The Castle Builder. Part II, IX

THE CASTLE BUILDER.

BY NEPHI ANDERSON, AUTHOR OF "ADDED UPON," "MARCUS KINO MORMON," ETC.

IX.

A NEW CONVERT— INTERVIEW WITH MERCHANT BERNHARD. Some natures need to be patiently trained into a truth; others get it only by careful argument, and a fierce struggle with them- selves; others again grasp it at first sight. Einer Gundersen be- longed to the latter class. With him, to hear was to understand. The gospel message "pricked him to the heart." To understand was to obey. There was no struggle with him, no debating what to do with a great problem, no fears of what the world might say or do. The gospel came to him as something precious which he had known before, but had forgotten. Now that he had found it again, he decided not to let it pass lightly away. Elder Olsen and companion soon arrived at Opdal, and Einer Gundersen announced to the neighbors that a gospel meeting would be held in his house. He gave Pastor Ingman and the schoolmas- ter special invitations. The pastor declined, but the schoolmaster came. Holger and Jens attended, because their father had rather forcibly requested them to. Gundersen's wife was, at first, some- what nervous when she heard that two "Mormons" were to hold a meeting in her house, but she dared not object to her husband's plans. The arrival of the preachers reassured her somewhat. The afternoon before the first meeting, they both took off their coats and helped Harald gather the hay. They worked as if they had been in the hay field before. The father was delighted with them.

"Well, yes," said one of them, in reply to a question, "I put up one hundred and fifty tons of hay on my farm the summer be- fore leaving home. I ought to know something about hay." The little room was well filled that evening. The schoolmas- ter sat in one corner, by the side of the speakers, and the master of the house sat on the other side. He seemed to be in a quiet rapture all the evening. None of the others showed signs of any great interest. No one asked any questions when the opportunity was given at the close of the meeting. Thetimberman was great- ly astonished at this lack of enthusiasm. The next day the two elders, Harald, and his father, went down to the pond, and there Einer Gundersen received the ordi- nances of baptism and the laying on of hands for the reception of the Holy Ghost. " The advent of the "Mormons" created quite a stir in the

neighborhood, especially when it became known that both Harald and his father had become converts. Harald's dream of convert- ing all his relations and friends soon vanished, but he took great comfort in having his father with him. The boys seemed impene- trable. At last they would neither listen nor reason, so they were left alone.

But a force had entered the life of Einer Gundersen, a force that gave him power over the adversary of his soul. From the hour of his baptism to his death, Einer Gundersen did not once taste of intoxicating liquor. When the elders, who often visited him, told him that was not right to use tobacco, he at once it

threw away his pipe, and that was the end of it. In very deed he had been born again into another life. What little money he earned, he brought home to his wife. She could not see as he did, in the matter of religion, but she thanked God for the change in him. But Harald could not stay at Opdal. He must be doing some- thing more than dig in the garden and herd sheep. He thought of going to Bergen or to Christiania, where there were large branches of the Church, but as yet had not made up his mind. He also con- templated going to America, now that future prospects in Norway were small; but, to be plain, Thora Bernhard was yet somewhere

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in his native land; and, where there is life there is hope. He must, at least, learn something definite about her before he left. Towards the close of summer, he went down to Vangen, and from there he took steamer to Larvik. Everything was quiet around the Bernhard residence. The grass had been neglected, and certainly there had been no flower beds in the lawn that sum- mer. There was a deserted air about the house. He had visited the place once only, but then it had been in Thora's gentle care. A servant answered Harald's ring. Yes; Mr. Bernhard was at home. Harald was shown into a room where he waited a few moments. The merchant would see him, said the servant, and led the way into another room. He found the merchant an old man. His hair was white, and his hand trembled as Harald took it m his own. How lonely he appeared! Thora must still be away. What a pity, what a shame that he thus should be left alone ! Why was she not here to take care of her father? The old man peered at Harald from beneath his shaggy eye- brows, failing to recognize him at first. "And so you are Harald Einersen, are you? Sit down, sit down. Yes; I remember meeting you at Akerby. You had been teaching school, you said, but were then studying law. You are not a full-fledged lawyer yet —but you young fellows there's no — telling what you can do. Now, in my days, it took time to learn a trade or prepare for a profession, but now — well, well, and you are

Young Einersen!" The merchant evidently did not know of Harald's later history. "And now you're going home on a visit, I suppose." "I have been home for some time." "Then perhaps you're going back to Akerby. Well, I'm glad you called. You see, I'm pretty lonely at times, and lately I

haven't been able to be out at all." Harald explained that he was not going back to Akerby, just then. The merchant called the servant, and ordered coffee. "You're not in a great hurry, I know. Take off your coat, and stay the evening. I want someone to talk to." Harald's heart went out to the lonely old man.

