Gerson Brandt sat alone in his school-room. His elbows were propped on the worn lid of his black, oaken desk, and his chin was supported in the palms of his hands. His face had a worried look. The lines about his mouth had deepened within the last few days, and his heavy brows were drawn together. He was wondering what could have happened to the precious Bible. Now that he had become accustomed to the changes brought about in the routine of his daily life by the illness of Wilhelm Kellar, he sorely missed the pleasant task of each day making a letter or two upon the pages of the Sacred Word. It had been his joy and his recreation, after the long school sessions, to turn to his pens and his colored inks. Line by line he had wrought the delicate traceries with many a thought of Walda and many a prayer for her well-being. He had dwelt so long in the faith that inspired Zanah that he had felt in the hope of her inspiration a peculiar satisfaction and contentment. He was a poet and a dreamer, so he found it not hard to believe that this girl of Zanah would be given a special power not vouchsafed to many souls that come into the great domain of sin.

It was a week since the loss of the Bible had been discovered. It was apparent to him, whose nature was sensitive to every suggestion, that the people of Zanah for some reason distrusted him, and imputed blame to him because of the mysterious disappearance of the volume that might have brought the colony the price of many rolls of flannel and many bottles of wine. The Herr Doktor that very day had been to see him about devising some means by which more effective search could be made for the Bible. Notwithstanding Wilhelm Kellar’s illness, the room up-stairs had been thoroughly searched. With Schneider standing by, he had been obliged to submit to the humiliation of unlocking each drawer and turning out upon the floor all his few personal possessions. From his bed in the alcove Wilhelm Kellar had anxiously watched every movement, and had shown keen disappointment when the big volume could not be found. Mother Werther had been present, and had scrutinized each article as it was put back in its accustomed place in the old-fashioned chest of drawers. One thing alone she failed to examine, and that was his old leather portfolio, much worn with long years of constant use. In this portfolio was concealed his one forbidden possession—the sketch of Walda made years before, when she was scarcely more than a child. Zanah permitted not the image of anything on earth to be kept by a faithful colonist; but he had treasured this, made in a moment of weakness and loneliness. He had eased his conscience with the thought that he had drawn not the woman of the future, but the prophetess who would some day guide his people.

Adolph Schneider had gone on his way but a few moments before. The school-master still felt the sting of his last words—an injunction to find the Bible within the next fortnight. Gerson Brandt had spent all his unemployed waking moments in trying to account for the disappearance of the big book. He felt sure that there was no boy in the village mischievous enough to steal it, and no outsider except Everett had been within the boundaries of Zanah for many a week. Instinctively he knew that the colonists were judging him unkindly, for even in Zanah jealousies and rivalries were not unknown. In all his years of colony life he had escaped criticism, because he had been the one elder untouched by personal ambition. His gentleness and sweetness of nature had made even the most selfish and disagreeable person his friend, for no one in all Zanah had performed the friendly services that belonged to the record made by the school-master of the colony.

Presently he turned his face towards the window and looked out upon the summer landscape. The day seemed strangely silent. The late summer already presaged the coming autumn. The birds had long ceased their singing. There was not even the hum of a lazy insect. A sense of loneliness crept over this man, accustomed to the peculiar isolation of life in Zanah. He half realized that the loss of the Bible meant to him, in a certain sense, a cutting off of a daily association of thought that bound him to Walda. His mind had hardly turned towards the girl before he heard her light footstep as she crossed the threshold. When he saw her framed in the doorway that opened out on the little porch, he felt foolishly glad, but although he rose to his feet he did not advance to meet her.

“Ah, Gerson Brandt, something is troubling thee,” said Walda. “For fully two minutes I have been watching thee from the porch. What is in thy mind to rob thee thus of peace?”

“Nay, Walda, my peace is not gone, I trust,” said the school-master; but he paused, as if the assertion made him cognizant that he might not be speaking the whole truth. “I have been thinking much about the loss of my Bible.”

“Yea, that is very strange,” said Walda, standing before his desk, and looking up into his eyes with an inquiring glance. “I cannot understand what could befall it.”

“If it cannot be found, my honor is touched,” said Gerson Brandt, and there was something like a quiver on his sensitive lips. “There are those in Zanah who will count it against me, because I put overmuch work upon the book and grew to hold it as my best possession.”

“Nay, nay, Gerson Brandt, the people love thee, and they will remember the injunction that they must not judge one another.”

Gerson Brandt stepped from the high platform. Motioning towards a bench in front of the window, he said:

“Sit here near me, Walda; I would speak to thee now alone, since there may not come another chance before thy day of inspiration.”

The girl took her place on the bench and Gerson Brandt stood before her. For a moment he was silent. With hands folded across his spare chest, and with his head bent, he gazed down upon the beautiful girl. He noticed a change in her face. It had lost something of the childishness of its expression. It had a graver look. The eyes bespoke a seriousness he thought foretold the coming spiritual inspiration for which the colony had waited so many years.

“It is well, Walda, that thou hast reached this time in thy life without being touched by worldly emotions. Zanah hath watched over thee with a care that hath kept thee pure for thy consecration to the Lord’s work.”

“To Zanah I owe all my service,” said Walda. “I trust that great things may be revealed through me.”

She spoke as if she thought of herself from an objective point of view.

“This is an age when men should walk near God. There are strange things going on in the great world, and every year Zanah’s safety is jeopardized. Untoward manners and customs are already becoming known among the young people. There is in my heart much gratitude that thou hast escaped the temptations to fathom earthly love.”

