And there were strange new faces to be seen, people surely of a different world, of a different manner from those she had known, wearing, with apparent carelessness, garments even more strangely elegant than those in the shop windows, and speaking in strange, soft accents.  She was told that these were Gentiles, tourists across the continent, who had ventured from Ogden to observe the wonders of the new Zion.  The thought of the railroad was in itself thrilling.  To be so near that wonderful highway to the land of the evil-doers and to a land, alas! of so many strange delights.  She shuddered at her own wickedness, but fell again and again, and was held in bondage by the allurements about her.  So thrilled to her soul’s center was she that the pleasure of it hurt her, and the tears would come to her eyes until she felt she must be alone to cry for the awful joy of it.

The evening brought still more to endure, for they went to the play.  It was a play that took her out of herself, so that the crowd was lost to her from the moment the curtain went up in obedience to a little bell that tinkled mysteriously,—­either back on the stage or in her own heart, she was not sure which.

It was a love story; again that strangely moving love of one man for one woman, that seemed as sweet as it was novel to her.  But there was war between the houses in the play, and the young lover had to make a way to see his beloved, climbing a high wall into her garden, climbing to her very balcony by a scarf she flung down to him.  To the young woman from Amalon, these lovers’ voices came with a strange compulsion, so that they played with her heart between them.  She was in turn the youth, pleading in a voice that touched every heart string from low to high; then she was the woman, soft and timid, hesitating in moments of delicious doubt, yet almost fearful of her power to resist, —­half-wishing to be persuaded, half-frightened lest she yield.

When the moment of surrender came, she became both of them; and, when they parted, it was as if her heart went in twain, a half with each, both to ache until they were reunited.  Between the acts she awoke to reality, only to say to herself:  “So much I shall have to think about—­so much—­I shall never be able to think about it enough.”

Feverishly she followed the heart-breaking tragedy to its close, suffering poignantly the grief of each lover, suffering death for each, and feeling her life desolated when the end came.

But then the dull curtain shut her back into her own little world, where there was no love like that, and beside the little bent man she went out into the night.

The next morning had come a further delight, an invitation to a ball from Brigham.  Most of the day was spent in one of the shops, choosing a gown of wondrous beauty, and having it fitted to her.

[Illustration:  FULL OF ZEST FOR THE MEASURE AS ANY YOUTH]