r of me."

"I should never have come like this, and disturbed you on your
wedding day, had I not been compelled to do so," said Gertrude. "I
shall soon be leaving this part of the world, never to return. I
was ready to start a week ago, when something came up that made it
necessary for me to put off going, that I might speak with you to-day."

Ingmar sat all huddled up, with his shoulders hunched and his head
drawn in, as if he were expecting a tempest, saying to himself,
meanwhile: "Whatever Gertrude may think about it, I'm sure I did
the right thing in choosing the farm. I should have been lost
without it."

"Ingmar," said Gertrude, blushing so that the little corner of her
cheek that could be seen behind the kerchief showed crimson. "You
remember, of course, that five years ago I was ready to join the
Hellgumists. At that time I had given my heart to Christ. But I
took it back, to give it to you. In so doing, I acted wrongly, and
that's why I've had to suffer all this. As I once forsook Christ,
even so have I been forsaken by the one I loved."

When Ingmar perceived that Gertrude was about to tell him that
she was going with the Hellgumists, he at once showed signs of
disapproval. "I can't bear to have her join these Jerusalem people,
and go away to a strange land," he thought. And he opposed her plan
as vehemently as he would have done had he still been engaged to
her. "You mustn't think like that, Gertrude," he protested. "God
never meant this as a punishment to you."

"No, no, Ingmar, not as a punishment, indeed not! but only to show
me how badly I had chosen the second time. Ah, this is no
punishment! I feel so happy, and lack for nothing. All my sorrow
has been turned into joy. You will understand this, Ingmar, when I
tell you that the Lord Himself has chosen me, and called me."

Ingmar was silent; a look of weariness came into his eyes. "Don't
be a fool!" he said to himself. "Let Gertrude go. To put sea and
land between you and her would be the best thing that could happen--
sea and land, yes, sea and land!"

And yet that something within him which did not want to let
Gertrude go was, nevertheless, stronger than himself. So he said:
"I can't conceive of your parents allowing you to leave them."

"That they'll never do!" Gertrude replied. "And I know it so well
that I wouldn't even dare ask them. Father would never give his
consent. He would use force, if necessary, to prevent my going. The
hard part