"Oh, that I could tear away the lilies, and show to every girl in Zion the awful consequences of disobedience and vanity," she thought, as the strong, vivid words of President Young showed her the darkness of the abyss into which her own eyes had for one moment looked with fascinated gaze. "Oh, that I could set this poor, desecrated body before every young woman in Israel, and let it preach its own heartrending sermon! And I, too, am I not saved as by fire? Oh, my gracious Father, forgive me and let a lifetime of repentance and faithfulness prove to Thee how humble and how dependent I am!" So prayed Diantha, as the benediction was being pronounced by the Bishop in charge. While the pale sego-lilies, with their purple stains, drooped and died on the breast of the dead girl! XXXIX. THE WOOING O'T Three years is but a fleeting season to the mature, and is as a day to the aged; but to youth three years stretch out with apparent never-ending length. Three years of rapid history had been written in Utah since that vivid day in the tops of the mountains when A. O. Smoot, Porter Rockwell and Judson Stoddard had brought to the happy camp the terrible news of the coming of Johnston's army. Three years! Camp Floyd with its surging life, its frequent deaths, and its story of blunder and pathos had passed into history. The site where it once stood now lay desolate and burning beneath the hot summer sun. Weeds covered the rude foundations of the adobe and tented homes, and only the lonely prairie dog frequented the once busy streets. The soldiers had departed to the East, secession having already begun to rear its horrid shape, and only for the rich stores of a hundred rare comforts which they had sold in their hurried departure for less than a song, would anyone remember their unhappy visit. Two years of peace and plenty had built up the village of the Great Salt Lake into a modest inland city. The trees along the sidewalks were heavy now with July verdure. The busy hum of industry throbbed in even beats along the city's arteries. The blacksmith whistled at his forge. The well-bucket creaked merrily in its frequent passage to the cool waters beneath, and the children sang as they went to and fro to school, or lingered in the shade of the cottonwood trees. It was the evening before the Fourth of July, 1860, and the hands of maid and matron were busy in swift preparation for such a celebration of local peace and prosperity as had not been theirs for years. "Have you noticed what a change there is in Dian, the last year?" said Rachel Winthrop to Aunt Clara, as the two stood ironing in Aunt Clara's cosy kitchen. "How changed?" asked Aunt Clara.