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.”