“Thou forgettest that in Zanah all men and women are equal,” said Mother Werther. “Thy husband, the Herr Doktor, is enjoying but a brief authority. Thou art not greater than any other woman in the colony.”
Mother Schneider gasped in anger, but before she could reply a shadow was cast upon the floor and Walda Kellar entered. Her sweet face wore an untroubled look. She smiled upon all the women gathered in the room.
“Something brought me here among you,” she said. “I have but just come from my father’s sick-room, and as I walked long, thinking of the coming Untersuchung, I felt that I wanted once more to spin with the women of Zanah.”
“Thou bringest peace with thee,” said Mother Werther.
Frieda Bergen rose from her little, low-backed chair, and Walda Kellar seated herself before the girl’s wheel.
Silence fell upon the room. The girl’s presence commanded reverence. In her eyes was a peculiar light, and her face was radiant. Slowly she began to turn her wheel.
“It is very good to be here,” she said, presently. “If the Lord giveth me the tongue of inspiration there will be other tasks for me, and now and then, when I am not quite so strong in the faith as I ought to be, I wonder whether I shall not sometimes be an unworthy instrument of the Lord, because the little things of life, it seemeth, will always have a charm for me. While the great, leather-bound books of Zanah have much to teach me, there are days when my inclinations draw me towards the labors which belong to the women of the colony.”
No one answered. For a few moments the wheels whirred again, and not a word disturbed the pleasant hum of industry. Presently Walda’s voice rose in a minor hymn. The deep, rich cadences swelled above the sound of the wheels. It was a weird, plaintive tune to which she sang German words which breathed a prayer for light upon the way that led through the sin-encompassed world. She paused after the first verse. Appearing to forget her work, she clasped her hands in her lap and sang again with such sweetness and such pathos that Mother Werther wiped her eyes. The singing had brought some one to the porch outside, but Walda appeared not to hear the footstep. She sang on and on, and when the last verse died upon her lips she sat very still, as if her soul had gone out with the strange melody.
Everett, who had come to the window, looking through the blinds, beheld the prophetess. For the moment the woman was lost, and he felt an overwhelming sense of her aloofness from him. There came to him a full realization of the gulf between him and this woman of Zanah, who belonged so little to the world and so much to heaven. For several minutes he stood fascinated as he gazed upon her, but, summoning all his will-power, he turned away lest he should be discovered spying upon the women of Zanah. As he walked towards the bluffs he met Hans Peter moving along in a leisurely manner. The witchery of Walda’s song was still upon him, and he would have passed the simple one without a greeting, but Hans Peter stepped directly in his path.
“Thou hast made trouble in Zanah,” said the simple one, staring at him with unblinking eyes and doubling up one fat fist. “The day that thou goest hence to the wicked world where thou belongest will be a happy one.”