--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Cummings, D. W. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 17 number: 1 published: 1913-11 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Cummings, D. W., "A Question of Conversion," *Improvement Era* 17, no. 1 (November 1913): 16–31.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1701unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera1701unse start_page: 16 end_page: 31 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1913-11) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1701unse publication_year: 1913 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1913, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # A Question of Conversion A Question of Conversion BY D. W. CUMMINGS Jean Lemaire had suspected for some time that the visits of a certain American at the Rochelle home in the outskirts of Bordeaux were becoming- significantly frequent and regular, and he was discussing the matter with Marie Rochelle rather warmly. "How long has he been coming here — this American ?" "About once a week, for the past three or four months." Lemaire scowled. Marie, seeing the scowl, was displeased. "Why do you frown that way?" she demanded, sharply. "Because I don't like what you tell me — that this man comes here so often. And that, because I don't like him." "Why not?" He flushed, and then replied hesitantly, as one who is con- fessing a weakness*: "Because — because I don't understand him." "You mean—?" "I am a thinker. I let my reason govern me in everything, in so far as a human being can, uninfluenced by my emotions. I have read this man's tracts and find them — trash. And yet," scowling still deeper, "I don't throw them away. And I am drawn to listen to him, not because my reason justifies me, but because — because of his personality, I suppose. I don't understand it!" She listened to him intently, as though comparing his with some past thoughts of her own, and finding them similar. Pres- ently she said : "Perhaps it isn't his personality." "What might it be, then?" he asked, curiously. "The Spirit of God," she replied, calmly. "Bah!" "I don't say it is," she returned, "I merely say it might be. Have you discussed his tracts with him?" "No!" he scornfully replied. "You don't think them — worth while ?" "No, because there is so little in them that is new. His is evidently one of those ritualistic and materialistic religions, with a fixed creed and prescribed ordinances. They are as old as Chris- tendom itself, and are all fundamentally alike." "I did not see much in his tracts, either — till he began to explain them. And then — " "You don't men to say that you are seriously considering this A QUESTION OF CONVERSION 17 man's doctrines?" he demanded in amazement, and with some heat. "Yes \" He jumped to his feet in a fury, but she stopped him with a gesture. "Listen ! I know your attitude toward religion, for it has often hurt me. You, with your Free Thought, have always merely tolerated my being a Catholic. But I loved my religion. It gave me hope and courage. I found it beautiful — oh, so beau- tiful !" she added, wistfully. "Our splendid churches, the mystery and grandeur of the mass, the loving trustfulness of our belief in the Virgin, the consolation of the confession, all, it was all so beautiful, and I loved it. "Then this man came along. His face told me that I could trust him, and I did. He began to discuss .religion with me. I consented, for I had no fear that he could shake my faith, and I was curious. But I never realized for a moment what it was going to lead to. If I had I — I don't believe I. would have had courage to undertake it!" "To what has it led?" he asked, tensely. In her eyes was a great fear, as she replied in a low voice: "To reasoning for myself upon religion. I have actually be- gun to wonder whether, after all, Catholicism be true!" "This has gone too far! As you say, I have and will tolerate vour being a Catholic, but to consider seriously this other re- ligion is absurd ! You don't know what you are getting into !" "How are you going to stop it?" she asked, in a strangely hopeless tone. "You are too rational to reject the thing, now that it has interested you so much, unless it be proved false to you. That is what I propose to do!" Just then the door-bell rang. At the sound, Marie's eyes gleamed with excitement. She hurried toward the door, whis- pering- swiftly to Jean as she passed him: "You have your chance, this is he !" \s she opened the door, a rather tall voting man, evidently an American by his clean-shaved, eager features, and the cut of his clothes, entered briskly, chatting in rapid though incorrect French while taking off his overcoat. He turned to greet Jean, but seeing the queer look on his face, hesitated, smiling broadly. Presently he inquired : "Why on earth are you looking at me that way, M. Le- maire?" "Because — because — "stammered Jean. "Because he was talking about you, M. Faber, just as you rang," said Marie, with a flash of mischief. 