“You have heard that a man was publicly whipped on Beaver Island--and he deserved it. Have you heard also that I myself have been imprisoned by outsiders, and my life attempted more than once? Don't you know that in war a leader must be stern if he would save his people from destruction? Have you never heard a good thing of me, my child?” Emeline, facing her adversary, was enraged at the conviction which the moderation and gentleness of a martyr was able to work in her. “Oh yes, indeed, I have heard one good thing of you--your undertaking the salvation of eight or nine wives.” “Not yet nine,” he responded, humorously. “And I am glad you mentioned that. It is one of our mysteries that you will learn later. You have helped me greatly by such a candid unburdening of your mind. For you must know that you and I are to be more to each other than strangers. The revelation was given to you when it was given to me in the Tabernacle. I saw that.” The air was thickening with dusky motes. Emeline fancied that living dark atoms were pressing down upon her from infinity. “You must know,” she said, with determination, “that I came to Beaver Island because I hated men, and expected to see nothing but Mormons here--” “Not counting them men at all,” indulgently supplemented the King of Beaver, conscious that she was struggling in the most masculine presence she had ever encountered. He dropped his voice. “My child, you touch me as no one has touched me yet. There is scarcely need of words between us. I know what I am to you. You shall not stay on the island if you do not wish it. Oh, you are going to make me do my best!” “I wish you would go away!” “Some Gentile has hurt you, and you are beating your bruised strength on me.” “Please go away! I don't like you. I am bound to another man.” “You are bound to nobody but me. I have waited a lifetime for you.” “How dare you talk so to me when you have eight wives already!” “Solomon had a thousand. He was a man of God, though never in his life was there a moment when he took to his breast a mate. I shall fare better.” “Did you talk to them all like this?” “Ask them. They have their little circles beyond which they cannot go. Have you thoughts in common with your cousin Roxy?” “Yes, very many,” asserted Emeline, doggedly. “I am just like Cousin Roxy.” “You have no mind beyond the milking and churning, the sewing and weaving?” “No, I have no mind beyond them.” “I kiss your hands--these little hands that were made to the finest uses of life, and that I shall fill with honors.” “Don't touch me,” warned Emeline. “They can scratch!” The King of Beaver laughed aloud. With continued gentleness he explained to her: “You will come to me. Gentile brutes may chase women like savages, and maltreat them afterwards; but it is different with you and me.” He brought his hands forward and folded them upright on his breast. [Illustration: Always prayed this prayer alone 124]