to be discouraged
from the way."

"It seems to me he only succeeded in causing us to take the way with
greater vehemence," she replied in some scorn.

In the next minute she heard him whisper eagerly, "Look up; look between
the branches; quick! Do you not see the face looking at us?"

The branches of the overhanging tree were black with night. She looked
up in the direction that his feeble hand indicated, and with
indescribable terror scanned the blank spaces in which no human face
could possibly be.

"Look!" he whispered again impatiently. "Don't you see it? It is the
face of a man. A white face! It is the face of thy cousin as I saw it
yesterday when I was counted worthy to suffer. Look! look! does thou
not see him?"

His words had the effect of producing in her that maddening fear of the
dark which ghostly tales induce, and now he fainted again. She was
afraid to cry for help, afraid even of the rustle of her own garments.
She did not know how far she was from any house. And it seemed to her
that this lover, who was almost a stranger, was dying in her arms. The
misery of this hour governed her action in the next.

Halsey in the bottom of the chaise lay with his head against her knee,
and soon, holding the bandages of his wound close upon it with one hand,
she took the reins with the other and urged the horse forward. She had
had no thought all that day but to go, as Halsey had said, to Emma
Smith's protection. She hoped now that there was but one road; that when
she came to the first settlement she would be with the Smiths. This was
not the case. She travelled an hour, obliged to pass more than one
cross-road because she dared not turn down it. At length she found
herself in front of a large house with lighted windows, which was
evidently an inn.

The door opened, letting out a stream of candlelight. A man stood in the
doorway. "What place is this?" cried Susannah's voice from the darkness.

"It's John Biery's hotel."

"Will you have the kindness to tell me if you know of any one called
Mr. Joseph Smith?"

There was some talking within. "No, we never heard of Mr. Joseph Smith."

"Or Mr. Oliver Cowdery?" Again there was talking.

"No, it don't seem that we've any of us heard o' those names before. Be
you alone?" The deep bass voice of John Biery was becoming more
insistent in its rising inflection.

For some half-minute Susannah did not answer, and then fear of being
compelled to retake the road made