—

"I shall be pleased to stay," he said. "Miss Bernhard is not yet at home, I presume." "No; Thora is not at home." The merchant went on with his rambling talk. Not another reference did he make to his daughter, and although Harald tried to lead the conversation around to her, it was avoided every time.

"Yes; I am getting old; and although I have made consider- able money in my time, I can't say that my life has been a success. What is a successful life? Is it to be able to die alone, deserted,

as I will die? I have money, but it cannot buy what I want. Young man, it's all right to make money, but be sure that in your old age you have something more than money in your treasury." Harald talked to the old man as one would talk to a sick or fretful child, and his words had the desired effect. The merchant soon ceased his own comments and, leaning contentedly back in his arm-chair, listened to the young man. Harald was surely in- spired to say what he did that evening. He thought of it after- wards, how he was able to remember his grandmother's teachings, harmonize them with the words of the "Mormon" elders and the scriptures, and make reference to thoughts that seemed to spring instantly into his mind. At any rate, his words had the effect of music to the old man's soul, and when he ceased and made ready to leave, the merchant clung to him, and begged him to stay. "I wish I had a son like you —excuse me, Einersen, but can't I

help it. My business is going to ruin. I have no one to look after

it." The tears were now rolling down the old man's face as he stood clinging to Harald and urging him not to go. "I'll stay as long as you wish," said Harald.

— "Then stay with me always there! you see I am childish — but I do want some one, I want you you can help me in the busi- ness, I can trust you. Thora always spoke well of you." The old man sank again into a chair. He covered his face with his hands as if in shame that a forbidden thought had entered his mind, a forbidden word had escaped his lips. Harald stood over him, until he saw the old man's form shake with emotion, then he drew a chair up to him and put his arm over the bowed shoulders. Harald himself could hardly speak, but he would try once more to learn something about Thora.

"

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"Tell me about Thora," he said. "Excuse me, but I must know. What is this mystery? Why is she not here to take care of you? Mr. Bernhard, you can trust me. I have loved your daughter ever since we were children. I love her yet. Tell me the truth about her, and if it is as awful as you seem to think, let my heart break with yours." The old man sobbed aloud, but said nothing. Harald, also, chocked. Wild conjectures ran through his brain. Was, then, Thora lost to him, too? She was not dead. Was her fate worse than death! "Mr. Bernhard, come, tell me, tell me — "Sh," said the merchant; and he arose. His face was pale and set. His emotions were again under control. "Sh! you must not mention her name in my hearing. am but a father and may re- I

lent. Listen — my daughter must not enter my door as long as I live. She would come tomorrow, did I but say the word, but my — door is barred against her! You must not ask why you must not mention her name—I will not talk of her —perhaps you would bet- ter go now. Come back tomorrow. I want to talk business with you. Good night!" Harald went out with the sweat of agony on his face. An icy hand seemed struggling to grasp his heart and stop its beating.

THE MYSTERY OF THORA.

Harald returned hurriedly to his lodgings, and retired, but sleep would not come, and, as he could not bear to lie thus all the night, he arose, dressed, and went out. He walked up the steep streets of Larvik, and over the hill to the beach-grove which, at this season of the year, was deserted. The falling leaves rustled

beneath his feet. The air was cold, so he kept moving, although

he felt tempted to lie down on a pile of leaves to gaze out on Faris Lake, which lay fair in the moonlight, at the foot of the hill. He could not rid his mind of its terrible thoughts about Thora. Thora, who had been his star of hope, during all these years; Thora, whose sweet face had looked at him from his study table. That

