man and a boy hurrying with their rifles to St. James and made no answer to their shout; a galloping horse forged ahead of him and he tried to keep up with it; and then, at the top of the long hill that sloped down to the stronghold of the Mormon kingdom something seemed to sweep his legs from under him, and he fell panting on the ground.  For a few moments he lay there looking down upon the city.  The great bell at the temple was now silent.  He saw huge fires burning for a mile along the coast, hundreds of lights were twinkling in the harbor, there came up to him softly, subdued by distance, the sound of commotion and excitement far below.

His eyes rested on the beacon above the prophet’s home, burning like a ball of fire over the black canopy of tree-tops.  Marion was there!  He rose to his feet again and went on, reason and judgment returning to him—­telling him that he was about to play against odds; that his work was to be one of strength and generalship and not of madness.  As he picked his way more slowly and cautiously down the slope a new hope flashed upon him.  Was it possible that the discovery of the approach of the mainlanders had served to save Marion?  In the excitement that followed the calling of the Mormons to arms and the preparations for the defense would Strang, the master of the kingdom, the bulwark of his people, waste priceless time in carrying out the purpose for which he had sent for Marion?  Hardly did hope burn anew in his breast when there came another thought to quench it.  Why had the king sent for Marion on this particular night and at this late hour?  Why, unless at the approach of his enemies he had feared that he might lose his beautiful victim, and in his overmastering passion had called her to him even as his people assembled in defense of his kingdom.

There was desperate coolness in Nathaniel’s approach now.  Whatever had happened he would do what Neil had threatened to do—­kill Strang.  And whatever had happened he would take Marion away with him if it was only her dead body that he carried in his arms.  To do these things he needed strength.  He advanced more slowly and drew deeper and deeper drafts of air into his exhausted lungs.  At the edge of the grove surrounding the castle he paused to listen.  For the first time it occurred to Nathaniel that the prophet might have assembled some of his fighters to the defense of his harem, which he knew would be one of the first places to feel the vengeance of the outraged men of the mainland.  But he heard no voices ahead of him.  There were no fires to betray the approach of the enemy.  Not even the barking of a dog gave warning of his stealthy advance.  Soon he could make out a light in the king’s house.  A few steps more and he saw that the door was open, as it had been on his first visit to the castle.  He dodged swiftly from bush to bush, darted under the window through which he had seen Marion, leaped lightly up the broad steps and sprang into the great room, his pistol cocked in his hand.