18 IMPROVEMENT ERA The laugh that followed relieved the situation, and the or- dinary small talk began. Finally, Faber turned toward Lemaire and inquired : "Just what were you saying, M. Lemaire, as I entered?" "I was saying to madamoiselle that, while I found you very interesting personally, I thought your tracts rather — shall I say, ineffective?" The American, quite undisturbed either by the compliment or the criticism, smiled. "You found our religion somewhat materialistic, with a prim- itive insistance upon ritual and ordinances, did you not?" he asked, easily. The other two gasped. "Oh, you needn't be surprised. I am so familiar with Free Thought arguments against our religion, that I can nearly always anticipate them. In fact, they and the Catholic arguments are practically all we have to meet here in France." "You seem to fare pretty well with the Catholics — those that are not qualified to defend their faith," observed Lemaire, with a touch of sarcasm. "'My dear M. Lemaire, I would discuss religion with the Pope himself if I thought it would accomplish anything. I have even now an appointment here with Pere Lebrun, Marie's confessor." "Pere Lebrun coming here!" exclaimed Jean, turning amazed eyes of inquiry upon Marie. "Yes," said she, quietly. "M. Faber has consented to let me ask him certain questions before Pere Lebrun, and hear the ex- planation of both. That is Pere Lebrun now." At the sound of the bell the two men looked expectantly at the door. Marie opened it quickly, and admitted her confessor. He was a man past middle age, garbed in the conventional black robe and low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat of the French cure. His face was large, kindly and highly intellectual, his bear- ing dignified, almost to stateliness. He had the ruminative eyes of the scholar, saddened, evidently, by suffering! And yet they were strong eyes, that told you there lay behind them a strong mind. They were the eyes of a deep thinker, precise and firm in his convictions, yet tolerant of those which opposed them. They reflected, too, a profound piety, that was in no wise bigoted, and that had not changed one whit a natural kindliness and good humor. It was not at all surprising that Marie should greet him with glad affection. "Nous void, mon pere!" she cried. And then she added, with a noticeable constraint: "We're waiting for you." He looked about him in surprise. "You did not tell me there would be others." A QUESTION OF CONVERSION 19 "No, because — because I was a little, little bit afraid you would not come, if I did. But I, too, have had a surprise. I did not expect Jean. Although he is welcome," she added graciously. At her words the priest looked at Lemaire steadily. Just as steadily, the free-thinker returned his look. In their eyes was a subtle antagonism that both seemed to regret, and yet that neither could suppress. Suddenly, as though by a common impulse, they turned their gaze searchingly upon the American. For a moment no one spoke. In the silence, the two old an- tagonists were estimating the new and common foe ! "What a situation !" muttered Jean, admiringly, the French- man's love of the dramatic finally prevailing. His words snapped the tension, and the three hastily shifted their gaze. But in that moment something had happened ! There had been a psychic clash, significant of itself and grimly portentous of another and a greater conflict. Rome, Free Thought and "Mormonism" confronted one another in that little room, battling for the soul of that girl, just as in a few years in France, they will be fighting for the dominance of her people ! Yet the situation was strangely free of personal hostility. It was as if these three men, big-minded men all of them, real- ized that their present struggle was not one of individuals but of principles ; as if, too. the vaster portent of their immediate conflict weighed upon them, and rendered them sternly scrupulous. "Good-day, messieurs," said the kindly old priest. "This is a remarkable coincidence, but, nevertheless, a pleasure." The others murmured a courteous greeting, and then there succeeded a pause. It was broken by the priest, who said, with a touch of whimsical bluntness : "It is not difficult to surmise what is the subject of oui thoughts, ncst-ce pas?" The others started slightly, and there was a quick exchange of glances. Then Pere Lebrun composedly resumed, addressing Marie : "It was to discuss with M. Faber that you asked me here to- day, is it not so?" "Oui, mon pere.3' The priest stood a moment, thinking deeply. Then he shook his head negatively two or three times, as he said to Marie : "You meant well, mon enfant, but you have made a mistake. I will exhort you. explain to you, counsel you, but I will not argue with you, or for you." "But mon pere — " began Marie, pleadingly. "Non, mon enfant," he stopped her, with gentle firmness, "I have been through all that, and I know. Religious