"institution" is even more odious under Mormon than Mohammed. There is no redeeming point--not even the "romance of the harem"--for the _zenana_ of a Latter-day Saint is a type of the most vulgar materialism, where even the favourite sultana is not exempted from the hard work-a-day duties of a slave. Polygamy? No! the word has too limited a signification. To characterise the condition of a Mormon wife, we must resort to the phraseology of the _bagnio_. _In company of a Mormon had Lilian gone away_! No wonder that my heart was on fire--wildly, madly on fire. I rose from my seat, and rushed forth for my horse. The storm still raged apace. Clouds and rolling thunder, lightning and rain--rain such as that which ushered in the Deluge! The storm! What cared I for its fury? Rain antediluvian would not have stayed me in doors--not if it had threatened the drowning of the world! CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. ANOTHER DUEL DETERMINED ON. Into my saddle--off out of the clearing--away through the dripping forest--on through the sweltering swamp, I hurried. Up the creek was my route--my destination, the dwelling of the hunter, Wingrove. Surely, in such weather, I should find him at home? It was natural I should seek the young backwoodsman. In such an emergency, I might count with certainty on having his advice and assistance. True, I anticipated no great benefit from either: for what could either avail me? The young man was helpless as myself; and had similarly suffered. This would secure me his sympathy; but what more could he give? After all, I did not reckon it as nothing. The condolence of a friend or fellow-sufferer may soothe, though it cannot cure; and for such a solace the heart intuitively seeks. Confidence and sympathy are consolatory virtues--even penance has its purpose. I longed, therefore, for a friend--one to whom I could confide my secret, and unbosom my sorrow; and I sought that friend in the young backwoodsman. I had a claim upon him: he had made me the confidant of _his_ care--the recipient of his heart confessed. Little dreamed I at the time, I should so soon be calling upon him for a reciprocity of the kindness. Fortune so far favoured me--I found him at home. My arrival scarcely roused him from a dejection that, I could perceive, was habitual to him. I knew its cause; and could see that he was struggling against it--lest it should hinder him from the fulfilment of his duties as a host. It did not. There was something truly noble in this conquest of courtesy over the heart heavily laden--charged and engrossed with selfish care. Not without admiration, did I observe the conflict. I hesitated not to confide my secret to such a man: I felt convinced that under the buckskin coat beat the heart of a gentleman. I told him the whole story of my love--beginning with the hour in which I had left him.