He thought of Brigham’s home in the Lion House, the score or so of plain, elderly women, hard-working, simple-minded; the few favourites of his later years, women of sightlier exteriors; and he pictured the long dining-room, where, at three o’clock each afternoon, to the sound of a bell, these wives and half a hundred children marched in, while the Prophet sat benignantly at the head of the table and blessed the meal.  He tried to fix Prudence in this picture, but at every effort he saw, not her, the shy, sweet woman, full of surprised tenderness, but a creature hardened, debased, devoid of charm, dehumanised, a brood-beast of the field.

And yet this was not rebellion.  His mind was clear as to that.  He could not refuse, even had refusal not been to incur the severest penalties both in this world and in the world to come.  The habit of obedience was all-powerful.

Presently he saw Prudence coming across the fields in the late afternoon from the road that led to the canon.  He watched her jealously until she drew near, then called her to him.  In a few words he told her very gravely the honour that was to be done her.

When she fully understood, he noted that her mind seemed to attain an unusual clearness, her speech a new conciseness; that she was displaying a force of will he had never before suspected.

Her reply, in effect, was that she would not marry Brigham Young if all the angels in heaven came to entreat her; that the thought was not a pretty one; and that the matter might be considered settled at that very moment.  “It’s too silly to talk about,” she concluded.

Almost fearfully he looked at her, yielding a little to her spirit of rebellion, yet trying not to yield; trying not to rejoice in the amused flash of her dark eyes and the decision of her tones.  But then, as he looked, and as she still faced him, radiant in her confidence, he felt himself going with her—­plunging into the tempting wave of apostasy.

CHAPTER XXXII.

A New Face in the Dream

In a settled despair the little bent man waited for the end.  Already he felt himself an outcast from Israel.  In spirit he had disobeyed the voice of Brigham, which was the voice of God; exulting sinfully in spite of himself in this rebellion.  Praying to be bowed and bent and broken, to have all trace of the evil self within him burned out, he had now let that self rise up again to cry out a want.  Praying that crosses might daily be added to his burden, he had now refused to take up one the bearing of which might have proved to Heaven the extinction of his last selfish desire.  He had been put to the test, as he prayed to be, and he had failed miserably to meet it.  And now he knew that even his life was waning with his faith.

During the year when he waited for the end of the world, he had been nerved to an unwonted vigour.  Now he was weak and fit for no further combat.  He waited, with an indifference that amazed him, for the day when he should openly defy Brigham, and have penalties heaped upon him.