rol over Mormon women is yet more complete. Virtue,
assailed under the mask of a spiritual hypocrisy, is apt to give way--
alas! too easily--in all parts of the world; but in a state of society,
where such slips are rather a fashion than a disgrace, it is needless to
say that they are of continual occurrence. The practice of the
pseudo-prophet in wife-taking has very little limit, beyond that fixed
by his own desires. It is true he may not outrage certain formalities,
by openly appropriating the wives of his followers; but should he fancy
to become the _husband_ of their daughters, not only is there no
opposition offered on the part of the parent, but the base proposal is
regarded in the light of an honour! So esteemed it the women from whom
Marian Holt had run away--the brave girl preferring the perils of
starvation and savage life to such gentle companionship! Thus
contemplating the character of the vulgar Alcibiades, for whose harem
she had been designed--in full knowledge of the circumstances which now
surrounded her sister--how could I deem the situation of Lilian
otherwise than similar--her destiny the same? With such a tyrant to
betray, such a father to protect, no wonder that I trembled for her
fate! No wonder that the sweat--forced from me my by soul's agony--
broke out in bead-drops upon my brow!

CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE.

THE DEATH-SONG.

Prostrated in spirit, I sunk down among the rocks, covering my face with
my hands. So occupied was I with wild imaginings, that I saw not the
Utah women as they passed down the valley. They did not approach the
butte, nor make halt near, but hastened directly onward to the scene of
conflict. I had for the moment forgotten them; and was only reminded of
their proximity on hearing the death-wail, as it came pealing up the
valley. It soon swelled into a prolonged and plaintive chorus--
interrupted only by an occasional shriek--that denoted the discovery of
some relative among the slain--father, brother, husband--or perhaps
still nearer and dearer, some worshipped lover--who had fallen under the
spears of the Arapahoes.

Was Maranee among them?--the wailing women? The thought roused me from
my reverie of wretchedness. A gleam of joy shot suddenly across my
mind. It was the wild huntress that had given origin to the thought.
On her I had founded a new hope. She must be seen! No time should be
lost in communicating with her? Had she accompanied the women of the