—

picture did not lie. Those eyes were 'windows through which he could see a soul, pure and sweet. Yet Thora could not now cross her father's threshold, and the old man in his loneliness would die rather than forgive her and take her back. The night deepened, and the wind arose causing the waters of the lake to dance in shining billows, yet he continued to tread the footpaths through the grove. His heart was heavy, and at times a stinging pain shot through it. If she had only died! The hope of making Thora his wife had vanished in the incense of the altar on which he had sacrificed his all for the gospel's sake. He had ceased thinking about her in that light, so it was not the thought that she was lost to him that caused him such agony it was another, an indefinite, yet awful fear. But he did not return to his home that night before laying his burden before God, and asking him for a blessing on Thora Bernhard. He was comforted in prayer, and went home to sleep until late that morning. Shortly after noon, Harald returned to the merchant's. "You are late," he said to Harald. "Why did you not come earlier? I have been waiting for you." "I overslept myself," was the reply. "Yes, I understand — understand now— am I I selfish — think I

only of myself." The old man held Harald's hand in his own. "You said last night that you would stay with me as long as I wanted you. That may be a long time, but are you still in that mind?" "If I can help you, I wish to do so. I have, at present, no en- gagements." "Then I engage you. State your salary. I must have some help if I keep up my business." So Harald agreed to stay with the merchant that winter, or until such a time as his services should not be needed. He thought such a time might come when his religious standing became known. However, there was no need of publicly proclaiming that he was a "Mormon." The merchant was in need of help which he could give, and if he could assist and comfort Thora's father, why should he not do so?

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He moved his few belongings to the Bernhard residence. The merchant insisted that he should live with him. If need be, he would put it in the contract, he said. The time not needed down at the little office in the warehouse, Harald should spend at the house, at least until such a time as the merchant would be able to get out again. The two men were drawn together by that congeniality of spirits which is often found in persons having similar tastes. Both were lovers of books, and the long evenings were spent in th« library in reading and talking. Social economy, politics, history, and religion, were all considered, and Harald could well keep up his end of the conversation on any of these topics. He himself was delighted when he discovered that his religious knowledge could be brought to bear, even as a great searchlight, on any of the arts and sciences, and illumine many a dark corner of doubt. The evenings were usually ended by the merchant leaning against his pillows listening in silence to the young man's talk. Harald saw his opportunity. The old man was of a religious nature, but dogmatic in the extreme. Set in his beliefs and opin- ions, it would be worse than useless to say anything against them; but he could slowly and quietly unfold to him the beauties of the gospel plan, he could show him the desirability of living in the newer and clearer light, and then, in time, the old man might see the undesirableness of the mists about him. He said not a word about "Mormonism," or the Latter-day Saints, or Joseph Smith, but he talked to him of "the gospel." He took him, in an easy, philosophical way, back to first principles. He discussed the why's and wherefore's of life. "We are living as it were between two eternities. This life

is but a meeting point of the past and the future. The past stretches out to an eternity; the future reaches into never ending time. Mortal birth is not the beginning of the soul's existence any more than death is its end. We are eternal beings. We are on the great highway of evolutionary progress. This life is but one of its stages. Our future course depends greatly on what we do here. One life leads naturally to another, as in school one course follows another. God is the great Schoolmaster. We are pupils. Sometimes the Master seems harsh, and we suffer. We complain

because we cannot see God's purposes. Who knows but that suf- fering is often a door into a higher department?" "Where did you learn to preach so well?" asked Mr. Bern- hard, one evening, after Harald had talked for half an hour without an interruption. "I think there is one more calling open to you, my young friend, if you wish to try it." He smiled at the old man, but did not answer him directly. "Well, I don't understand it," he continued. "Your talk is so wonderfully elevating, and although it doesn't always agree with what I have been taught to believe, I cannot find fault with it. It issimple, yet sublime; it is deep, yet free from mystery; it is solemnity itself, yet full of light as a summer's day." "Thank you," said Harald, "I am glad to hear you say that." And the young man knew his words were having their effect. It might be very slight, but a continued play of warm sunshine will eventually melt the largest iceberg. The merchant was certainly improving in spirits and in health. On warm afternoons, he would venture out for short walks, leaning on the young man's arm. He became much more cheerful, also; and, once or twice, he mentioned Thora's name without any display of ill feeling. Harald, however, never asked him for further informa- tion regarding her. Not that Harald had ceased to think of her. No; she was in his thoughts more than ever, since he had received an assurance that Thora's condition was not the awful one he had at first thought. Just as soon as the business could be safely left, and the merchant himself was a little stronger, Harald intended to discover the whole truth. He was continually on the watch to learn some- thing of her, but strangely enough she was as if dead to all whom he could approach. He watched the mails closely for any letter from her, but there was none. Thus winter came on, and the ice filled Larvik fjord, stopping the shipping, for a time. There was little to do, and Merchant Bernhard was well enough to attend to business a short time each day. Thora was in Christiania. He had learned that much. He would now take a run to the capital by the train. He could stand the uncertainty no longer. The day before the planned departure, he received a letter,

