eeling, she relinquished the remainder of her supper, and, following
her aunt's example, knelt beside her chair.

The two candles and the firelight left shadowy spaces in parts of the
room, and cast grotesque outlines against the walls. Nothing was
familiar to Susannah's eye; she could not help looking about her.
Ephraim was nearest to her. He was a bearded man, and seemed to her very
old. She saw that his face looked pale and distressed; his eyes were
closed, his lips tight set, like one bearing transient pain. At the end
of the table her uncle knelt upright, with hands clasped and face
uplifted, no feature or muscle moving--a strong figure rapt in devotion.
On her other side, as a slight tree waves in the wind, her aunt's slim
figure was swaying and bending with feeling that was now convulsive and
now restrained. Sometimes she moaned audibly or whispered "Amen." Across
the richly-spread table Susannah saw the preacher kneeling in a full
flickering glare of the pine fire, one hand upon the brick jamb, the
other covering his eyes, as if to hide from himself all things that were
seen and temporal in order that he might speak face to face with the
Eternal.

It was some time before she listened to the words of the prayer. When
she heard Ephraim Croom spoken of by name, there was no room in her mind
for anything but curiosity. After a while she heard her own name, and
curiosity began to subside into awe. After this the preacher brought
forward the case of Joseph Smith.

Before the prayer ended Susannah was troubled by so strong a sense of
emotion that she desired nothing so much as relief. It seemed to her
that the emotion was not so much in herself as in the others, or like an
influence in the room pressing upon them all. At length a kitten that
had been lying by the hearth got up as if disturbed by the same
influence, and, walking round the room, rubbed its fur against Ephraim's
knee. She saw the start run through his whole nervous frame. Opening his
eyes, he put down his hand and stroked it. Susannah liked Ephraim the
better for this. The kitten was not to be comforted; it looked up in his
face and gave a piteous mew. Susannah tittered; then she felt sorry and
ashamed.

CHAPTER II.

Two quiet years passed, and Susannah had attained her eighteenth
birthday.

On a certain day in the week there befell what the aunt called a
"season" of baking. It was the only occasion in the week when Mrs. Croom
was sure to