“Gerson Brandt, is love the greatest of all the sins?” asked Walda, looking up into the face of the school-master, who bestowed upon her a look searching and withal tender.

“It is not given to me to judge what is the greatest sin a woman can commit,” Gerson Brandt answered, slowly. “I have heard that love bringeth pain and sorrow and disappointment.”

“Yet there are many who do not seem afraid to risk sorrow for love. Truly there must be some compensation for it,” said Walda.

“There is, there is,” replied the school-master. “At first it intoxicates; it bringeth fair dreams, high hopes, and a courage strong enough to face all the ills that earth can bring to men and women.”

“Surely thou speakest with authority, Gerson Brandt.” As Walda spoke there was a little smile upon her lips. “I might almost think that thou hadst known the joy and pain of loving.”

“In books I have read of the love of men and women. There is one named Shakespeare, who long ago wrote much of the history of the human heart.”

“In the Bible are many stories of the love of men and women,” said Walda, “and sometimes I have wondered why, in this late day, it should have become so wrong a thing to find on earth a dear companionship.”

Gerson Brandt turned away and walked across the room. When he came back he spoke in a steady voice.

“When the soul findeth on earth peace and happiness, it is easy to forget there is a heaven that lasts through eternity, and that these little years shall be swallowed up in the vast expanse of time. It were better to deny one’s self joy here in order to be sure of happiness hereafter.”

“But even to me earth often seems so near and dear, and heaven so far off, that now and then I can understand why the soul should reach out towards some one who could share all the little every-day happinesses and troubles,” said Walda.

“It hath been given to man always to be lonely in the world,” answered Gerson Brandt. “Each soul must travel like a stray pilgrim who can only greet other wayfarers and pass on.”

“Nay, Gerson Brandt, we need not be lonely here. In Zanah all are friends and brothers. So long as thou livest I can never feel that I am a solitary traveller.”

A crimson flush swept over the face of the school-master, and when the wave receded he was deathly pale.

“All these years my care hath been over thee, Walda. My prayers have been for thee; my hopes have been set on thee. When thou hast become, indeed, the prophetess of Zanah, I shall know that thou art safe forever. Then shall I find peace indeed.”

“Safe, Gerson Brandt! What dost thou mean? Safe from what? I cannot be safer than I am now.”

Gerson Brandt made no reply. He walked to the window and looked out upon the little garden.

Walda was lost in thought for a moment or two. Presently she said:

“Oh, Gerson Brandt, I know that I am like unto Eve, for when thou and the elders warn me so much about love there comes to me the desire to understand it.”

“None can understand love, Walda. It is revealed to every man and every woman in a different form. It is the all-compassing emotion that moveth the world.”

Walda rose to her feet. Stepping close to the school-master, she said:

“Why, Gerson Brandt, there is that in thy voice that maketh me feel thou dost know much concerning love, which thou sayest is sinful and unworthy. Hast thou been tempted?”

“Mayhap I have. Here in Zanah we who keep the precepts of the colony close to our hearts are safe indeed. By much praying and constant vigilance we can escape all danger.”

“Surely earthly love could never touch thee or me, and why shouldst we waste time talking about the pitfalls that will never come in the way of our footsteps as we traverse the quiet paths of Zanah?”

“It is well to remember, Walda, that even in Zanah, our Garden of Eden, there is a tree of knowledge; but so long as we taste not the forbidden fruit we need have no fears.”

“Fears? My heart is so lifted up in these days there falleth upon me not the smallest shadow of the smallest fear to disturb me. I am full of gratitude and humility in the knowledge that I have been chosen to be the prophetess of Zanah, and each day there comes to me a broader faith and a surer conviction concerning the things revealed to us through the Great Book.”

Gerson Brandt was again silent for a long time. Once he took a step towards the girl, who was still standing before the bench from which she had risen. He hesitated a moment. Then he said, slowly:

“Walda, when thou art given the tongue of the Spirit, thou wilt be separated from all Zanah. Thou wilt then live close to thy Creator, and, even though I am an elder, I shall be denied the privilege of speaking to thee. Lest there be no opportunity to talk again to thee alone, I will tell thee now that always my thoughts will dwell close to thee. In my heart the memory of the little girl that I have known so many years will remain forever.”

The tremor in his voice and the solemnity of his manner cast a feeling of awe upon Walda. Moved by an irresistible impulse, she dropped on her knees at his feet.

“Give me thy blessing, Gerson Brandt,” she said; and the man held his hands high above her bent head as he said, simply:

“God bless thee and keep thee, Walda Kellar.”

The girl rose and slowly passed out of the door.

Gerson Brandt went back to his desk. Again he put his elbows on the worn lid. Again he rested his chin in his hands. He sat thus for half an hour. Hans Peter, coming in on tiptoe, walked up a side aisle without being noticed. He climbed upon the stool, and the school-master roused himself to ask:

“Dost thou want me?”

“Thou wast thinking about thy lost Bible,” said the simple one, ignoring the question. “Thou hast no cause to borrow trouble.”

“What dost thou know about it?” demanded the school-master.

“I know that it is where the Herr Doktor seems not to be able to find it,” said the simple one, twirling his thumbs. “I know that it is lost. I know thou canst not find it.”

“Hush, hush, Hans Peter. The Bible is not a subject by which thou canst display thy talent for speaking foolish words.”