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Selma walked to the door, and now passed out without replying. Henrik
sat down by his mother, and the two continued to converse in low, quiet
tones.

The mother's hair was white, the face pinched from much suffering, the
hands shrunken. Selma's talk disturbed her, as did that of a score or
more of interested relatives; but when she talked with Henrik alone she
was at peace, and she listened quietly to what he told her. She was so
old and weak and traditionated in the belief of her fathers that she
could grasp but feebly the principles taught her by Henrik; but this she
knew, that there was something in his tone and manner of speech that
soothed her and drove away the resentment and hardness of heart left by
the talk of others.

"You know, mother," Henrik was saying, "this restored gospel answers so
many of life's perplexing questions. It is broad, full of common sense,
and mercy. Father, as you well know, was not a religious man. When he
died, Pastor Tonset gave it as his opinion that father was a lost
soul--"

"Father was a good man."

"I know he was, mother; and to say that because he could not believe in
the many inconsistencies taught as religious truths, he is everlastingly
lost, doesn't appeal to me--never did. Father, as all of us, will
continue to learn in the spirit world to which all must go; and when the
time comes, he will, no doubt, see the truths of the gospel and accept
them. And here is where the beauty of true religion comes in: it teaches
that there is hope beyond the grave; that salvation is not limited to
this life; that every soul will have a chance, either here or hereafter.
You, mother, have worried over father's condition. Don't do it any more;
he will be all right." He felt like adding that she had more reason to
worry over the living, but he said no more.

Selma came in with the coffee, and no further discourse was had on
religious topics. Although Henrik had quit using coffee with his meals,
he occasionally sipped a little in the company of his mother. This
evening he took the proffered cup from his sister, who soon withdrew
again, and then Henrik and his mother continued their talk. It was along
the lines of the old faith, grounded into them and their forefathers
since Christianity had been "reformed" in their country. As a boy,
Henrik had not been religious, as that term was understood by his
people, but nevertheless he had in him a strain of true devotion which
the message of the American missionary had aroused. However, this
revival within the young man did not meet with the favor of his friends,
and he was looked upon as having come under the influence of some evil,
heretical power, much to their regret.

"Marie is here," announced Selma from the door.

Henrik arose. "Where is she? I did not know she was in town."

"She is in the east room."

"Tell her to come in."

"She says she wants to see you alone."

"All right. Good night then, mother. Pleasant dreams to you."

Henrik found Marie sitting by the open window looking over the tops of
the shrubbery in the garden. The light from the setting sun bathed her
in its glow, increasing the beauty of an already beautiful face. Henrik
stepped up behind the girl and placed his hands under her chin. She did
not turn her head.

"This is a surprise," he said, "but I am _so_ glad to see you. Did you
have a pleasant time at Skarpen?"

There was no reply. The young woman still surveyed the garden and the
darkening shadows on the lawn.

"What is the matter, little girl?" he asked. He felt the trembling of
her chin as she removed his hands.

"No," she replied, "I did not have a good time."

"I'm sorry. What was wrong?"

"You were not there--you were somewhere else, where your heart is more
than with me--you were, no doubt at Osterhausgade." She hardened her
tone as she proceeded.

"Oh, I'm not there all the time," he laughed.

"You think more of the people you meet there than you do of me, at any
rate."

"What makes you think so?"

"You, and your actions. O, Henrik, could you but hear the talk--I hear
it, and people look so strangely at me, and pity me ... I can't stand
it!" She arose as if to escape him, walked across the room, then sat
down by the center table. He closed the window blind, then lighted the
gas, and seated himself opposite her by the table. There was a pause
which she at last broke by saying:

"I hear that you are actually going to join those horrid people--is that
true?"

There was another long silence as they looked at each other across the
table.

"Yes," he said.

"Next week?"

"That was my intention--yes."

"And we were to be married next month?"

"Yes--"

"Well, I want to tell you, Henrik, that if you join those people the
wedding day will have to be postponed."

"For how long?"

"For a long, long time."

"Well--I had thought to be baptized next week; but, of course, I can
postpone it."

"For good, Henrik--say for good."

