"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.
"Marie, when I get married, it's you I want for my wife. I have told you
that before, and I haven't changed my mind. You shall be mine, if you
will come back to the sweet days of long ago. Will you?"
He leaned over the couch, and she drew his face to hers. "Yes," she
whispered.
At the end of an hour's conversation wherein much had been said, Marie
asked: "May I go with you to the temple and there help you in the work
you are doing? I believe I could help a little."
It was at that moment that the curtain lifted from the eyes of the
mortal, and Henrik saw for an instant into the pre-existent world. A
group of spiritual beings was eagerly engaged in conversation, and from
out that group he heard the voice of one answering Marie's question.
"Yes; I think so; but we shall see."