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addressed to him in a familiar handwriting. Was the silence to be broken at last? Did it bring good news or bad? Yes, the letter was from Thora. It began:

Dear Friend Harald: I have just learned that you are staying with my father, and I make

bold to write you about him. Is he still in health? — I will not say good

— health but is he able to be about and attend to his business? I have not heard from him for some months, and am anxious to know. Kindly send me a line in answer. Respectfully, your friend, Thora Bernhard.

He read the short letter over and over. Not a word of greet- ing for him, not an indication of how she felt, only of solicitude for her father. She gave her address —street and number, and he re- joiced that it was in a respectable part of the city. He delayed his trip for a few days. To answer the letter was a task, and it was not until he had written half a dozen that he got one to suit. In it, he told her of her father's condition, how he was improving in spirits and health, and how he, Harald, was doing all in his power to help him.

"Your letter was exceedingly meagre in news about yourself," he wrote. "Will you please answer this letter and tell me how you are getting along. I should very much like to know. Believe me, I am your father's friend, and yours, I hope. Let me help you both." That was as far as he dared to go, though he longed to' pour out his soul to her. That, he hoped, would bring an answer which would give another opportunity. In a few days, the reply came:

You say that you are father's friend, and hope you are mine. I thank you sincerely for your kindness to father, and I pray that God will bless you out of the abundance of his riches. I do not know what father has told you about me, but I conclude from your letter that he has said very little, and you, no doubt, have wondered why I am not at home taking care of my aged parent, being a comfort to him in his old age; but I may tell you that the sweetest words I could receive would be these from him: 'Come home, daughter.'

—

I am wondering now what brought you to Larvik. The last I

heard of you you were Headmaster of the West Akerby School. Now you are at our Larvik home, taking the place of an absent child; you are enjoying the confidence of Merchant Bernhard. I envy you, I am jealous of you. But you asked for tidings of myself, as if I were anybody worthy of notice. No; I am 'one of the least.' I fear you would not be inter- ested in my doings during the last year. Previous to that time, I

roamed about the world a good deal, saw much of it, so much, in fact, that I wearied of it. About a year ago, I left the world I hope the — death of the body will not be harder than that of leaving the world was yes; truly and verily, I separated from all that was near and dear in this world; yes, even my only near relative, my father. You, I am sure, will not care to know anything [ of one in such a state as I, you will not wish anything to do with her. Do I speak in parables? Well, if I do, it is because of my weakness in not wishing to lose one friend — more one who says he is pleased to call me his friend. Oh, dear friend, if you only knew! I wonder if it would make a difference in you? But are you different to humankind? I am only asking you you may — answer, if you like. Now I shall not tell "you more. If you wish to know if you wish — to know why I am an outcast from my father's house, ask me in your next letter, and I shall tell you, but I warn you fairly, for the knowl- edge may make you hate me forever.

The mystery deepened to Harald. The letter with its vague suggestions was a puzzle; yet his heart went out to the writer, be- cause he read the depth of feeling between every line. He delayed not in asking Thora for the whole truth. It was a week before the answering letter came. It was as

bulky as a manuscript. He kept it until the evening, when he was alone in his room. He was in no hurry to open it. It lay on the table while he tried to glance at the paper. He put more coal in the stove, as if the task of reading it would be long and burden- some; but at last, when there was nothing else to be done, he almost feared to open it. Was it his sentence, his banishment to the land of despair? He had never before showed such signs of nervousness. At last, he began to read. Sheet after sheet was hurriedly icanned, then he read more slowly, until he spent fully five minutes