"No; I can't say that; for a little while--to please you, to let you
think a little longer on the matter. I want you to choose deliberately,
Marie. There need be no undue haste. I don't want you to make up your
mind unalterably to reject me because of the step which I am going to
take."

"I have already made up my mind."

"Marie!"

"You must choose between me or--"

"Don't say it, don't; you'll be sorry some day, if you do; for the less
said, the less there is to retract."

Marie arose. "I'm not going to take anything back," she answered with
forceful anger. "I thought you loved me, but--I--have been mistaken. I
shall not annoy you longer. Good night."

He arose to follow her. "You need not come with me," she added. "I
shall see Selma, and she will accompany me home--not you."

"Very well, Marie."

She turned at the door. "Will you not promise?"

"Promise what?"

"Not to do as you said--not to disgrace--"

"Marie, where the light shines, I must follow; where the truth beckons,
I must go. I--"

With a low cry the girl turned and fled from the room.

XIII.

"The Lord alone did lead him."--_Deut. 32:12_.

One beautiful summer evening, Henrik Bogstad was baptized in the waters
of the Christiania fjord. After that, the truths of the gospel appeared
clearer than ever, and still whisperings of the Spirit, to which he now
had legal right, testified to his spirit that he was in the way of
salvation, narrow and straight perhaps, but glowing with a light that
comforted and cheered.

He told none of his family or friends of his baptism. They had already
rejected him as far as they could, and they asked him no questions. His
sister would hardly speak to him, and Marie cut him openly. His many
uncles, aunts, and cousins were cold and unfeeling. His mother, though
feeble, and sinking slowly, was the only one of his family that he could
talk to. She seemed to understand and believe him. He felt that in
spirit they were one, and he received great comfort from the thought.

About Midsummer the mother died. Then Henrik spent most of his time at
Nordal. There was peace in the solitude of the pine-clad hills, there
was comfort in the waving fields of grain and the clear-flowing streams.
The lake spread out to his view from his window, and he gazed at its
beauty, sometimes his mind wandering from the Dahl home on the island
westward to unknown America. And America had a new meaning for him now.
Before, it had been simply a new wonder-land, with untold possibilities
in a material way; but added to this there was now the fact that in
America the Latter-day Zion was to be built; there the people of God
were gathering, were building temples, preparatory to the glorious
coming of the Lord.

Henrik soon caught the spirit of gathering, but he quenched it as much
as possible. His brethren in the gospel advised him to remain where he
was and do his full duty to his sister and their interests. This he
tried to do. He would not quarrel with Selma, but was exceedingly
patient and considerate. He would "talk religion" with any of his
friends who expressed a desire to do so, but he would not contend.

Henrik mingled more freely with his tenants at Nordal, and they soon
became aware of a change in him. He gave them good treatment. Sometimes,
there were Sunday services in the large parlor of the Bogstad residence,
and the people were invited to attend. They turned out, it must be
admitted, more because of Hr. Bogstad's invitation than because of any
enthusiasm on their part.

Henrik, during this period of comparative loneliness, read much. He
always carried a book in his pocket when out among the hills and fields,
and many a moss-covered stone became his reading table. He had procured
a number of English books which he delighted in, for they brought to him
much that had not yet been printed in his own language.

After the harvesting was over that summer, Henrik directed his attention
to another line of work, pointed out to him by the New Light. He
gathered the genealogy of his forefathers. His was a large family, and
when he searched the old church records at Nordal, at Christiania, and
at a number of other places he found that the family was an old and
prominent one, reaching back to the ancient Norsemen. He derived a
peculiar satisfaction in this work, and he extended his researches until
he had a large list of names on his mother's side as well as on his
father's. "Among these there are many noble and true," thought Henrik.
"Many will receive the gospel in the spirit world, and all will have the
opportunity. I shall have the necessary earthly work done for them. If
my labors for the living will not avail, my dead ancestors shall have
their chance. Who knows but even now the gospel is being preached to
them, and many of them are looking eagerly for someone to do their work
for them." The thought filled him with enthusiasm.

The following spring Selma married, which left Henrik quite alone. He
met Marie at the wedding festivities. She was silent and quiet. He made
no strong efforts to win her back to him, so they drifted apart again.
Then Henrik arranged his affairs so that he could remain away for some
months. He said he was going to America to visit his uncles in
Minnesota,--and yes, very likely he would go farther west. His friends
shook their heads misgivingly, but he only smiled at their fears.

