THE WEST SHORE.
which bad come to be so much to him. Clarisay had
kn right. They would make him go into this curs
ed businens, but of course she would understand it
waa not because he wanted to. lie wished he had
told her ab3ut it, but it had seemed impossible. At
any rate, he must find her now. lie looked through
the rooms, crcn venturing into the one sacred to the
imall fry, where he woke one innocent in his bung
ling cflforts to see if Clarissy's wraps were gone. As
he stood irresolutely watching the sets forming once
more, bo heard Mr. Luther's wheezy voice, aa that
gentleman stood with his back to him.
" Good joke on Tom," chuckled the old man.
" Whilo bo's a-sparkin Liz, lo an' behold, the bishop
be'i shinin' op to Clariasy."
Tom waited to bear no more. " Chalcy," he said,
a few minutes later, on finding her sitting out a set,
" I'm going home; get your things, and don't say any
thing about it to anyone else."
Chalcy obeyed, poutingly. She did not want to
go so toon.
M Whero's Clarissy?" she snapped, as Tom help
ed her in.
" Home," waa Tom's curt reply.
Chalcy sniffed. She could put this and that to
gether as well as anykxly.
" Tom, you goin' to marry thet dough-faced Liz
an' set her 'longside o' ClarisBy?" she asked, almost
viciously.
" No," snapicd Tom, in return; ho was in no
mood lo talk. What a fool bo had been to think that
Clarissy would stand it As for tho bishop, his game
was plain. Ho meant to get Clarissy ono way or an
other. Tom knew how easily church divorces were
obtained, and ho had thought, idiot that he waa, that
Clarissy would look at tho matter aa he did-aa a dis
agreeable necessity. Ho had planned to build anoth
cr bouso at tho far side of tho farm, so that she need
never aeo the other wife. He sneered at himself for
supposing that would make it any easier for her
Ihen bo Wgan to wonder if she would forgivo him
bhe was a proud woman, ho knew, and, perhaps, in a
moment of jealousy, she might have encouraged the
bishop II, lt00J op ani, whjppM lhe horse8 .nto
run. Chalcy screamed and clutched at him. Would
bo never get home!
Presently tho bouso loomed up, dark and still A
new terror distractM bin, What if she had finished
tha U,ful task from which he had savM heron their
-Uingngbt VMHMZ
U) desperation. An oath at hi. own folly LZ h
lr.u be lIfew tho lines, and jumping ouUf th
wagon bo ran into tho bouse, lcavine ih ,
Chalcy to follow. The palo moonlight wlvLX"!1
poplars, showed him the sitting room empty. ge
opened the door of their room with a trembling hani
Thank God, she was there; her arms were about him
her dear face, tear-wet and trembling, was pressed to
his, her true eyes shining with the love that big coW.
ardice had not killed. Tom could only say, broken
ly-
" Oh, Clarisay, I must 'ave been mad; forgive me
an' we'll leave Utah or die tryin'."
There was no need for him to ask it; she had al.
ready forgiven him, and presently they went out,
hand in hand, to put up the team and relieve Chalcy's
suspense.
When Uncle Tommy heard the story he shook his
head sadly.
"You'll have to leave," he said, sadly, "they'll
never let up on ye. But 1 can't hardly bide the
thought o' ye goin'; happen it won't be long, though."
He spoke the last words wistfully, as to himself, and
they knew they could not leave him now, no matter
what the cost of staying might be. That evening the
old man called Clarissy to him.
" Clarissy, you'll need some money, an' I'd best
give ye what I've got by me. I've had it many a
long year," he went on, musingly, fingering the money
absently. " Yes, ye'll need some money, an' it's hard
to git here." He fell into the deep reverie of old age,
and Clarissy waited patiently. "Money answereth
all things," he went on, presently, his old eyes twink
ling with quiet amusement " When I came to Utah
I turned most o' my money over to the church they
thought all but I kep' some. I never liked the feel
o' bein' a pauper. Here it is, Clarissy, keep it fer
Tom."
Clarissy's simple faith in the God of her mother's
teachings sustained and comforted her in the dark
days closing about them. Yet it is hard to live in
hourly dread of violence, perhaps death; to hear the
muttering voices of hate; to meet the cold, averted
faces that had once beamed with friendliness. It
hurt Tom sorely to be an outcast in his own country.
The evil time grew darker. The hired man and his
wife left secretly and silently, after years of pleasant
service under Uncle Tommy's roof. A pretty, sleek
heifer came lowing piteously home, a deep gash in
ner side. Then Uncle Tommy died , and no one canifl
to offer friendly service to them in their sorrow.
They had laid him in his last narrow bed, and come
back to the house that was no longer home, but the
haunt of anxiety and unrest; the short twilight wai
lading mto the cheerless dusk of the winter night,
when a light tap on the door startled them both
Clarissy instinctively put out the light, then see
ing Tom turn to the door she held him back, her face
deathly p&le.