The accent fell upon the first and third syllables with an upward surge of melody that seemed to make the house vibrate.  He thought perhaps some of the Saints would find it well to put away all but the one rightful wife, making due provision, of course, for their support.  Lorena’s never-ending ballad came like the horns that blew before the walls of Jericho, bringing down the ramparts of his old belief.  Some of the Saints would doubtless put away the false wives as a penance.  He might even bring himself to do it, since, in the light of his wondrous new revelation, it would be obeying the Lord’s will.

When Prudence came softly in to him, like a cool little breath of fragrance from the canon, he smiled up to her with a fulness of delight she had never seen in his face before.

There was a new light in her own eyes, new decisions presaged, a new desire imperfectly suppressed.  He stroked her hand as she sat beside him on the bed, wondering if she had at last learned her own secret.  But she became grave, and was diverted from her own affairs when she observed him more closely.

“Why, you’re sick—­you’re burning up with fever!  You must be covered up at once and have sage tea.”

He laughed at her, a free, full laugh, such as she had never heard from him in all the years.

“It’s no fever, child.  It’s new life come to me.  I’m strong again.  My face burns, but it must be the fire of health.  I have a work given to me—­God has not wholly put me aside.”

“But I believe you are sick.  Your hands are so hot, and your eyes look so unnatural.  You must let me—­”

“Now, now—­haven’t I learned to tell sickness from the glow of a holy purpose?”

“You’re sure you are well?”

“Better than for fifteen years.”

She let herself be convinced for the moment.

“Then please tell me something.  Must a man who comes into our faith, if he is baptised rightly, also marry more than one wife if he is to be saved?  Can’t he be sure of his glory with one if he loves her—­oh, very, very much?”

He was moved at first to answer her out of the fulness of his heart, telling her of the wonderful new revelation.  But there came the impulse to guard it jealously in his own breast a little longer, to glory secretly in it; half-fearful, too, that some virtue would go out of it should he impart it too soon to another.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Ruel Follett would join our Church if he didn’t have to marry more than one wife.  If he loved some one very much, I’m afraid he would find it hard to marry another girl—­oh, he simply couldn’t—­no matter how pretty she was.  He never could do it.”  Here she pulled one of the scarlet ribbons from her broad hat.  She gave a little exclamation of relief as if she had really meant to detach it.

“Tell him to wait a little.”

“That’s what I did tell him, but it seems hardly right to let him join believing that is necessary.  I think some one ought to find out that one wife is all God wants a man ever to have, and to tell Mr. Follett so very plainly.  His mind is really open to truth, and you know he might do something reckless—­he shouldn’t be made to wait too long.”