While day by day I began to be still more doubtful whether it would not after all be sinful in God’s sight for me to leave my friends in the new faith and go back to France and my betrothed, who I knew neither was nor ever could become a Saint, other thoughts began to intrude themselves, and to shake my determination.
Elder Stenhouse’s visits to my father’s house began to be more frequent than ever, but as he desired to become familiar with the French language, and would bring his French grammar with him “to get a lesson,” as he said, no particular notice was taken of his frequent coming. He was always welcomed with pleasure by the whole family, and, of course, by myself, who was his teacher. After awhile he took so much delight in his studies that he could not endure to let an evening pass without a lesson; and somehow or other, I must confess, it was the first time since I had been a teacher that I felt such a peculiar pleasure in imparting instruction. I suppose it was the interest which all teachers experience when their pupils are studiously inclined. My pupil was particularly studious—so much so that he told my father and mother that he could not study very well in the parlour where every one was conversing, and begged the privilege of having the folding doors thrown partly open, that we might sit in the back parlour and be more quiet.
This was granted. But after a few evenings my pupil took a notion to partly close the folding doors after him, and, as mother’s eyes are ever watchful, one of my sisters was sent in with her sewing to keep us company. But my pupil by this time had made rapid progress in the French language, and while my sister was innocently sewing, he was repeating his lesson to me; and it was not our fault if in those French phrase-books there were passages expressive of love and devotion. Unconsciously to us both, he formed the habit of repeating those phrases to me at all times, and I formed the equally bad habit of blushing whenever he made use of them.
This my sister observed, and communicated the fact to my mother, who immediately said that we had better discontinue our French for awhile, as it was monopolizing too much of our time, and keeping both of us from attending to other and more important duties. But the discontinuation of the French lessons did not put an end to the visits of Elder Stenhouse. He was a persevering young man; but the secret of the great interest taken in the French lessons was soon discovered.
Then it was that arguments of all kinds, and strong reasons, were brought forward to shake my purpose of returning to France. I was “in doubt;” when one day, discussing the point, Elder Stenhouse made use of the very same expression which had fallen from the sister’s lips at the testimony-meeting—“Whatsoever is not of faith is sin.” My mind unsettled, with all the strength of argument and religion on the one side, and on the other no one to plead for reason and for my return to France, who can wonder that I—at best only a weak and inexperienced girl—listened to the entreaties of my friends, and resolved to stay.
In the course of a few months I was engaged to be married to Elder Stenhouse. It may, perhaps, seem strange that I could so soon forget the past, with all its pleasant memories and renouncing my betrothed husband, accept the attentions of another; but it should be remembered that I now firmly believed it was my duty—a duty which I dared not neglect—to blot out for ever all past associations, however dear to my heart they might be. Besides which, I, in common with all around me, had learned to look upon Elder Stenhouse as almost an angel, on account of what he had endured for the gospel’s sake; and I thought that any girl might consider herself honoured by an offer of marriage from a man in his position in the Church. My marriage in France would, I feared, have been but doubtful happiness in this world, and certain ruin in the next; but heaven itself would bless my union with one of its own ordained and tried servants.
Thus it came to pass that on the 6th of February, 1850—eight months after my arrival in Southampton—I was married to the young Mormon missionary, Elder Stenhouse. I entered upon my new sphere as a missionary’s wife, feeling that there were no obstacles so great that I could not overcome them for the gospel’s sake. How little could I then imagine the life that was before me!
I wrote to my friends in France. I told them frankly all. In return they wrote to me—especially Monsieur D——, entreating me to alter my determination. Kind, and very gentle, were those letters. Dear, very dear, has been the memory of them, and of their writers, in later days. But at the time I felt that the influence which they still retained over me was in itself a sin.