"_The man I love!_" And opening her door, Erma Travenion flies in and locks it; then starts aghast! and cries in a hoarse and rasping voice, "Tranyon!--Bishop Tranyon! the _wretch Tranyon_! who has ruined him! My God! what will Harry Lawrence think of Tranyon the Mormon's daughter?" And sinking down upon the bed, she writhes and moans, for at this thought, which has been mercifully kept from her till the last, nothing seems left her in this world. During this time, Ferdie has been abstractedly sitting in a neighboring barroom, every once in a while walking up to the barkeeper and whispering "Brandy!" then muttering to himself over it, "Miss Mormon is having a high old time with auntie and Ollie." The rest of his time he whistles meditatively. Just about midnight, he thinks: "She is through with Mrs. Livingston. I wonder if I could not do anything to help her?" So, there comes a knock upon Miss Travenion's door, and she opening it herself, for she has not undressed, finds Mr. Chauncey, who looks sheepishly at her and says in confused tones: "Oliver has told me your determination. We are going to San Francisco to-morrow morning. You remain here to see your father." "Yes, Ferdie," answers the young lady. "Any way, you are better off away from that prig till he gets over the shock," replies the boy. Then he laughs a little, and says suggestively, "You can have him back whenever you want, I imagine," nodding towards Mr. Livingston's apartment. "I don't want him back." "No, I presume not," returns Mr. Chauncey, trying to smooth matters, "not since you have seen our hero, Captain Lawrence." So he unwittingly gives the girl another stab, but tries to correct it by muttering: "By Jove, I had forgotten! Your dad is the man who is busting him. Harry isn't stuck after Tranyon, is he?" To this getting no reply, he goes on hastily: "If you want me, I will stay here and look after you. I don't care to go to California." "Oh," says Erma, "don't fear for me. My father has taken care of me till now. You don't suppose he would injure a hair of my head?" then sobs, "And he was so good to me. I expected such joy at meeting him." Here Ferdie desperately turns the subject, for girls' tears always embarrass him. He says, "Can't I do anything for you? Tell me--just anything." "Yes," says the young lady, shortly. Then she considers a moment and asks: "You know where this Bishop Kruger lives?" "No, but I can easily find out." "Very well. Will you take a note to him for me?" "With pleasure!" he cries, as if glad she has given him a chance to do her service. So, sitting down, she writes a few lines hurriedly, and gives the epistle to Mr. Chauncey. Half an hour afterward he returns, and knocks on her door. She is engaged with her maid, who has become frightened at being left behind the Livingston party, and says she wishes to return to New York. Answering his summons, Erma asks anxiously, "Did you deliver it?"