big, black, busy city roaring with the traffic of men. Then out a few
miles to the college, where he as a young divinity student had spent
some years of his early manhood--and there and then he had met
her--Also, years later, the woman whom he had married--and at each big
milestone in his journey of life there had been "Mormons" and
"Mormonism."

"'Mormonism,' 'Mormonism,'" the man whispered hoarsely.
"Anna--Clara--Lucy--Chester--and now--and now what! O, my God!"

It was nearly midnight when Lucy, becoming alarmed at her father's long
absence from his state room, came slowly on deck, stopping now and then
to rest. She saw him by the rail, went up to him, took him by the arm
and with a few coaxing words led him down into his room. As he kissed
her good-night with uncommon fervor, he looked into her upturned face
and said:

"Are you going to love this young man--Chester Lawrence?"

"Father," she cried, "what do you mean?"

"Just what I say. I am not blind. I made him promise not to seek your
company or talk religion to you. Tomorrow I shall relieve him from that
promise."

"O, father!"

"There now, child,--and Lucy, he may talk of religion and love all he
wants. I think those two things, when they are of the right kind and
properly blended, are good for the heart, don't you?"