“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, and I have been trying to do it. We easily learned by letter from our friends in Detroit who your lover was. My husband had me do that: he wanted to know. Then without his knowledge I stooped to write an anonymous letter.” “To James Arnold?” “Yes.” “About me?” “About you.” “What did you tell him?” “I said you were exposed to great danger on Beaver Island, among the Mormons, and if you had any interested friend it was time for him to interfere.” “And that brought him here?” “I am sure it did. He was keenly disappointed at not finding you.” “But why didn't he come to the farm?” “My husband prevented that. He said you were on Beaver Island three or four weeks ago, but you were now in the Fairy Isle. It was no lie. He spoke in parables, but the other heard him literally. We let him inquire of people in St. James. But no one had seen you since the Saturday you came to the Tabernacle. So he is going back to Mackinac to seek you. Your life will be decided in a quarter of an hour. Will you go on that steamboat?” “Throw myself on the mercy of a man who dared—_dared_ to break his engagement, and who ought to be punished and put on probation, and then refused! No, I cannot!” “The minutes are slipping away.” “Besides, I have nothing with me but the clothes I have on. And my uncle's family—think of my uncle's family!” “You can write to your uncle and have him send your baggage. I dare not carry any messages. But I thought of what you would need to-night, and put some things and some money in this satchel. They were mine. Keep them all.” Emeline took hold of the bag which Mary French shoved in her hand. Their faces were indistinct to each other. “For the first time in my life I have deceived my husband!” “Oh, what shall I do—what shall I do?” cried the girl. A steamer whistle at St. James dock sent its bellow rebounding from tree to tree in the woods. Emeline seized Mary French and kissed her violently on both cheeks. She snatched the bag and flew towards St. James. “Stop!” commanded the Prophet's wife. She ran in pursuit, catching Emeline by the shoulders.