discussion is a turmoil out of which nothing ever comes, and in which many a 20 IMPROVEMENT ERA soul's tranquility has been lost. Simple, unquestioning faith is all that saved me from infidelity, and it is all that will save you. Why will you not see this ? Why will you not come back to peace and security in the Mother Church?" "Because, mon pere} I must know for myself," she replied in a low voice. "But it is not necessary that you should know. These things, which you mentioned to me the other day, and which, no doubt, you wish to discuss with M. Faber, they are mysteries — " "The same old crusher!" burst out Jean, with true French impulsiveness. "I beg your pardon, mon pere, but that is what drove me out of the Catholic church." "And into what did it drive you?" said the priest, pointedly. "Into the life of Reason." "And into the death of Faith," rejoined the priest, solemnly. "You see, mon enfant?" Marie paled with distress at the priest's implied warning. Faber saw it, and came to her rescue. "Permit me to say. messieurs, that in what you have just said you have read the indictment of both your respective schools of thought. You," turning to Pere Lebrun, "would compel Marie to intellectual slavery. You would have her crush all original think- ing that leads to conclusions contrary to dogma, asserting that the fact that it does conflict with dogma is proof positive that her reasoning is false. "You, on the other hand, M. Lemaire, impatient of the limita- tions placed UDon faith by the Catholic church, have entirely elim- inated it as a factor in your life. But Marie cannot do that. Just as strong in her nature as the desire to know is the desire to be- lieve. Hers is a nature that demands faith in God and His infinite love and justice. Take away that assurance and you ruin her hap- piness." "That is true." murmured Marie. "That is what makes me afraid !" The American, as though warmed to his subject by her evident distress, continued even more earnestly : "You both leave her unsatisfied, as your systems have left thousands of others. Now let me ask you : Supposing for the moment that there is a divine plan of salvation here upon earth, in it, will not Reason nicely balance Faith? Will it not provide that the two shall be the prime factors in our development? The reply of 'Mormonism' is 'Yes.' Ours is a system built upon Faith justified by Reason." Jean looked a rather contemptuous incredulity, but said nothing. Pere Lebrun, too, was silent. He seemed to be resist- A QUESTION OF CONVERSION 21 ing a strong impulse to reply. Presently, however, the look of indecision disappeared, though his face remained grave. "I still adhere to my rule of life, monsieur. I shall not argue that point nor any other with you. Marie, mon enfant, one last time : Will you not return to where you were born and where you belong — in the arms of the Mother Church?" Marie was very pale. Her eyes pleaded his forgiveness, but the delicate firmness of her lips and jaw indicated an unalterable resolution. "Non, mon pere, I cannot. I must know." The old priest's face saddened, and he sighed deeply. But with a gentle kindliness he took her hand, and placing the other on her head, said softly, in the familiar French form : "Very well, mon enfant, follow thy way. If it become rough and disappointing thou knowest always where to find thy friend. And God will not let thy pure heart go far astray. After all," he said musingly, "who knows?" Then, turning to the men, he said, while preparing to leave : "You are doing a grave thing, but you are sincere. That sincerity will keep you from irreparable error. I differ from you now, but again I ask, who knows ? This life is very short and very dark. Will not God give us another chance after this life to get the perfect knowledge? It is not orthodox, but deep in my soul I feel he will. Good-day, messieurs !" And so he left them, sadly but with dignity, this fine old type of the Catholic priesthood. He was a Christian, imperfect per- haps, in his knowledge, but spotless in his integrity and charity. Modern Catholicism is producing many of his kind. Faber stood for a moment looking thoughtfully at the door as it closed upon Pere Lebrun. Then, turning to Marie, he said, regretfully: "I'm afraid, after all, that my visit has not been very fruitful." "It has at least brought me to one definite conclusion," re- joined she, determinedly. "And that is — " asked Lemaire. "To decide for myself in this matter. I shall rely on my own conscience and my prayers to God." "But you will at least hear what I have to say against the doctrines of M. Faber, will you not?" inquired Lemaire, anx- iously. "Of course. I do not mean to stop investigating. But I shall decide for myself, uninfluenced by sentiment." "That is just what I want you to do," said Lemaire in a re- lieved tone. "M. Faber will doubtless be glad to furnish us an opportunity to thresh out the matter thoroughly." "Indeed he will," replied Faber. 