Henrik sailed from Christiania in company with a party of his
fellow-believers, and in due uneventful time, landed in the New World.
He found America a wonderfully big and interesting country. He went
directly westward first, crossing the great plains and rugged mountains
to the valleys beyond. Here he found and visited many of his former
friends. He lived with the Latter-day Saints in their homes, and learned
to know their true character and worth.

Then he saw the temples in which the Saints were doing a saving work
both for the living and the dead. While in conversation with some of the
temple workers, he told them of what he had in the way of genealogy,
which they commended highly, telling him that he had an opportunity to
do much good for his family.

"I am glad to hear you say that," replied he, "for you know, this work
for the dead was what first impressed me in the gospel. It came to me
naturally, it seems, for I had no trouble in accepting it."

Henrik learned much regarding the manner of procedure in this temple
work. He could do the work for the male members of his family, but a
woman must officiate for the female members. This was the true order,
he found.

"Your sister or your wife or any other near relative would be the person
to help you in this," said his informant.

Henrik shook his head. "I am the only member of the family that has
received the gospel," he replied.

"Then, of course, any other sister in the faith will do; but the
blessings for doing this work belongs to the nearest kin, if they will
receive it. Have you no relatives in America?"

"Yes; a lot of them are up in Minnesota, but none that I know are
Latter-day Saints--but I'll go and find out," he added as an
afterthought.

And that is what Henrik did. Within a month he was on his way. He found
his Uncle Ole living not far from St. Paul. He was a prosperous farmer
with a family of grown-up sons and daughters who were pleased to see
their kinsman from the homeland. All the news from all the family had to
be told from both sides. Henrik was shown the big farm with its
up-to-date American machinery and methods. He was driven behind blooded
horses to the city and there introduced to many people. They knew that
Henrik was a person of some importance back in Norway, and they wanted
to show him that they also were "somebody." That seemed to be the
principle upon which they lived. The father and mother still belonged to
the Lutheran church. The three daughters had joined a Methodist
congregation because their "set" was there. The two boys attended no
church.

Henrik was disappointed. He saw plainly that here was no help for him.
All these were entrapped by the world. At first, Henrik said nothing
about his own religious faith, but after a time he spoke of the subject
to one of his girl cousins. She was not the least interested. He tried
another with the same result. Then, one day at the table, he told them
all plainly what he believed and what he was called. They were merely
surprised. "That's all right," said his cousin Jack who voiced the
universal opinion, "we live in a free country, you know, where one's
religion isn't called into question."

Henrik's other uncle lived in the city. He was a mechanic, having worked
for years in the railroad shops. Some months previous he had been
discharged, and since then he had operated a small "tinker" shop of his
own. Uncle Jens lived in a small rented house. Uncle Ole's visits to his
brother were far between. "Brother Jens is shiftless," Uncle Ole said.

Henrik was, however, made welcome in the humble home, and he soon found
the family a most interesting one. His uncle was a religious man,
having, as he put it, "got religion" some years ago at a Baptist
revival. He had joined that church and was an active member in it. The
wife and some of the children were devout believers. They indulged in
long family prayers and much scriptural reading. This branch of the
Bogstad family called the wealthy farmer and his children a "godless
lot."

Uncle Jens' oldest daughter, one about Henrik's own age, did not live
at home, therefore he did not see her. He was getting well acquainted
with the others, but Rachel he did not know.

"I must meet Rachel, too," he said one day to his uncle. "Where can I
find her?"

"She works in a down-town department store; at night she stays with some
friends of hers. The fact is that Rachel is peculiar. She is not one
with us. She has been led astray--"

"Oh!" cried Henrik.

"She is not a bad girl--no, no; but she has been led away into a false
religion, and as she will talk and argue with us all, I thought it best
that she stay away from our home until she comes to her senses; but--"

"What is this religion that has caused her to err so badly?"

"Why, she calls herself a Latter-day Saint."

"What!"

"Yes; I've tried to reason with the girl, but it's been no use."

