Walda | Page 8

his eyes and they met
the girl's glance. Then he bent his head in deferential recognition of her
presence. It was only a second that each had gazed at the other, but the
man from the outside world felt a heart-throb. He spilled the powder on
the table cloth, and after he had brushed it off he hastily took up his hat.
He went down-stairs, Gerson Brandt and Mother Kaufmann following
him to ask about his patient. The three stood in the little porch talking
of Wilhelm Kellar. From the garden, Walda, who stood among the
flowers, watched them as if she would hear every word. Involuntarily
she was drawn to the little group.
"Thou wilt tell me the truth about my father," she said, addressing
Everett. She spoke in precise English, with a soft accent and full tone.
"He is seriously ill, but he will recover from this attack," Everett
answered.
The girl folded her hands on her breast in the man ner common to
Zanah.
"It is my duty to rejoice when death freeth the soul, and yet I cannot
think of my father's illness with aught but sadness," she said, as a tear
trickled down her cheek.
"Thou art showing weakness," admonished Mother Kaufmann.

"Be not so stern," said Gerson Brandt. "She hath not yet faced the
mystery of death. She is young, and she loveth her father."
"Always thou dost find excuse for Walda Kellar," said the woman.
"She is near to the day of inspiration, and the things of this world
should not touch her."
Walda Kellar appeared not to hear Mother Kaufmann's words. Her eyes
were fastened upon Everett's face.
"Thou art not going away from Zanah soon, art thou?" she asked. "Nay,
stay to watch my father until he shall be out of danger." There was such
pleading in her tone that it touched the heart of the man of the world.
Her beauty cast a spell over him.
"Thou forgettest that the stranger hath much to call him away,"
interposed Gerson Brandt. "Thou wouldst not be selfish?"
"Oh, I would not think first of self, and yet I would pray that the
stranger might find it in his heart to remain in Zanah to aid him whom I
love above all, for, strive as I may, I cannot forget that he is my father."
She stepped nearer to Everett; her lips quivered.
"It may be many days before your father is entirely well. It will be a
privilege to be of service to you," said Everett, remembering how
seldom he had been of any real use in the world. "I will remain until
your father is out of danger."
Mother Kaufmann took Walda by the arm and led her down the hill
towards the House of the Women. Everett felt a resentment towards the
unsympathetic colony "mother." For a moment he was angry, and then
he tried to make himself believe that he was a fool to waste a thought
upon Walda Kellar or any of the villagers. Still he could not stifle his
curiosity. A dozen questions rose to his lips, but there was some thing
in the look of the school-master that forbade any inquiries.
The man who belonged to the outside world walked down to the bridge,

and, turning, followed the turbulent little creek to a place where there
was a deserted windmill beside a broken dam. Here he sat upon a log,
for he suddenly made the discovery that it was a warm day. From the
mill he could look back into the village and out upon the vineyards and
the broad fields that surrounded the picturesque little settlement.
The peaceful scene soothed him. He fell to wondering whether, after all,
the colonists might not be wise to bar out the world, but although his
thoughts travelled far away to the busy scenes in which he usually
moved, they always came back to Walda Kellar.
The novelty of his position rather amused him. He had meant to spend
only a day or two in Zanah, and now he had made a promise that meant
a sojourn of several weeks, perhaps a month or two. He lighted a fresh
cigar and let his thoughts wander back to the friends who were waiting
for him in the Berkshire Hills, where he had intended to spend the
autumn weeks. He knew that they would concern themselves but little
about his absence, for he had always been erratic since, when a
school-boy, he was left, long ago, with an ample fortune and an
indulgent guardian.
His reflections were suddenly interrupted, for he heard a soft footstep
inside the mill. In an instant the fool had darted out, and, running to a
tree that formed a foot-bridge across the little stream, he stooped to
conceal