12 IMPROVEMENT ERA It did not take long to arrange a series of discussions to cover the fundamental principles of "Mormonism" at which Marie was to be present. Both men were eager, and an early date was set for the first discussion. When all had been agreed upon, the two began making preparations to leave. As he shook hands, Faber said to Marie : "There will be a new missionary here to assist me by the time we meet again. My period of lonesomeness is over." "I am glad for your sake. What is his name?" "Richard Bourne." "I like his name. Perhaps," she added with a smile, "it is because I can pronounce it. It is an omen that I shall like him, too." And then the two men said good-by and left. There is no intention of making any part of this narrative a censure of Richard Bourne. What he did demoralized mission- ary work in Bordeaux for months, almost wrecked a girl's life, and made of his honorable release a travesty, yet he may have been, not reprehensible, but only indiscreet. However that may be, it is not the purpose of this account to criticise, but merely to forestall in a measure, if possible, a repetition of the catas- trophe he precipitated. He had been a missionary some fourteen months when he arrived in Bordeaux, but he was still very plainly a country boy, a huge, timid, vacillating, rural boy. He had rosy cheeks, boyish eyes, and lips that pouted childishly at every intimation of gloom. Even his big frame did not serve to give him a manly appearance, for he carried it with drooping awkwardness. Yet he was clean and honest and had a smile that warmed the heart and made you like him. The romance that sprang up between him and Marie started the moment she saw that smile. He was very lonely and she sympathised. He told her about his home, and she listened — eagerly. He wrote to his folks about her, — he wrote to his folks about everything — they commented upon her, and he translated to her their comments. Sometimes she would read them herself, for she had studied enough Eng- lish to make out the meaning. He had sorely missed his sis- ter, who had always petted him considerably, and he now sought to replace her by Marie. He made her his confidant, just as his sister had always been. He told her his troubles — of which homesickness was the biggest, and of his plans, of which getting back home was the brightest. He told her, too, his ideals, little realizing that she was gradually forcing herself among them. Suddenly, he woke up to find her the center of them, the one A QUESTION OF CONVERSION 2j Big Ideal of his life. So, at least, he passionately assured him- self. Had he been utterly unlikeable, the almost sacred word "missionary" was enough to win a strong hold upon Marie. As it was, he was amiable, honest and, unlike the vast majority of her countrymen, morally clean. All that, and a missionary ! Why his love to her seemed like a gift from God, and with all the ardor of her Latin temperament, she returned it. Thus in her heart, along with her steadily increasing faith in "Mormonism," grew this pure love for Bourne. Yet never once did she consciously connect the two. Never did it occur to her that her baptism would remove the one great barrier between her and Richard. With an instinctive integrity of soul, she sought and studied Truth for Truth's sake, and she exacted a clear understanding before accepting it. The series of discussions with Jean were held as arranged, about once a week. Bourne was always present, but Faber did most of the talking. He had a clearer grasp of the subject, and much greater facility with the language. Lemaire contested the ground stubbornly, but he soon re- alized that he was losing. Week after week he studied the prob- lems raised in the discussions, only to have his opposition over- thrown by Faber's clear logic. And his sense of defeat came, not only from the "Mormon's" reasoning, but from the force of his simple, positive faith. Finally, one evening, he summed up the situation as follows : "I admit — I am forced to — that, from a rational point of view, your arguments are irresistible. The concreteness and evident truth of the Book of Mormon as an example of divine intervention is unassailable. Hence I am forced, logically, to believe in a Supreme Being, and in the authenticity of Joseph Smith's mission. From that, I must conclude that such organ- ization and ritual as he established must be essential to salva- tion, and I am reinforced in my conculsion by your very plausible explanation of their raison d'etre. Furthermore, your conception of the soul, its past history, present status, and future destiny, summed up in your doctrine of eternal progression, lends a beauty and a solidity to your religion that I cannot resist. "And yet you have made no emotional appeal to me. You talk in sylogisms as clear as Artistotle. I am vanquished by the arms that I chose myself. "And yet I am not satisfied. I cannot contemplate being a member of your Church with any great degree of pleasure. I do not understand why. Perhaps