"Oh, it was worse still when I was up here last autumn," said Wally, as she went into the hut.
"Who won't be advised, can't be helped. But if he doesn't some time recompense thee for all thou'rt going through for him, he deserves to be dragged round by the collar."
"If he knew of it, for sure he'd recompense me," said Wally reddening and looking down.
"He doesn't know of it?" asked Benedict astonished.
"No, he scarcely knows me."
"Now may God forgive thee that thou should so set thy heart on a strange man, and them, them who love thee, and have cherished thee and tended thee, them thou pushes from thee. That is no love--that is mere obstinacy."
Wally was silent, and Benedict also said no more. He did now as old Klettenmaier had done the year before. He set the hut in order as well as he could for Wally, and brought her a store of wood. Then he held out his hand to her in farewell. "May God guard thee up here! And if I might say one more word to thee, it would be this: Watch over thyself, and pray that no evil powers may get the better of thee!"
Wally's heart contracted as his eyes full of deep sadness rested on her. It seemed to her as though in truth she felt the evil powers hovering round her, and almost unconsciously she held the hand of her protector who had watched over her so faithfully, and accompanied him part of the way back, as though she feared to remain alone.
"Now then--here the path becomes bad; I thank thee for coming so far," said Benedict, and parted from her.
"Farewell, and a safe journey home," cried Wally after him.