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on the last sheet. The reason was, perhaps, that his eyes were dimmed with tears. He went to the library door and knocked. No one answered. He went in, but the servant appeared and told him the merchant had gone to bed. Going back to his own room through the parlor, he noticed a picture hanging with the glass to the wall. "How careless the servant is," thought he, as he went up to the picture and turned it around. It was a portrait of Thora. Harald under- stood, but he left it hanging in its proper position. The next morning he could not wait for breakfast to be an- nounced, so went out for a walk until he should be wanted. After breakfast, instead of going to the office as usual, he told the mer- chant that he wished to'' speak with him in the library. Harald had eaten very little, and had acted oddly, all of which the mer- chant noticed. "Sit down, Harald," said Mr. Bernhard. "Don't stand up like that." "No; I'll just stand here. I can't sit this morning." "What's the matter with you?" "I must give you my resignation," said Harald with an effort to be calm. "I cannot work for you longer." "Do you want more wages? I gave you what you asked, and will increase it if you say so now; but I can't listen to your leaving

me. What would I do?" "But I have been unfair to you, Mr. Bernhard. I am a usurper here. You do not know the whole truth regarding me. What Thora Bernhard should have enjoyed, as your child, I have re- ceived." "What do you mean?" "Yesterday, I received a long letter from your daughter, Thora, wherein she told me her whole story." "What! that she had become a 'Mormon?'" "Yes." "Well, and why should that make you desert me. Oh, God,

my boy, it is bad enough as it is, but don't you desert me, too." The old man arose and leaned heavily on the table in front of him. I couldn't help the disgrace of having such a child. I did

all I could to prevent it."

" "

"And this is why you have disowned your child!" "Yes; is it not enough?" Harald's face was pale, and the corners of his mouth twitched painfully. "Then I have no right to your esteem!" "I don't understand." "I, too, am a 'Mormon.' The old man looked fixedly at Harald, as if he did not hear. Then he sank down into his chair. "You, you, too, a 'Mormon!'" he gasped. "What does it all mean?" "It means, Mr. Bernhard, that I, too, am one of those despised people called 'Mormons.' I am in your eyes no better than your daughter. Nay, she, brave, honest soul, is yet far above me. What I have suffered cannot compare with what she has endured. Oh, but I thought she had become something fallen and low —God for- give me for the thought —but now, I cannot praise God enough." The old man was now quite strong, and it did not take him long to rally from the blow. "You are a 'Mormon,' Mr. Einersen, and not ashamed of it?" "Not ashamed, but truly grateful." "Why did you not tell me of this before? Why should I treat you as a son, I who have made my daughter an outcast and you — are no better than she." "Nay, not so good." "I have treated you as a son, and this is my reward! I have listened to your fine discourses. You, no doubt, thought to make a 'Mormon' out of me also." "In our talks, Mr. Bernhard, have I ever told you anything debasing? Have I ever advanced any doctrine that has not been according to scripture, and elevating in its nature?" "That was not 'Mormonism.' "My dear friend, I have told you nothing but 'Mormonism,' pure and simple. Under any other name, you say it is true, it is beautiful. The change of name cannot change the nature of the doctrine." "I will not argue with you! You would better go."

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"Yes; I am going; but I am going to Christiania after Thora Bernhard." "Yes; go to her. I do not care." "But I am going to bring her to Larvik. I am going to bring her to her father." "Not to me!" "Yes; to you, Merchant Bernhard, you must not object. Have I not shown you by my actions what a 'Mormon' can be to you yet even I cannot do you the good that your daughter can. Oh, you do not know what you are missing." Harald's firmness had its effect on the old man. "I know what religious prejudice is," continued Harald. "I know that the hate engendered by that prejudice is stronger than anything else. I know that all crimes have been forgiven but the crime of heresy. I know also that fathers have burned their daughters at the stake, because they were firm in what they be- lieved to be the truth. I know 'Mormonism' to be the truth. Your daughter also knows it, and you should honor her the more for her fearlessness, in accepting an unpopular religion in the face of such odds." "Harald, be kind," the old man nearly sobbed, "I know not my own mind. Leave me. Talk no more to me. I must have time to

reflect." "1 will go. This afternoon, I will take the train for Chris- tiania. back to you a daughter as precious and as I will bring

pure as gold refined seven times through the furnace." But the old man bowed his face into his hands in silence. (To be continued.)