“I have given him his liberty,” said Walburga.
“Have you truly? Well, I declare!”
This was all that Moida could utter. Then, putting on her hat and shawl, Walburga quitted the room, leaving her friend repeating to herself:
“What a sentimental girl she is! What a sentimental girl she is!”
We may be sure that while on her way to the picture gallery Walburga thought only of the one whom she expected to meet there, and she quite agreed with Moida that Conrad did not seem like a man to play at courtship. Yet, admitting that he was in earnest, would he not prove to be in the end like the great majority of his sex—a blind follower only of what his eyes revealed to him? Would he dive below the surface and judge her by her inner self?
“I will try not to indulge any hope,” thought Walburga. Yet, at this very moment, down in her heart’s depths the flower of hope was already beginning to bud, and no doubt that was why her step this morning was lighter than usual. As for Conrad having lost his faith, however much she regretted it, and pious girl though she was, this did not lead her to believe that he was a bad man. Walburga had sense enough to discern the difficulties which lie in the way of belief in the revelation to those who have wandered from, or never known, the truth; she knew, too, that the universities were full of learned professors who spoke of God as a myth. “And even some saints,” she said, “have been racked by doubt, and overcame this, the greatest of all the temptations of the arch-fiend, only by severe self-tortures. Therefore I will continue to pray for Conrad Seinsheim.” (Walburga had remembered him in her prayers ever since she had heard that he was an unbeliever). “And I will pray also for dear Ulrich, who is young and confiding, and is much in Conrad’s power.”
A quarter of an hour later and the girl was busy at her easel, and working swiftly too. “For I must accomplish all I can before he arrives,” she murmured to herself.
But Conrad did not allow her time to do much. Presently his voice was heard bidding her good-morning. Whereupon she returned his greeting in a cheery tone, but without looking round.
“Gracious lady,” he began, “doubtless Miss Hofer has already told you of her pleasant visit to Loewenstein. The weather was delightful, the old place looked charming, and I should not have let her return so soon, nor come myself either, only that I longed to see you again.”
“Dear Moida enjoyed it very much, but she knows that ’tis impossible for me to get along without her,” answered Walburga, revealing only by a faint flush the emotion excited by Conrad’s words. Her hand, however, was steadier than it had been the first time he paid her a compliment. Then the other, after observing her a moment in silence, went on: