thou wouldst stay here in Zanah serving
the Lord with the men of the colony? Stay for the good of thy soul?”
Everett pictured himself attired in colony garb and meekly accepting the
orders of Adolph Schneider and Karl Weisel; but, holding Walda’s hand,
the absurdity of such a position became every second less apparent to
him. He felt that no sacrifice could be too great if it kept him near to
the prophetess of Zanah.
“Do you want me to stay, Walda?” he asked.
“Yea, Stephen, even if I might not speak to thee, it would cheer me to
look upon thy face. I have thought much of thy going away, and I have
felt that Zanah will be dreary without thee. Sometimes I have feared
lest I might be tempted to carry thine image in my heart. It is
gratitude that maketh thee thus inhabit my thoughts.”
“It is not your gratitude that I want, Walda,” Stephen said. “No, you
cannot take away your hand. I want to hold it while I talk to you. In
these few weeks in Zanah I have come to know that you will be always the
one woman who can command all my reverence, my respect, and my
allegiance. You have taught me that I have lived too much for self; you
have aroused in me an impulse to make more of my opportunities. You have
become my good angel. I cannot go back to the world, and to a lazy,
careless existence. I have forsaken my old idols, Walda.”
“Thou hast builded thee a new altar, Stephen. And now thou wilt not
profane it.”
It was the prophetess, not the woman, who spoke. Walda had forgotten all
the vague alarm. She was looking upon Stephen as a new disciple of Zanah
whom she was glad to welcome into the fold.
“Yes, I have a new altar upon which I am willing to sacrifice all my old
habits, my previous interests,” he confessed. “To it I bring the incense
of love and service and loyalty. Before it I feel my own unworthiness.
Walda, I am but an ordinary man, one who has been content to live for
the day. Since I came to Zanah, my future years have a new meaning.”
“When a man turneth his footsteps towards heaven, then, indeed, the
future is glorified. Henceforth thou wilt press onward towards the gates
of heaven.”
“But, Walda, I may find the gates closed, after all. Don’t you know it
is you who hold the key?”
“Nay, thou art almost blasphemous. I can only point the way.”
They sat there silent for a few minutes. The twilight was gathering. The
shadows of evening closed out Zanah and all the earth. A soft wind
rippled the lake, which broke in tiny waves at their feet.
“Walda, you who are so wise in the knowledge of things that pertain to
heaven are ignorant of many of the fundamental principles of life here
upon earth. Cannot you understand that at this very moment I am like a
wayfarer standing at the gate of paradise?”
Involuntarily he tightened the clasp of his hand, and love, sleeping in
the heart of the woman, was suddenly disturbed.
Walda drew her hand away, and, rising to her feet, looked at Everett
with fear in her face.
“To-night thou dost speak in parables, Stephen,” she said. “To-night
thou dost cause me to tremble before thee. Let me go to the grave of
Marta Bachmann, where I can pray until my spirit is soothed.”
Everett stood before her as if he would block her path. He uncovered her
head, and gazed at her with all the passionate longing of a strong
nature. He would have put out his arms to draw her close to him, but her
sweetness and innocence made him ashamed of the impulse. She was in his
power, but he saw that her momentary fear had passed away, for, with her
eyes raised to the stars that had appeared above the horizon, she was
praying. The man’s mood changed instantly. He could have knelt before
her to kiss the hem of her gown.
“Walda, I ask your forgiveness for showing to-night that I am almost
unworthy of your trust in me,” he said. “Turn your face to me now, and
tell me that you will go away thinking of me as one who would hold you
so sacred that he would sacrifice his heart’s desire if in so doing he
could assure you of the fulfilment of life’s best promises.”
Walda had folded her hands upon her breast. Having thus made the sign of
Zanah, which was believed to ward off all earthly influences, she said:
“Verily, Stephen, thou hast put unrest in my heart, yet even now I feel
an abiding faith in thee.”
“I shall try to be worthy of your faith, Walda.”
While they stood close together the curfew-bell sounded from the village
belfry. It brought back to earth the man and woman who lingered thus
just outside the walls of paradise.
“Good-night, Stephen. God be with thee.”
Walda had again become the prophetess of Zanah. She passed him in the
narrow path from which he had stepped aside, and he let her go without a
word. She walked a few paces only, her face still uplifted to the sky
and her hands still folded across her breast. Then she paused to look
backward at the man whose parables had in them a meaning which she had
never found in the words of Holy Writ.
And being a woman, as well as a prophetess, she saw that Everett was
good to look upon.