Walda: A Novel

by Mary Holland Kinkaid

“Oh, thou dost give away thy money?” Walda’s tone betrayed her relief at the thought that, after all, Everett might not be altogether selfish.

“Yes, I give away some of my money,” Stephen answered; “but I have not done half the good with it that I should. Perhaps I may learn here in Zanah how to employ my time and my money to better advantage.”

“Now, indeed, I know that the Lord hath sent thee here for thine own good.”

“Sometimes I am not so sure of it, Walda,” said Everett, and, turning quickly, he took up his hat. He pushed open the door, motioned to the simple one to pass out first, hesitated a moment, and then returned to Walda’s side.

“Don’t think of me as such a bad man,” he said.

“Nay, there is something in my heart that maketh me believe only that thou art wise and true.”

Quickly he left the room, and as he went down the stairs he reflected that one of the first steps in wisdom is that which takes a man away from a great temptation. Walda, standing alone by the table, thought of many things, and then, strangely enough, Piepmatz, looking from his little cage, whistled the notes of the love-song that Everett had taught him.

XI

After leaving Walda, Stephen Everett walked far out into the country. At first he did not try to analyze his thoughts. He felt an unwonted buoyancy and hope. Between him and the brilliant sky he saw the face of the future prophetess of Zanah. He felt her sweet presence, and gradually he came into a knowledge that the girl was gaining a mastering power over him. Because he was more or less of a trifler in the great world of action, he had been willing to stay in the colony long enough to gain some new impressions. At first the girl had been only a central figure in a quaint picture that seemed to belong to another time and to another country. There had been days that had bored him, and a hundred times he had repented of his rash pledge that held him in Zanah for an indefinite period. Now he knew that Walda Kellar had become to him more than a passing acquaintance. As he hastened away from the village, his first exultation in having gained from her something of a personal recognition led him to think of his own motives in attempting to win what he called the friendship of this woman of Zanah.

Beneath all his aimlessness and indifference, Everett held high ideals of womanhood. He was a man who cherished chivalrous traditions, and when his footsteps finally brought him back from the foot of the bluff to the edge of the little lake, that now reflected a purple sky, he threw himself upon the ground to think seriously of his intentions. It was plain to him that the prophetess of Zanah never could belong wholly to his world. The memory of his associations in New York and Newport made him almost doubt his own identity. Visions of the fashionable and frivolous women who were part of what is known as American society presented themselves to him. He saw the gorgeous gowns and flashing jewels of matrons and maids whom he knew. He recalled their rather brilliant conversation. In his mind’s eye he pictured an autumn ball at Tuxedo—he had just received a letter mentioning a great entertainment that was to take place that very evening—and he tried to imagine how Walda Kellar would appear as one of those whom the colony condemned. There were girls belonging to the gayest circles of Eastern cities who were pleased to call him friend, and yet he valued their favors as nothing compared with the esteem that he coveted from the woman of Zanah. In thinking of Walda he soothed his conscience by telling himself that esteem was the word which described the interest he wished the girl to feel for him. And then the thought came to him, insistently, that he was playing the part of a contemptible egotist, and that he was secretly longing to awaken in the heart of the prophetess of Zanah earthly love that was forbidden to her.