He was about to reply, "Forgive you for what?" but he checked himself.

Somehow, he could not feign ignorance as to what she meant, neither could he use meaningless words to her.

"We were very rude to you yesterday, both father and I; and I wanted to make some explanations to you, so you would understand. I am so sorry."

"You and your father are already forgiven. If there were a grain of ill-feeling against him this afternoon, it all completely vanished when I heard him talk at the services."

"You were there?"

"Yes. Now don't you worry." He was nearly to say "Little Sister;" but again he checked himself. "I am a 'Mormon,'" he continued. "I am not ashamed of it, because I know what it means. Only those who don't know despise the word."

"Neither am I ashamed of it," she said as she looked him fairly in the face. "I know a little--a very little--about the 'Mormons,' but that which I know is good."

"What do you know?"

"I'll tell you. One evening, in Kansas City I stopped to listen to two young men preaching on the street. They were just boys, and they did not have the appearance of preachers. You must know that I have always been interested in religion, and religious problems. Perhaps that is natural, seeing my father is a minister. I read his books, and many are the discussions I have had with him over points of doctrine,--and we don't always agree, either. He, however, usually took my little objections good naturedly until one day he asked me where I had obtained a certain notion regarding baptism. In reply I handed him the booklet I had received at the 'Mormon' street meeting. He looked at it curiously for a moment, wanted to know where I had obtained it, then locked it up in his desk. He was really angry; as that was something he had never been before over any religious question, I was surprised and impressed. I had, however, read carefully the booklet. Not only that, but I had been secretly to one of the 'Mormon' services. I there learned that an acquaintance of mine belonged to the 'Mormon' Church, and depend upon it, I had her tell me what she knew."

"And your father?"

"He objected, of course. At first, I told him everything. He had always let me go to any and all religious gatherings without objection. He even laughingly told me I could don the Salvation lassie's bonnet and beat a drum in the street, if I wanted to; but when it came to the 'Mormons,' O, he was angry, and forbade me from ever going to their meetings or reading their literature. I thought it strange."

"It's not strange at all,--when you understand," remarked Chester, who was intensely interested in her story. "I suppose you obeyed your father."

"Well, now, you want me to tell you the truth, of course--I--I wasn't curious--"

"Certainly not."

"You're laughing at me. But I wasn't, I tell you. I was interested.

There is something in 'Mormonism' that draws me to it. I don't know much about it, to be sure, for it seems that the subject always widens out to such immensity. I want you to tell me more about Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon and the new revelations."

"But your father will object. What would he say if he knew you were sitting here in this beautiful moonlight talking to a 'Mormon'?"

"I'm of age, I guess. I'm doing nothing wrong, I hope."

"I hope not. Far be it for me to harm you--or any living soul. But I don't know much about the gospel as we call it--for you must know it is the simple gospel of Jesus Christ revealed anew. There are three other 'Mormons' on board, missionaries going to Europe. One of them at least could tell you much."

"But I'd be pleased to hear you tell me--is, is that father? I wonder if he is looking for me."

Chester looked in the direction indicated. A man came up, then passed on; it was not the minister. The girl crouched into the shadow, and as she did so her shoulder pressed against Chester's. Then she sprang up.

"Well, I was foolish," she exclaimed, "to be afraid of dear old daddy!"

Chester also arose, and the two walked to the railing. They stood there in the moonlight. Great clouds of black smoke poured from the ship's funnels, and streamed on to windward, casting a shadow on the white deck. They looked out to the water, stretching in every direction into the darkness. Then as if impelled by a common impulse, they looked at each other, then blushed, and lowered their eyes. The girl's hands lay on the railing. Chester saw their soft shapeliness, and noted also that there were no rings on them.

"I'm glad I've met you," said Chester honestly.

"And I'm glad, too," she breathed. "Some other time you must tell me so much. I've so many questions to ask. You'll do that, won't you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Now I must go to father. He may be uneasy." She held out her hand.

"Good night--what _do_ you think of me? Am I a rude girl?"

"I heard your father call you Lucy. That's your name, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"And I may call you that, may I not? You know these ship-board acquaintances don't wait on ceremony."

"But I don't know your name, either. Think of it, how we have been really confidential and we don't even know each other's name."

"I know yours."

"Only half of it. I've two more. How many have you?"

"Only two."

"And they are?"

"Chester Lawrence."

"Well, mine is Lucy May Strong--and now, goodnight."

He took her arm and helped her down the steps, gently, for she seemed such a frail being, one who needed just such stout arms as Chester's to lean upon. He risked the danger of meeting the father by helping her down the second flight of steps to the state-room deck.

"Good night, Lucy."

"Good night--Brother Lawrence."

CHAPTER V.

All Monday forenoon, Chester sat on deck reading a book which he had obtained from the ship's library. It was a most interesting story, and yet the world of gray-green water and changing clouds drew his attention from the printed page. He was beginning to realize what the fascination for the sea was which took hold of men. It would have been difficult for him to analyze or explain this feeling, but it was there; and it seemed to him that he would have been content to live out his life on that boundless ocean which presented a symbol of eternity continually before his eyes.

"Good morning."

Chester started, then turned. It was Lucy's father who found a chair and drew it up to Chester's.

"Is the book interesting?" inquired the minister.

"Not so interesting as this wonderful sea and sky," was the reply.

"You are right," said the other, following the young man's gaze out to the distance. "Our universe is now but water and air, and we are but specks floating between the two layers."

"But we know that ocean and air are not all. We know there are plains and mountains, forests and growing fields; so after all our universe must include not only all we can see with our eyes, but all that comes within view of our comprehension. Do you know," resumed Chester after a pause, "I have come to this conclusion, that our universe is limited only within the bounds of our faith. As we believe, and strive to convert that belief into a living faith, so shall we know and realize."

The preacher looked keenly at the "Mormon," as if he would see the fountain of these thoughts. Chester continued: