They walked on until they came to the high, arched gate of the graveyard. Everett unlatched the gate and they went in among the sunken mounds, each of which was marked by a flat stone bearing the simple name of some colonist who had passed out of the narrow life of Zanah. On a little knoll, separated from the other graves, was one over which a willow-tree trailed its low branches. Towards this Walda led the way, and when they had come to it she said to Everett:
“Thou must leave me now.”
“I was thinking of going away from Zanah,” said Everett, with a sudden memory of his letters. “When I took the liberty of walking with you to-night it was my intention to say good-bye to you, Walda.”
The girl turned on him a glance of such frank regret that he asked again:
“Will you miss me, Walda?”
“Miss thee?” she repeated. “Yea, for I have come to count thee as one who maketh each day better for me. Thou hast become like unto Gerson Brandt in thy brotherly care.”
Everett winced.
“But I don’t want you to think of me as your brother,” he said. “I would have you call me friend.”
“Nay, friendship is denied between men and women in Zanah. Have I not told thee that before? But surely thou wilt not go away before the Untersuchung?”
There was a tone of pleading in the girl’s voice.