"Sorry for it? How can it affect my father?" returns Miss Travenion, growing haughty. "That I can't see myself," rejoins her escort, and the two both go into contemplation. A minute after the girl smiles and says, "Why, in another minute, perhaps you will think I am Miss Mormon myself." This seeming to her a great joke, she laughs very heartily. But her laugh would be a yellow one, did she know that Lot Kruger, bishop in the Mormon Church, high up in the Seventies, Councilor of the Prophet, Brigham Young; and ex-Danite and Destroying Angel to boot, has stayed in Ogden on her account, and has just sent a telegram to one who holds the Latter-Day Saints in his hand, which reads: "OGDEN, _October 4, 1871_. "She is here. I am watching her. She will arrive in Salt Lake on the morning train. See my letter from Chicago, due to-night." Not knowing this, the girl's laughter is light and happy, and seems to be infectious, for Lawrence joins in it, and their conversation grows low, as if they would keep it to themselves, and perhaps slightly romantic, for there is a fire in the young man's dark eyes that seems to be reflected in the beautiful blue ones of Miss Travenion, as she tells him of life in New York society, and about Mrs. Livingston and her son. This discantation on the absent Oliver Lawrence enjoys so little, however, that he turns the conversation to his own prospects once more. On which the girl asks him if his mine is so rich, why does he not work it himself. "Because I am tired of barbarism!" he cries. "I want a home and a wife, and I wouldn't ask any woman to share a mining cabin with me." "What matters," says Erma airily, "if she loved you?" "Do you mean that?" remarks Harry, a peculiar ring coming into his voice. "Yes," says the girl, rising; "if I loved a man I believe I could give up for him--even New York. But it is growing late. You tell me we have an early breakfast to-morrow morning, Captain Lawrence?" "Yes, six o'clock," he says shortly, and escorts his charge to the door of the hotel, where her maid is waiting for her. Here she nonchalantly says, "Good-night. Thank you so much!" Then, a sudden impulse impelling her, she steps to the man who is just turning from her and whispers, her eyes glowing gratefully, "God bless you for saving Ferdie's life! God bless you for being kind to me!" Next, seemingly frightened at herself, she runs lightly up the stairs to her bedroom, where she goes to sleep; but once she is awakened by the clanging of freight trains in the night, and this thought comes into her head: "What manner of man is this who two days ago was a stranger to me, but who has built railroads and slain desperadoes and Indians and whom I think about waking and sleeping?" Then she utters a little affrighted cry, "WHY, HE HAS EVEN MADE ME FORGET MY FATHER!" The gentleman she has slighted has been under discussion on the railroad platform below.