“Forgive me if I seem of a stubborn spirit. I know that thou canst not understand how the love of man can take possession of a woman’s heart. Thou wilt be satisfied to live aloof from the people of Zanah that thou mayst be near to God, but I would rather have the love of Joseph Hoff than the inspiration that cometh to a prophetess of Zanah.”
“It is my duty to reprimand thee for thy sin, but somehow, when thou speakest of Joseph Hoff, I cannot feel the abhorrence for thy transgression that should fill my heart. I will pray that the Lord may show thee the right way.”
Walda leaned her head against the settle and thought about Frieda Bergen’s state of mind, but her thoughts were confused. Her reflections were interrupted by Everett, who came into the inn. Drawing near to the fireplace, he made a great show of drying his hat, which was wet from the rain. Walda did not seem to notice his presence.
“You appear to be troubled about something,” he said.
“Yea. A matter of much moment hath been laid before me, and I have not wisdom enough to see it in all its sinfulness.”
“Do you suppose my worldly advice would help you?” Everett asked.
“Nay, thou hast different measures of judgment from those set by the people of Zanah. Thou dost not hold earthly love a sin.”
“No, I do not, Walda.” Everett smiled. “I hold love—the earthly love you are taught to try to escape—as the most precious gift the Creator gave to the children of men.”
His voice was low, and it betrayed an intensity of feeling that caused Walda to give him a questioning glance. Everett looked at her with so much tenderness she turned her head away.
“Thou hast in thy tones the same sound that was strange in Frieda’s voice. Dost thou love? Hast thou the same unreasoning rapture as Joseph Hoff?”