Everett went out on the porch, where he took possession of his host’s arm-chair. Naturally his thoughts wandered to Walda. The girl was a mystery to him. Although he was slow to acknowledge it, he knew that she aroused in him an insistent interest. He who cared little for women suddenly found his attention fixed upon a girl who belonged to a class different from any other with which he had ever come in contact. He usually classified all women he met. He found that they were easily divided into comparatively few types. Here was one whose education and whose traditions isolated her. He hoped she would pass by the inn. Impatiently he looked at his watch; the hour for evening prayer was slow in coming. He had risen with the intention of strolling about the square, when he heard the meeting-house bell ring. In a moment the long street again became alive. As the men and women went by on opposite sides, many of them glanced at him. Even the demure, quiet girls allowed their eyes to rest upon him for half a second. One, however, was unconscious of his presence. Frieda Bergen, the village maid who had taken the letter from the tree-trunk at the mill, looked across the grass-grown road to a youth who kept his eyes upon her until the blood mounted to her cheeks and her glance was cast upon the ground. The school-master walked with his head bowed, as if he were deep in thought, and behind him followed the boys, who forgot to romp and play. He stopped on the rustic bridge. When all the villagers had passed, Walda Kellar came. Her hands were crossed upon her breast, and instead of keeping her eyes upon the ground she had them fixed on the clouds, where the crimson light was turning to purple and gray. On either side of her walked women whom Everett had never seen before. One of them was stout, and had passed her first youth. As Walda walked by Gerson Brandt on the bridge, the school-master and his charges doffed their caps to her. Everett could see that Walda smiled on the man of Zanah, and that she spoke to him. The school-master waited in reverent attitude until the future prophetess disappeared within the church porch. Then he motioned to his pupils to go on, while he turned back towards the inn. With lagging step he came into the village square. “Hast thou half an hour to spend with one who would speak to thee?” he asked, addressing Everett. The stranger in Zanah hastened to assure the school-master that he wanted companionship. Without being summoned, Hans Peter appeared with a chair. Gerson Brandt dropped into it as if he were weary, and Everett had a chance to notice that the delicate face was worn and haggard. There was something extraordinarily impressive in the personality of this man of Zanah. His gaunt form was well knit. Meekness and gentleness sat upon a face that denoted an intense nature. The curve of the lip told of unusual will-power, but the eyes revealed the fact that the soul of a dreamer dwelt within the school-master.