So we parted. That winter we lived in our letters. The fine
climate in Montreux seemed to do him good, and his messages were
full of hope that all would be well. Not so with my parents. They
had been told by physicians who had treated Raymond that his case
was hopeless; that he might live years, perhaps, in Switzerland,
but that in all probability to return to Denmark would be fatal to
him. They told me so, and I could not, would not, believe them. It
seemed impossible that God would take him away from me. They also
told me that on no condition must I think of marrying him, because
either I should be a widow soon after marriage, or else I should
be a sick-nurse for several years. So they wished me to break the
engagement while he was absent.
This and much more was said to me. And I, who had always been an
obedient daughter and never crossed their will in any way, for the
first time in my life opposed them and told them that never should
anybody separate me from the one I loved until God himself parted
us. Mother reminded me of my happy childhood, and of how much she
and my foster-father had done for me, and that now they had only my
happiness in view--a fact which I might not understand till I was
older, she said, but must now take on trust.
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