ent as the tension had been.

There were few festivities on Beaver Island, the Mormon families living
a pastoral life, many of them yet taxed by the struggle for existence.
Crops shot up rank and strong in the short Northern summer. Soft cloud
masses sailed over the island, and rain-storms marched across it with
drums of thunder which sent reverberations along the water world. Or
fogs rolled in, muffling and obliterating homesteads.

Emeline stayed in the house, busying herself with the monotonous duties
of the family three days. She was determined never to go into the woods
path again without Roxy. The fourth day a gray fog gave her no choice
but imprisonment. It had the acrid tang of smoke from fires burning
on the mainland. About nightfall the west wind rose and blew it back,
revealing a land mantled with condensed drops.

Emeline put on her hat and shawl to walk around in the twilight. The
other young creatures of the house were glad to be out also, and Roxy
and Roxy's lover talked across the fence. Emeline felt fortified
against the path through the woods at night; yet her feet turned in that
direction, and as certainly as water seeks its level she found herself
on the moist elastic track. Cow-bells on the farm sounded fainter and
farther. A gloom of trees massed around her, and the forest gave up all
its perfume to the dampness.

At every step she meant to turn back, though a recklessness of night
and of meeting the King of Beaver grew upon her. Thus, without any
reasonable excuse for her presence there, she met Mary French.

"Is that you, Miss Cheeseman?" panted the Prophet's youngest wife.

Emeline confessed her identity.

"I was coming for you, but it is fortunate you are so far on the way.
There is a steamboat at the dock, and it will go out in half an hour.
I could not get away sooner to tell you." Mary French breathed heavily
from running. "When the steamboat came in the captain sent for my
husband, as the captains always do. I went with him: he knows how I
dread to have him go alone upon a boat since an attempt was made last
year to kidnap him. But this time there was another reason, for I
have been watching. And sure enough, a young man was on the steamboat
inquiring where he could find you. His name is James Arnold. The captain
asked my husband to direct him to you. You will readily understand why
he did not find you. Come at once!"

"I will not," said Emeline.

"But you wanted me to help you, a