Up to the time of Angel’s death she had rejoiced in these letters, not doubting that Ephraim had remained the same self-sacrificing friend—­ready out of mere but perfect kindness to befriend her to the uttermost.  She had not doubted because she had not questioned.  Now disquieting thoughts intervened, producing a new shyness.  She remembered their last interview, and wondered if Ephraim would feel the same responsibility for her if she returned destitute.  Perhaps the ardour of his friendship had cooled.  Perhaps in the last letter he had intended to suggest to her that he thought of marriage, and this time for love, not kindness, the lady being one of his new Hartford friends.

But no doubt the principal reason of Susannah’s dalliance with time in those first weeks of her moral freedom was the mental weakness that succeeds shock.  Every day she thought that she would soon write that begging letter, until the day came when opportunity ceased.

When the Danite left he had promised the farmer to return as soon as it was possible to place Susannah in safety with her Mormon friends.  When she began to speak of leaving, her host told her this for the first time.

“And what is the young man’s name?” the old man asked of Susannah.  They were in the long living-room at the mid-day meal.  His sons, who were leaving the table, waited to hear the answer; the mother, the very children, looked at her with interest.

“I do not know,” said Susannah.

There was a pause, and for the first time she was aware that there was some sentiment in the minds of her hearers which did not appear upon the surface.

She went on, “I don’t know why he should trouble himself to come back for me except that—­I think that he was much touched by some earnest words my husband said to him that he did not see his way to accept, and I think also that he is zealous for the Church.”

Her surpassing wrongs had so far set her apart and made all that she said and did sacred.  No one questioned her further.

In the beginning of February the Danite reappeared.  He came under the cover of night, but showed himself only when the household was awake.  He was much thinner, more gaunt than before, but in frankness and quietude the same.  His first words to Susannah had an import she did not expect.

“That young lady you mentioned to me—­I said she was dead because you were half crazy, and would have gone back to her, but I worked round till I found her; she got to the city of Far West right enough.”

After a while he said, “That young lady and some other of our folks have got horses and they’re going into Illinois now.  Most of our folks are walking.  It’s about as bad as can be, but I guess you’ll have to go.  We’ll be safe enough, for as long as we go straight on the Gentiles are bound to let us pass.  I tried to get some better sort of a way for you and her, but there ain’t no way unless we would have sworn we weren’t Saints and gone pretending to be Gentiles, but even then we haven’t got the money.”