"I want to see her--now, today," said Henrik. "Give me her address."

"Shall I go with you?"

"No, I can find her,--you need not bother."

Henrik obtained the proper directions, and set out immediately. Was
there then one other of his family that had received the gospel--one
that could help him? He boarded a car, getting off at the store. Going
to the department in which she worked, he asked the floor-walker where
he could find Miss Bogstad. Then he saw her behind a counter, resting
for a moment, unoccupied. Though she was an American, Henrik could see
the Norwegian traits in his fair cousin. She was of the dark type, with
round, rosy lips and cheeks, and heavy, brown hair.

"I am your cousin Henrik from Norway," he said as he shook her hand.

Her smile burst into a soft, merry laugh as she greeted him. "I am glad
to see you," she said. "I heard you were here, but thought perhaps I
might not get to meet you."

He held her hand a long time, as he looked into the pretty, sweet face.
Had he been an American, he would, no doubt, have kissed her then and
there; but being a Norwegian, he only looked his wonder and pleasure.

They could not talk much because customers had to be served; but Henrik
lingered until closing time, saying he would walk home with her that
they might talk. She expressed her pleasure at the proposition; and
promptly at the closing gong, she donned her wraps and joined him. The
day was warm, and he suggested a walk around by the park, where they
might sit down on a bench under the trees.

It was a difficult matter for seriously minded Uncle Jens and his family
to laugh, and even a smile was seldom seen on their faces; but here was
one who seemed bubbling over with merriment--one whose countenance shone
as if from an inner light of happiness.

"Rachel," said Henrik, "your father has told me about you."

"Yes," she replied with sobering face, "they think I am a very bad
girl,--but--"

"Look here cousin, don't make any apologies. I know, and understand."

He asked her some questions about herself, all of which she answered
frankly. Then he told her about himself, which she first met with an
astonished stare. He narrated his experiences in Norway, of his trip
westward, and the real purpose of his coming to Minnesota. She heard his
story with alternating smiles and tears, as it touched her heart. They
sat thus for a long time, oblivious to the singing birds above, of the
curious passers-by, or the fast falling night. They walked home in the
lighted streets, and it was late when he bade her goodnight at the gate.

The next day Henrik had a talk with Uncle Jens which ended in the
uncle's closing with a bang the open Bible on the table out of which
they had been reading, and then in uncontrolled rage ordering his nephew
out of the house. Henrik tried to make peace with his uncle, but it
proved useless, so he took his hat and left.

Henrik met Rachel again that evening, and again they sat on the bench
under the trees. Once again they became lost to all outward disturbances
in the deep concerns which brooded in their hearts and found utterance
in their speech.

"I shall remain here a few days more," said he in conclusion, "because I
want to get better acquainted with you; and then we must talk over our
plans further. Then I shall go back to Norway. In a few months I shall
come back, and we two shall go westward where the Temples are, and there
begin the work that is ours--the work that the Lord has called us to do.
What do you say to that?"

"Thank you," she replied simply, and with her usual smile; "I shall be
ready."

XIV.

"Rend your heart and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord your
God: for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great
kindness."--_Joel 2:13._

On Henrik's arrival in Norway, the harvesting was in full swing, and he
busied himself with that. His friends, some of whom were surprised at
his return, asked him what he had found in America, and he told them
freely. Had he discovered the delusion in his American religion? No, he
replied, his faith had been made stronger. Selma had relented somewhat,
she making him welcome at her home in Christiania. Here he also met
Marie. Henrik treated her as a friend with whom he had never had
differences. When she saw him back again, browned and hardy, but the
same gentle Henrik, Marie wondered, and by that wonder her resentment
was modified, and she listened to his accounts of America and his
relatives in Minnesota with much interest. As he spoke with an added
enthusiasm of his cousin Rachel, the listeners opened their ears and
eyes. He told them freely of his plans, and what he and Rachel were
going to do.

"Yes," he said, "I can see the hand of the Lord in my finding
Rachel."--Marie had her doubts, but she said nothing.--"It is all so
wonderful to me, and I am only sorry that you folks can't see it!" But
they replied nothing.