you can explain it to me." "Nothing easier in the world. I've converted your head but you absolutely will not give me a chance at your heart. Emotion 24 IMPROVEMENT ERA should not govern, it is true, but it should at least co-operate with reason. God's truth must touch your heart as well as satisfy your head, before you will have that conviction we call a testi- mony. My work with you is done. Prayer and faith must be the factors in your conversion now. I can try to help you culti- vate them, and that is all. But they will come," added Faber, with earnest conviction, "I know they will come." And they did, but it took sorrow to prepare the way. This conversation took place a week or so before Christmas. Marie had heard the discussion that had preceded it, as she had heard all the others. In fact, so absorbed had she been with her study of "Mormonism" — and a "Mormon" — that she had quite severed connection with her old religious associations. She had not been to a Catholic church for weeks. But now the holidays were approaching. The many fetes, and ceremonies, fostered by the Catholic church in connection with Christmas, were being heralded on every hand. All her life, the services at Christmas-tide had held for her a peculiar im- pressiveness, and she had always looked forward to them with awed anticipation. And now, as she observed everyone around her making preparations for them, a great uneasiness came over her. Had she done right in abandoning the religion in which she had been reared ? Was it possible that it was her blindness leading her astray? Then, too, the old love of the beautiful features of Catholicism seized her. If she left it, never again would she en- joy the mass, the confession, the worship in the big, splendid church. And her life-long friends, her old confessor, dear old Pere Lebrum ! all of them would shun her ! What, what was the right thing for her to do? Her distress of mind increased as Christmas day drew near, until she finally determined to test once for all the effect that a return to Catholicism would have upon her. She would attend the midnight mass in her old church, Christmas eve. She per- suaded her mother and sister, who likewise had become very friendly to the "Mormon" missionaries, to join her in inviting them and Jean to attend with her, and afterward to eat the "reveillon" at the Rochelle home. The "reveillon" is an elaborate repast, served in the early hours of Christmas morning. It is just as much enjoyed and as important as our Christmas dinner. The missionaries accepted, as did Lemaire. The party ar- rived at the church about eleven o'clock and found it almost filled. They were compelled to take seats very near the rear. Marie drew somewhat apart from the others, as though to be unobserved. She carried her prayer-book and rosary, and seemed unusually thoughtful, as she repeated the prayers to her- A QUESTION OF CONVERSION 25 self. This pensiveness gradually deepened into a purturbation that became almost positive distress. She was evidently strug- gling to attain some emotional effect that eluded her. It was as if the ceremony, heretofore so beautiful and impressive, now seemed strange, meaningless, disquieting. Why could she not harmonize herself with the spirit of it? Why did those Latin prayers, chanted in the sonorous tones of the priest, fail so utterly to strike a sympathetic chord in her heart? Her soul seemed iso- lated, foreign, lonely, in that vast throng. And yet, why should it? Was not this the church she had attended since childhood? Were not the people, many of them, life-long friends? Was not that her kindly priest, who had so sagaciously and lovingly guided her whole life? What change had the past few weeks wrought in her? It was with a sigh of relief that she heard the last of the prayers, and came forward with the rest to watch the communion. Her mother and sister partook, but she stayed with the mission- aries and Jean. She seemed impatient to leave. Her eyes wan- dered restlessly toward the door, and she only half-answered the remarks her friends made to her. Finally her mother and sister rejoined them, and they started for home. As they left the church, she felt a sudden lightness of spirit, as if liberated from some great weight. Her sense of uneasiness left her, replaced by a feeling of relief. As she walked along she exulted more and more in this new sense of freedom, and, with characteristic mental energy, set about to analyze it. She reached a conclusion swiftlv. The change that had taken place in her was a progress of faith. Catholicism, with its partial possession of truth, no longer satisfied her. She needed the higher, greater revelation of truth. And, though still holding in affection the beauties of her religion and the friends that were so inseparably connected with it, she realized that to abandon them, and seek the fuller measure of truth, was a necessary step in her evolution, and that therein lay her duty and her joy. "M. Faber!" she