THE WEST SHORE.
71
" What do you mean," he asked presently, " when
you say you ain't a Mormon? "
" I hate it," she replied bitterly. " You can't
know how I feel, but I'll tell you. When we first
came here to Utah, father an' mother didn't know
nothin' about plural marriage, an' when they first
heerd of it they both thought 'twas dreadful; but the
elders kep' talkin' to father, an' so fin'ly he give in."
She shuddered at the remembrance of that time, then
went on in a low, hurried tone: "That was an awful
day when he told mother he was goin' to take another
wifa She begged him not to, an' told him mebbe
she wouldn't live long, she wasn't very strong; but
'twas no use. He said it was his duty to do it, an'
hers to submit, an' when she wouldn't they degraded
her an' put Marthy over her as first wife. She didn't
live quite a year after that, an' I 'moat hate father
when I think how he treated her. He made me stay
away from her, an' said she was bad, but I'd creep
into her room of nights an' we'd talk in whispers for
fear they'd hear us. I told Marthy she lied once,
when she said mother was a wicked woman an' sure
to go to hell, an' father he took me in mother's room
she was sick abed an' he whipped me till I was
sick. Nex' time I saw her she was dyin'. She hadn't
spoke all day. I guess they thought she was too weak
to talk, or they wouldn't ha' let mo in. She put her
arm 'round my neck an' whispered low for mo to
promise her to never bo a Mormon, an' to git away
from 'em. Then she died, but I kissed her poor face,
an' promised jest as if she could know. I'd learnt
enough not to tell nobody how I felt about Mormon,
ism, an' I never have till now. I know I don't feel
right to father, but oh, I can't never forgive him for
keepin' me away from her."
She burst into bitter tears that would not bo re
pressed. Tom was silent, not knowing how to com
fort her.
" I'm a wicked girl," sho said presently, " I don't
love my father, an' if I married you, an' you took an
other wife, I'd hate you both. I'll keep my promiso
to mother, an' I can't marry you 'less you'll bo a (Ion
tile," " Clarisay," said Tom earnestly, " if you'll marry
mo I'll never take another wife, W'y, I oouldn't; l'vo
loved you over sinco I've knowed you."
" They'd make you do it, or they'd kill you," re
plied the girl sadly.
" Oh, the days of tho Danitea aro over," said Tom,
with youth's easy confidence " I hear they'ro going
to build a railroad up through Cache, and father says
if once tho railroad comes this way the MH)plo wou't
bo so bogoty. The Gentiles will corao in ami every,
thing will bo different then; but Clarisiy," his voice
was very tender and his lips almost touched her
flushed check, "you know father won't go away, he's
so old now. Ho wants to die at homo, ho says, ami I
promised him this time I came home I wouldn't leave
him again. It's very lonely down at tho house, my
dear, won't you trust mo and let mo try to make you
happy."
Clarissy was not mado of marble, and sho loved
Tom very dearly, yet sho could not forget her moth,
er's warnings.
" You make it awful hard for me," sho said, lira
ply, "but you know I love you, Torn," and with that
ho had to bo content for tho presnnt
" I've got to go down to Ogdon to-morrow," ho
told her at parting, " and I may bo gone a werk or
t wa Will you bo glad to seo mo whon I oorao back ? "
" Wait and see," sho said demurely, and with that
they parUxL Uar.i.Mxu.
To ! roUtim!