“Young man, I thank you for your open manner and speech, but I beseech of you not to encourage any deeper feeling towards my daughter.  She can never marry.  She lives, as it were, on the brink of the grave.  Now, I have been plain also with you.”

“I appreciate it, sir; believe me; I am profoundly sorry for her and for you; but, let me say this, seeing we are speaking plainly, if I loved your daughter, and we all knew she would die tomorrow, or next month, that knowledge would make only this difference, that my love would become all the holier.  If she returned that love, we would be happy in knowing that in the life beyond we would go on and bring that love to a perfect consummation.”

The minister looked closely again at the young man.  Then, giving voice to his thoughts, asked:  “Have you studied for the ministry?  Are you now a ‘Mormon’ missionary?”

“I am not an authorized ‘Mormon’ missionary.  My studying has been no more than is expected of every ‘Mormon.’  Every member of our Church is supposed to be able to give a reason for the hope that is within him,—­and I think I can do that.”

“Do you live in Utah?”

“No, sir; my home is in Chicago.”

“Chicago!—­well, I—­are there ‘Mormons’ in Chicago?”

“A few, as I suppose there are a few in Kansas City.  I joined the ‘Mormon’ Church in Chicago, but I was converted in Utah.”

“You have been to Utah, then?”

“O, yes; I spent some time there and got very well acquainted with the people; and they are a good people, I tell you, sir.  I know—­”

“Yes, well, Mr.——­, Lucy did tell me your name, but I have forgotten it.”

“My name is Lawrence—­Chester Lawrence.”

The minister had arisen as if about to go, but he now sat down again.  Chester did not understand the strange twitching of the minister’s lips or the pallor of his face.  What had he said or done to agitate the man so much?

“Chester Lawrence!” repeated Mr. Strong under his breath.

“You have never met me before, have you?  Perhaps—­”

“No; I have never met you before.  No, no; of course not.  There was just something come over me.  I’m not very well, and I suppose I—­”

He stopped, as if he lacked words.

“May I get you anything, a drink of water?” suggested Chester.

“No, no; it was nothing.  Sit down again”—­for Chester also had arisen—­“and tell me some more about yourself.  I am interested.”

“Well, my life has been very uneventful, and yet in a way, I have lived.  As a boy in Chicago, I suppose, my young days passed as others; but it was when I went out west and met the ‘Mormons’ that things happened to me.”

“Yes, yes.”

“I don’t mean that I had any adventures or narrow escapes in a physical way.  I lived in the mountains as a miner for a time, but there are no wild animals or Indians there now, so my adventures were those of the spirit, if I may use that expression,—­and of the heart.  Isn’t that your daughter coming this way?”