This delay is not utterly unbearable to Miss Travenion, because every day she thinks the incoming stage, or some private buckboard, or light wagon, will bear into town the man she is looking for--Captain Harry Lawrence--who, at least, should come filled with gratitude to Ralph Travenion, though he may despise Bishop Tranyon. So she passes her time, driving to Silver City, Diamond and Homansville with her father, who, under the pretence of settling various demands of business, lingers in Tintic Mining District; now and then reading a novel, for Ralph has thoughtfully sent to Salt Lake and provided her with some books. Altogether, she is not uncomfortable, as she has brought a sufficiency of clothing with her, though most of her trunks have been left at the Townsend House. Her father, who has never forgotten his old sybaritic life, sees that their table is supplied with every luxury which can be obtained in the place, sending Mormon boys to Utah Lake for trout, and to Payson for late fruits, and securing from Salt Lake City wines of the best vintages of France. The air is fresh, and growing colder, and the young lady's cheeks are very rosy, though they have been browned by the sun. There is some little excitement in the place, also. The litigation between the Big Eureka and the King David has come to trial by battle, and these companies have each imported armed fighters from Pioche, Nevada, the most ferocious mining camp in the West. Thus time runs into November, but the girl's heart is getting heavier and heavier, for the man she is looking for, and who has occupied most of her thoughts for the last six weeks, has not yet arrived. Then one day, quite late in the month, she gets a shock, for she hears he has left the Territory, having sold his mine to an English company for a large sum of money, and that they have even now come to take possession of it. Travenion, having also got the same news, says to her, shortly: "Generosity did not do much good with young Mr. Harry Ingrate--did it?" And she, being stung with misery, jeers her father, and herself also, for that matter, "Yes, the daughter of Tranyon, the Mormon bishop, has no longer a hold upon the Gentile's heart! Perchance he thinks I should wed in my own faith?" Then she falters out of the house, and, alone by herself, among some pinon-pines that grow on the hillside, tears come into her lovely eyes, for she feels herself cut off forever from the bright world in which she once lived, and mutters: "Is this rough mining camp a dream; or were Newport yachting parties and Delmonico balls hallucinations?"