Chapter XII

"Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he
cannot be my disciple."--_Luke 14:33._

"I cannot understand him," Frue Bogstad was saying. "His actions are so strange."

"It's simply wicked of him," added Froken Selma Bogstad. "He is bringing the whole family into disrepute."

The mother did not reply, but turned her face thoughtfully away from the angry daughter.

"The boy is completely carried away with this American religion," continued the girl, pacing nervously back and forth in the room. "Pastor Tonset called to see him the other day, and you ought to have heard them! The pastor, as our friend, came to advise him; but do you think Henrik would take any advice? Why, he even argued with the pastor, saying that he could prove the truth of this religion from the Scriptures."

"Has he talked to you about it?"

"Yes; and he wanted me to accompany him to Osterhausgaden where these people hold meetings. I told him definitely and forcibly that I didn't want him to mention religion to me."

"He seems to be in such deep earnest."

"And that's the pity of it. It does no good to talk to him. He takes it for granted that he should be persecuted. I believe he is ready to give up everything for this creed that has him in its grasp."

A violent ringing of the bell brought Selma to the door. It was Henrik, who had forgotten his latch key. He hung up his hat, wiped the perspiration from his face, for it was a warm evening; then he said cheerily:

"Spring is coming; I feel it in the air. I'll be glad to get out to Nordal--there is so much to do this summer--"

"Young man," interrupted the sister, "we have been talking about you."

"About my wickedness, I suppose."

"About your foolishness. It isn't very pleasant for us--what you're doing."

"What am I doing? That which is unkind to you, mother?" He placed his arms lovingly around her shoulders, but she sat without replying, her face in her handkerchief. He turned to Selma.

"What have I done?" he asked. "Do I drink? Do I gamble? Do I steal? Do I lie? Do I profane? Do I treat any of you unkindly? Am I disrespectful to my mother or my sister?"

"You associate with a people known everywhere as the scum of the earth," snapped the sister, as she stood in front of him. "You are disgracing us--the whole Bogstad family--you--but what's the use of talking to you."

"Not a bit of use that way, dear sister. Suppose you answer some of my questions. You accuse, but never bring proof. You would rather believe uninformed people than me. You accept hearsay, but will not listen to the truth I wish to tell you. I have asked you to point out some of the bad things taught by the Latter-day Saints, but so far you have never tried. I have invited you to go with me--"

"Do you think I would thus disgrace myself to appear in their meetings!"

"You will not even read a simple tract; you close your eyes and ears. You push God from you when you say that He does not reveal Himself any more; and so does Pastor Tonset and all his followers. Because I am willing to receive light, even though it comes from a 'sect everywhere spoken against,' I am a bad man. I tell you, my sister, and also you, my mother, I may be looked upon as a disgrace to the Bogstad family, but the time will come when you and all that family will thank the Lord that one member of the family heard the truth, and had courage enough to accept it!"

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.