“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.”