called, softly, as she stepped to his side, to walk with him, "I have something to say to you. Something very important !" "What can it be?" he asked, smiling. She looked at him, her eyes glowing, and her breath coming in swift, little jerks. And then, in a tone that trembled for very joy, she said: "I am ready to be baptized !" Bourne who was near, heard her. With a leap he was be- side her. "Marie!" It was the first time he had called her that, the first time, in 26 IMPROVEMENT ERA fact, that he had showed his love in a word. As he spoke, he seized her hand. The word, the caress, startled her, and she turned swiftly to him. For once his boyishness had left him, and he stood there, a man, passionately desiring the object of his love. For a moment she was dazed, then suddenly the meaning of it all flashed, upon her. For the first time she realized how tremendously the decision she had just made, affected her love. She was his now — his, with absolutely nothing between them ! "Is it true?" he demanded, almost fiercely. "Mais oiii, it is true ! But not now !" she added, quickly, for he had made a step toward her with his arms outstretched. Her words checked him and he stopped. And then, suddenly, his bash- fulness returned and plunged him into a perfect misery of awk- wardness. She, however, seemed unabashed. Gliding softly to his side she slipped her hand in his, and, looking up into his eyes, with happv mischief gleaming in hers, whispered : "Later !" Faber looked on all the while, and gravely shook his head. That same week, Bourne was transferred to Switzerland. Four months passed. In the interval the mother and sister of Marie had applied for baptism together with four others. The day for baptism was set for the latter part of April. When Faber asked Marie whom she desired to baptize her, she an- swered, blushingly : "Frere Bourne is thinking of coming down, is he not?" "Frere Bourne is unavoidably detained in Switzerland," re- plied Faber, meaningly. "You are a tyrant!" "No, I am a wise man," he said, gravely. "Oh, I suppose you are," she retorted, impatiently. "But just the same, I am angry at you. Not really, of course," she said, smiling coaxingly. And then looking away to the east, toward Switzerland, she added, wistfully: "I want so much to see him !" "I know it," he replied, gently. "But, little girl, for youi sake and for his, don't hurry matters. It will all come out all right!" "I wish to heaven I felt that !" he muttered, as she turned mournfully away, after looking gratefully at him through two shining tears. "Bourne wants to 'make good.' But will he?" The baptism passed off quietly and satisfactorily. All of the new members seemed happy, but none could compare with Marie. The radiance of her look as she came out of the water defies all description. Faber, as he saw it, shivered. i A QUESTION OF CONVERSION 27 "What if Bourne doesn't make good !" he muttered. Two or three days later, Jean came to see Marie, and, of course, the baptism was almost the sole subject of conversation. "Why didn't you apply, Jean?" she asked him, once. 'I'm not ready — yet," he added, significantly. She shot him a bright glance, as she heard his reply. "Oh, I'm so happy, Jean!" she exclaimed. "You think it's just because I'm a 'Mormon.' But it isn't. There's something: else." "What can it be ?" he asked, puzzled. "Can't you guess ?" "Haven't an idea." But he wondered why she blushed. "M. Bourne, he — he loves me. Now we can get married. Why, Jean !" His face had gone ghastly white. His hands, gripping the ends of his coat, worked convulsively. For a moment he struggled for control, futilely. Finally, without a word, he picked up his hat, plunged toward the door, and was gone ! Marie leaped after him, but he paid no attention to her cries. Seeing the uselessness of her attempt to get him back, she returned to the room in utter consternation. All that day she waited for an explanation from him. Finally it came, in the form of a brief, passionate note : "So it wasn't pietv after all that led you on, but only love for him. And it wasn't a convert they wanted, but a girl. He has proved that 'Mormons' deserve their reputation. Call this jeal- ousy if you like, I don't care. I don't care for anything. I onlv know that religion has once more proved itself a farce, and that I have been made a fool of in the demonstration. I trust you will wake up soon enough to find out that I was not the only one." The note solved the mystery instantly. Why had she never guessed that Jean wasn't merely a friend and comrade ! How could she have been so blind ! Jean, her warm-hearted, gay, good friend was now a bitter, disappointed lover ! So disappointed and bitter, that he had judged her ungenerously and unfairly ! If she had been older and wiser, Marie needn't have been sur- prised. She and Jean had made the world-old mistake of be- lieving that intimate friendship can exist between a man and a wo- man. An impossibility, for friendship is almost entirely a mascu- line