"Brother, you are now blinded by your infatuation and anger," said Shiblon, whose spirit neither blows nor prospective harsher treatment could daunt, "but the time will come, when the scales will fall, and you will see the black wickedness of those who have entrapped your unwary feet; farewell, and whatever fate overtakes me, remember I suffer it out of love of you." He was then dragged away in the direction of the house, followed by Seantum. CHAPTER TEN. TAUNTS OF THE CROWD. Left alone to battle with the contending emotions that struggled in his breast, and his anger having subsided, Corianton began to be plagued with rising apprehensions. What if Shiblon were right? What if he had been duped by the crafty Zoramites? Many things that passed under his observation in the banqueting saloon the night before now arose to give support to his increasing fears. "Yet, I'll not believe it, until proven true, then if she be indeed a harlot, and hath betrayed me into this compromising position, may God pity her, for she hath need of pity!" With these words he left the garden and started in the direction of the market place of the city. He observed as he walked along that many people looked curiously at him, and turned to follow him with their gaze. As he turned into one of the principal streets he heard a tumult, and saw an excited crowd of people rapidly gathering about two men who were evidently making efforts to extricate themselves from the throng. They were coming in his direction, and stepping aside into a narrow alleyway, he thought to let the throng pass without being observed. As the crowd drew near, to his astonishment, he saw the two men were his father and Ammon. The mob at their heels, however, was evidently, as yet, good natured, and were merely mocking them. Some who occasionally ran in front of them would shout at the spectators gathered at the sides of the streets-- "Behold the Nephite prophet, who comes to teach us 'holiness' while his son makes merry the night with harlots!" "Teach your own son virtue before you leave your cities to convert the Zoramites," cried another. "The son's no worse than the father I'll warrant," shouted a third. "Nor so bad either," broke in several. "Say old greybeard," said a voice from the crowd, "which of you holy men is contracted to Isabel to-night?" and the insinuation was followed by shouts of laughter. So the crowd passed on, yelling, cursing, mocking, deriding, pushing; the spirit of violence constantly increasing. The two prophets answered nothing, but bore all meekly; the only sign of emotion being the tears that silently flowed down the furrowed cheeks of Alma at the taunts thrown at him respecting his son; indeed he seemed weighed down with grief, and would have been trampled under foot but for the support of his strong companion, who bore him up, and kept back those who would have used violence had they dared.