When he was gone the matter of his visit was not referred to.  With some constraint they talked a little while of other things.  But as soon as the two men were alone for the night, Follett turned to him, almost fiercely.

“Say, now, what did that old goat-whiskered loon mean by his hintings about Prudence?”

The little man was troubled.

“Well, the fact is, Brigham has meant to marry her.”

“You don’t mean you’d have let him?  Say, I’d hate to feel sorry for holding off on you like I have!”

“No, no, don’t think that of me.”

“Well, what were you going to do?”

“I hardly knew.”

“You better find out.”

“I know it—­I did find out, to-day.  I know, and it will be all right.  Trust me.  I lost my faith for a moment just now when I heard Brother Brigham was coming to-morrow; but I see how it is,—­the Lord has wished to prove me.  Now there is all the more reason why I should not flinch.  You will see that I shall make it all right to-morrow.”

“Well, the time’s about up.  I’ve been here over two months now, just because you were so kind of helpless.  And one of our wagon-trains will be along here about next Monday.  Say, she wouldn’t ever have married him, would she?”

“No, she refused at once; she refused to consider it at all.”

He was burning again with his fever, and there was something in his eagerness that seemed to overcome Follett’s indignation.

“Well, let it go till to-morrow, then.  And you try to get some rest now.  That’s what I’m going to do.”

But the little bent man, flushed though he was, felt cold from the night air, and, piling more logs on the fire, he drew his chair close in front of it.

As often as Follett wakened through the night he saw him sitting there, sometimes reading what looked like a little old Bible, sometimes speaking aloud as if seeking to memorise a passage.

The last Follett remembered to have heard was something he seemed to be reading from the little book,—­“The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.”

He fell asleep again with a feeling of pity for the little man.

CHAPTER XL.

A Procession, a Pursuit, and a Capture

Follett awoke to find himself superfluous.  The women were rushing excitedly through their housework in order to be at hand when the procession of Brigham and his suite should march in.  Of Joel Rae he caught but a glimpse through the door of his little room, the face flushed that had a long time been sallow and bloodless.  When the door had closed he could hear the voice, now strong again.  He seemed to be, as during the night, rehearsing something he meant to say.  And later it was plain that he prayed, though he heard nothing more than the high pleading of the voice.