He spoke with rising tones, and the other flushed noticeably about the temples. “Have your wagons ready to-morrow morning, then, Mr. Rae—at eight? Very well, I shall see that you are protected to the ferry. There has been so much of that tone of talk, sir, that some of our men have resented it.” He turned pleasantly to Prudence. “And you, Miss Prudence, you will be leaving Nauvoo for Springfield, I suppose. As you go by Carthage, I shall wish to escort you that far myself, to make sure of your safety.” The lover turned fiercely, seizing the girl’s wrist and drawing her toward him before she could answer. “Her goal is Zion, not Babylon, sir—remember _that_!” She stepped hastily between them. “We will talk of that to-morrow, Captain,” she said, quickly, and added, “You may leave us now for we have much to do here in making ready for the start.” “Until to-morrow morning, then, at eight.” He bowed low over the hand she gave him, gracefully saluted the others, and was gone. [Illustration: “HER GOAL IS ZION, NOT BABYLON, SIR—REMEMBER _THAT_!”] Chapter IV. A Fair Apostate She stood flushed and quick-breathing when the door had shut, he bending toward her with dark inquiry in his eyes. Before she spoke, he divined that under her nervousness some resolution lay stubbornly fixed. “Let us speak alone,” she said, in a low voice. Then, to the old people, “Joel and I will go into the garden awhile to talk. Be patient.” “Not for long, dear; our eyes are aching for him.” “Only a little while,” and she smiled back at them. She went ahead through the door by which they had first entered, and out into the garden at the back of the house. He remembered, as he followed her, that since he had arrived that morning she had always been leading him, directing him as if to a certain end, with the air of meaning presently to say something of moment to him. They went past the rose-bush near which she had stood when he first saw her, and down a walk through borders of marigolds. She picked one of the flowers and fixed it in his coat. “You are much too savage—you need a posy to soften you. There! Now come to this seat.” She led him to a rustic double chair under the heavily fruited boughs of an apple-tree, and made him sit down. She began with a vivacious playfulness, poorly assumed, to hide her real feeling. “Now, sobersides, it must end—this foolishness of yours—” She stopped, waiting for some question of his to help her. But he said nothing, though she could feel the burning of his eyes upon her. “This superstitious folly, you know,” she blurted out, looking up at him in sudden desperation. “Tell me what you mean—you must know I’m impatient.” She essayed to be playful again, pouting her dimpled face near to his that he might kiss her. But he did not seem to see. He only waited. “Well—this religion—this Mormonism—” She shot one swift look at him, then went on quickly.