Walda, pausing, swept the assembly with her eyes. In the exaltation of her mood she had become clothed in a majesty that overawed the people. Some of the women fell to their knees, weeping.
“Behold the prophetess! Behold the prophetess! Blessed be her name!” shouted one of the elders.
Walda continued, unheeding:
“In my heart I felt a gratitude, for I believed that at last the divine revelation had come to me. I thought that the love in my heart, which made all that pertaineth to life sacred, belonged to heaven alone. I thanked God that the baptism of the Holy Spirit had been given me.”
Cries of joy ascended from the throng.
“In the first days of the inspiration that had come to me I was impatient for this time, when I could dedicate my whole life to the service of Zanah. It seemed easy to live always near to God. Voices spake to me. I believed that I was, indeed, the prophetess of Zanah—the prophetess who could live untouched by human emotions. But one day there was given to me a clearer vision. Just before the beginning of my vigil it was shown to me that mine was not the rapture of the saints”—Walda paused and caught her breath—“I came into the knowledge that my inspiration had its origin in human love.”
She pronounced the last words distinctly, with her eyes uplifted. Gerson Brandt uttered her name in an agonized groan. Wilhelm Kellar strove to speak, but his voice died in his throat.
“What sayest thou, Walda Kellar?” demanded Adolph Schneider, rising from his chair. The colonists listened stolidly, as if they did not comprehend the meaning of Walda’s speech.
“Nay, surely thou hast not been touched by an earthly love?” said Gerson Brandt, in a tone which told that despair was clutching at his heart. “Thy words are vague.”
Walda saw the horror in her father’s face. She looked away from him and the school-master, waiting a moment that she might choose her words so that they would not give unnecessary pain.