nted. 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,