Henrik wrote often to Rachel, and the letters which he received in reply
he usually handed to Selma, and Marie, if she was present. They
pronounced them fine letters. "She must be a jolly girl," they said.

"She is," he affirmed; "the most religious and yet the merriest girl I
have ever met. That seems a contradiction, but it isn't." Then he went
on explaining, and they could not help listening. Henrik studied the two
young women to see what impression he might be making. On Selma there
was very little, but he believed Marie was overcoming some of her
prejudice. Selma told him that Marie loved him as much as ever, and that
if he deserted her, it would break her heart.

"But Selma," he exclaimed, "I have never deserted her. It was she who
broke the engagement."

"How could she do otherwise;--but she has been waiting, and will still
wait in hope."

"I, too, shall do that," he said.

* * * * *

That fall Henrik again sailed for America. Going westward by way of
Minnesota, he called for Rachel and took her with him. In one of the
Temple cities they found lodgings with some of his friends, and then
they entered upon their work for their ancestors. Henrik had a long list
of them, and so they were kept busy nearly all the winter. At the end
of three months, Henrik asked Rachel if she was tired and wanted a rest.

"Oh, no," she said; "I believe I can do this work all my life. It isn't
always easy, but there is so much joy and peace in it. I believe the
angels are with us, and I don't want better company."

And so these two were very much contented. They sent letters home
telling of the "glorious" time they were having, and the work they were
doing. At the opening of spring, Henrik left Rachel to continue the
work, he having to go back to Norway. He asked her if she desired to
return to her folks in Minnesota, but she said no, not yet.

The early spring months found Henrik in Christiania. He made a trip to
Denmark on genealogical research which proved quite successful. The
first of June found him back to Nordal.

Midsummer Night came clear and cool. Henrik was in Christiania, and was
to be one of a party to spend the night on the hills above the city.
Marie was not with them, and Henrik enquired the reason.

"She is ill," said Selma.

"Ill? Where is she?"

"At home. I think you should go and see her."

"Does she want me?"

"Yes."

Henrik excused himself from the party and went immediately to Marie. He
found her on the veranda, reclining on a couch. The lamp-light from an
open window fell on a pale face, startling in its changed expression. He
silently took her hand, her fingers tightening in his grasp. She looked
him steadily in the face, her swimming eyes not wavering. Then Henrik
knew that he loved this girl yet. For a long time he had tried to forget
her, tried to root out his love for her, tried to think that she was not
for him. "I'll not try again," he had thought, "for twice now have I
been disappointed;" but now a flood of compassionate love engulfed him,
and he, too, clung to the fingers in his grasp.

"I am sorry to see you like this," he said, "what is the matter?"

"I don't know."

"Doesn't the doctor know?"

She shook her head with a faint smile. "Sit down, Henrik, I want to talk
to you," she said.

He took the low chair by her side. The mother looked at them from the
door-way, but did not come out.

"I want you to forgive me," she said.

"That has been done long ago."

"Thank you--now listen. I have been wrong, wickedly wrong, it seems to
me--listen! I have not been honest, neither with you, nor myself, nor
with the Lord--which is the worst of all. I understood much that you
taught me of the restored gospel--It seemed so easy to my understanding;
but my pride was in the way, and I would not accept the light. I pushed
it away. I kept saying to myself, 'It isn't true,' when I knew all the
time that it was. That's the sin I have committed."

"My dear--"

"You remember that book you asked me to read? Well, I read it through,
though I led you to believe that I did not. It is a beautiful book, and
true, every word. * * * Perhaps you will not believe me when I tell you
that I have been a number of times to your meetings in Osterhausgade.
Once when you were there--I thought you would see me," she smiled. "And
I could find no faults, though at first I went looking for them * * *
Now, I've told you. You have forgiven me, you say; but will the Lord?"

"Yes; the Lord is good."

"When I get better--if I do--I am going to join the Church as you have
done. That is the right thing to do, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"And then, may I go to where you and your cousin Rachel are working for
the dead? When--when are you to be married?"

"Married? To whom?"

"Why, to your cousin Rachel. Are you not going to marry her?"

"Certainly not--never thought of it for a moment."

"Oh, dear, I must have made another mistake. Forgive me." She lay back
on her cushions.

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