“The fifth—she that was Mara Cavan—but, dear me, Brother Rae! you should not be out so soon! Why, man, you’re weak as a cat! Come, I’ll walk with you as far as your house, and you must lie abed again until you are stronger. I can understand how you wished to be up as soon as possible; how proud you must feel that your preaching has led to this glorious awakening and made it possible to save the souls of many sinful ones—but you must be careful not to overtax yourself.” Four days later, a white-faced young Elder applied to Brigham for permission to go to the settlements on the south. He professed to be sick, to have suffered a relapse owing to incautious exposure so soon after his long illness. He seemed, indeed, not only to be weak, but to be much distressed and torn in his mind. Brigham was gracious enough to accord the desired permission, adding that the young Elder could preach the revived gospel and rebaptise on his way south, thus combining work with recreation. He was also good enough to volunteer some advice. “What ails you mostly, Brother Joel, is your single state. What you need is wives. You’ve been here ten years now, and it’s high time. You’re given to brooding over things that are other people’s to brood on, and then, you’re naturally soul-proud. Now, a few wives will humble you and make you more reasonable, like the rest of us. I don’t want to be too downright with you, like I am with some of the others, because I’ve always had a special kind of feeling for you, and so I’ve let you go on. But you think it over, and talk to me about it when you come back. It’s high time you was building up your thrones and dominions in the Kingdom.” He started south the next day, riding down between the two mountain ranges that bordered the valley, stopping at each settlement, breathing more freely, resting more easily, as each day took him farther away. Yet, when he closed his eyes, there, like an echo, was the vision of a woman’s face with shining eyes and lips,—a vision that after a few seconds was washed away by a great wave of blood. But after a few days, certain bits of news caught up with him that happily drove this thing from his sight for a time by stirring within him all his old dread of Gentile persecution. First he heard that Parley Pratt, the Archer of Paradise and one of the Twelve Apostles, had been foully murdered back in Arkansas while seeking to carry to their mother the children of his ninth wife. The father of these children, so his informant reported, had waylaid and shot him. Then came rumours of a large wagon-train going south through Utah on its way to California. Reports said it was composed chiefly of Missourians, some of whom were said to be boasting that they had helped to expel the Saints from Jackson County in that State. Also in this train were reported to be several men from Arkansas who had been implicated in the assassination of Apostle Pratt.