emotion. Even between women it is rare, and between man and woman impossible, for any length of time. The sexes can't cross except in love. So that, when you see an over-confident youth and maiden vowing eternal platonic friendship, prepare yourself either for the catastrophe of a one-sided love affair, or the blessed solution of mutual love and marriage. The only other possible contingency is that they both shall fall in love with a 28 IMPROVEMENT ERA third and fourth party, in which case their friendship is doomed to die of inanition. In any event, the outcome is never life-long, intimate friendship. Jean regretted the harshness of his note, and came around the next day to say so. Marie tried to make him believe that he had judged wrongly, but it was no use. "I had no right to speak to you that way, and I am sorry !" he said, doggedly. "But I do not think I am wrong. You may think yourself sincere, but you are being blinded by your love for him, and not genuinely converted. You will see some day — when it is too late," he added somberly. From then on he avoided her, and needless to say, entirely eschewed the "Mormons." Faber made several efforts to com- municate with him, but they proved ineffectual, and he finally aban- doned hope of Lemaire's return, at any rate for a long time. Bourne's indiscretion, if such it was, was bearing its first fruit. Faber had counseled against any correspondence between the two lovers until after Bourne's release, but the advice went un- heeded. And so, sped by frequent letters full of bright hopes and tender messages, the months flew past, and Bourne was released. With hardly an hour's delay, he packed his trunk and hastened to Bordeaux and his love. He remained there about a month. Within the first few days, Marie tvas wearing an engagement ring with the consent of her mother. The rest of the time the lovers spent exploring the par- adise of their present bliss and rosy future. When reminded by the prudent Faber of the difficulties that confronted them, they laughed in easy confidence. To hear them, the Atlantic Ocean was a fordable river, and railroad fare mere pocket-money. And so, when the month was up, with the promise a thousand times repeated : "in just a few months, dear," and with oaths of passionate vehemence that he never, never would be untrue to her, Richard Bourne said an almost gay "an revoir" to his sweetheart, and left for his home in Utah. Oh, the pity of promises so valiantly made and so speedily broken ! With her young heart bounding with love and high hope, even in her grief at his departure, Marie bade Richard goodbye. Only a few months later, she was to receive a letter from him. whose pitiless message was to wring that heart dry of all hope, and leave it inert in its blank despair ! The lack of a power to analyze his own emotions is the secret of the reaction that took place in Bourne's heart upon his arrival home. Had he at the outset carefully scrutinized the probable A QUESTION OF CONVERSION 29 causes of his affection for Marie, he would most likely have per- ceived that they were not of a nature necessarily to produce per- manent love. Thereupon he would have submitted both her love and his to sufficient test, before he allowed matters to culminate. Such a test was his return home, but unfortunately he applied it too late. Once there, however, he realized that his affection for the little French convert was the product of abnormal condi- tions. It was a compound of homesickness, social ostracism, and woman's tenderness, that every missionary misses so sorely, all stimulated by girlish charms and a strong personality. Now upon his return, all these factors were either obliterated or replaced. Homesickness and social ostracism disappeared, while mother and sister lavished a wealth of tenderness upon him. Furthermore, the girlish charms and the strong personality were double the width of an ocean away. And so, with sickening rapidity, his valiant promises echoed fainter and fainter, and the moral chain of obligation that bound him to Marie grew weaker and weaker under the weight of ex- cuses he put upon it, until, finally, it could hold no longer, and broke. Seizing upon the pretext that he could not afford to emi- grate and support her mother and sister — a condition that Mrs. Rochelle had imposed after his departure from Bordeaux, he wrote to Marie to break the engagement. A year passed. Nothing eventful had happened. For Marie it had been twelve months of bitter struggle to keep up faith and courage enough to live. She grew thinner and paler under the strain, but her beauty of face like her beauty of character never left her. At first, she had refused to see any significance in the decreas- ing frequency of Richard's letters, and the growing coldness of their tone. But after a long, desolate period of silence, terminated by his abrupt request for release from the engagement, she knew, and with true French pride, that swelled yet wrung her heart, she wrote and ended all. How she lived through the awful weeks that followed she never knew. But her naturally strong courage, backed by faith, and the tactful, attentive encouragement of Faber, bore her up, and she crushed the worst pain. But even at the end of the year, her eyes held the same hurt look, and the gayety of her nature was still subdued. She had come out of the struggle splendidly, but it had left a lasting mark. Jean she saw more and more frequently, as the months went past. He seemed to haunt her footsteps, seeking in some gentle way to help her. She never talked religion with him, for he 30 IMPROVEMENT ERA always avoided the subject. He, too, bore the signs of his inward struggle. Sterner lines and a graver mien marked him, but other- wise he seemed unchanged. One day, Marie met him while returning home. They walked some distance, chatting pleasantly, when suddenly Marie said : "Jean, the branch is going on an excursion tomorrow. I wish you would come." To her intense surprise, he answered, promptly : "I shall!" She looked at him astonished, and then, giving him her hand to say goodbye, she said, with a smile that was very sweet, even though a bit wistful : "I'm so glad! Really, you don't know how glad. An revoir, alors." She wondered all the rest of the evening why he had accepted her invitation. She did not know that her sister had met Jean the previous evening, and in a burst of confidence told him all about Marie and Bourne. It would have prepared her somewhat for the change in his attitude. The place chosen for the excursion was a little strip of forest to which the branch had often gone while Bourne was at Bordeaux. This was a painful circumstance for Marie. Every turn in the road held something to which was attached an episode in which he had figured. Yet, though every step brought a heartache, she struggled bravely to hide her pain until they had reached the little grove. But once there and unobserved, she slipped away to a small cluster of trees at a little distance, and, sinking with deep sobs to the ground, cried out his name in little moans. Suddenly she heard a rustle nearby. Looking up, she saw Jean. He had missed and followed her. Sympathy, longing, bit- terness, and a great love burned in his face. She felt strongest of all the love and sympathy, for she burst out, sobbing : "O Jean. Jean, how I loved him ! and oh how it hurts !" "Why did you give him your love?" he cried, sinking down beside her. "I could not help it, Jean. It seemed, — why it seemed like a gift of God!" "Oh the coward, the quitter — " "Non, 11011, 111011 ami, you mustn't say that. He wasn't bad, he was only weak. He thought he loved me and he meant to keep his word. And I could have kept his love if I'd had half a chance. But he was away from me, his parents have worked on him — you see, I am a French girl — until now he no longer loves me. If I could only go to him ! But I can't, I can't !" "Sometimes," said Jean, in a low, tense voice, "I curse the very day we ever heard of this thing called 'Mormonism !' ': A QUESTION OF CONVERSION 31 "Ah, don't say that, Jean, you mustn't !" "I do ! To me it has brought only unrest and distrust of myself. To you it has brought — this !" "Non, 710)1, Jean ! That is not true." She had risen to her feet now, and so had he. She stood looking at him intently, as if by that look to force him to believe. In her voice was a rapturous certitude that stirred his very soul. "It is not 'Mormonism' that has made me suffer. True, 'Mormonism' brought him here, but he alone is to blame for his weakness. Had he lived it, 'Mormonism' would have made him strong and big of soul. Non, non, Jean, I have suffered, suffered so that there seemed nothing left in me to bear the pain, but through it all I have been kept sane by this one thing: the firm, rational assurance that all this agony isn't in vain, and that some- time I shall understand the reason for it. Don't ever curse 'Mor- monism,' mon ami. It has helped me to fight the hardest battle of my life, and oh, how I thank God for it !" He gazed at her, fascinated. Then, sinking down and grasp- ing her hand, he said, brokenly : "Oh, my dear love, what would I not give for that faith. Is there no way — no way?" "There is, Jean, dear," she said, in sudden tenderness. Then, still clasping his hand, she knelt beside him, and with the simplicity of a child, laid their problem before their Maker. And He must have solved it, for when they arose, the heart of each was light, and they smiled. There was silence between them for a moment, and then Marie, turning toward him, saw Jean looking at her intently. She flushed, but going to him bravely, she took his hand : 'You — you love me, n'cst-cc pas?" He bowed his head, unable to speak. "Well!" she said, in a low, sweet, voice, "perhaps it was not meant that I should love him — over there. Faith has come to you, has it not, Jean?" He nodded. "Then," in a still lower tone, "may it not be that the love that you want shall come too?"