"No," says Harry, curtly. "No favors from your father of such financial magnitude."

"Why not?" queries Erma, who has made up her mind that Lawrence must be aided in some way.

"Because your father, the first time he sees me, must think me a man who can fight his own battle in this world--a man worthy to be--" He checks himself, and drives the words that are on his tongue back into his throat.

"At all events," mutters Erma, "you must see my father. He is a man of great business sagacity. His advice will aid you. Promise that you will come to-morrow and see him."

"I go to Tintic to-morrow."

"Promise!" and, being desperate, the young lady now forgets herself and whispers, "for my sake."

Then she suddenly feels her soft hand crushed in a frontier grip as he answers:

"For your sake I'd promise anything!" and, a moment after, he raises the white patrician fingers and kisses them with that reverence and chivalry that good men, who have long lived apart from good women, oft-times feel for their sweethearts, likening them unto their mothers. Then he murmurs, "Good-bye!"

But the girl cries, "Don't forget to-morrow. I will tell papa to be in at eleven o'clock. He will advise you how to conquer that Tranyon. See!

a rosebud for good luck," and smiles on him. "I will pin it in your b.u.t.ton-hole."

"No," he stammers, "let me carry it in my hand. Good-bye!" almost s.n.a.t.c.hing the flower from her, for he is desperately afraid of himself, for grat.i.tude and love have made this young lady's beauty irresistible to him.

Hurrying from this interview, Lawrence thinks, "G.o.d help me. It was hard to keep my heart from her," then mutters morosely, "I'll not be called an adventurer,--an heiress hunter. Her million stands up between us more colossal than ever." Though a moment after, he says determinedly: "By Heaven!--No one else shall ever have her--my angel!"

At this moment he hears behind him, "A word with you, sir!" and turning, sees Mr. Oliver, who has just noticed the end of the parlor interview with agony and rage.

"Certainly. Half a dozen," answers Lawrence. Then he laughs and says, "I am so happy I could even give you five minutes."

"Very well,--come with me," whispers Ollie, and getting to a retired part of the hallway he turns upon the captain and remarks oracularly and severely, "I forbid you to call again upon the young lady who is under my charge."

"Your authority?"

"Her father's."

"The young lady under your charge," remarks the Western man sarcastically, "hinted to me last evening that you told fairy tales; that you have no authority whatever in the matter; that she is her own mistress."

"The young lady," returns Livingston, pulling down his cuffs in a nervous manner, "knows that her father wishes me to control her life till she marries me." Then getting excited, he bursts forth, "Good Heavens! You don't suppose that Ralph Travenion, who was in his day the greatest club man and swell in New York, would permit his child to marry a frontier Vigilante like you,--almost a mur--" Here Mr. Livingston suddenly checks himself and shrieks out desperately and wildly, "Don't strike me! I was once to have studied for the ministry!"

"Oh, very well," says Harry, laughing. "As to the young lady's father, he can say to me what he pleases. I am to see him to-morrow by appointment," and he carelessly smells Erma's rosebud, and continues: "But you had better keep a civil tongue. I am too happy to hit you, for if I did, I might kill you; but I'll take you by your aquiline nose and lead you twice around the nearest barroom, if you are not as polite and as mild and as fragrant as this rosebud," and he walks out, leaving Oliver pale with rage and perspiring with agitation--for Lawrence's laughing mood and his remark that he sees Miss Travenion's father by appointment to-morrow, have frightened Mr. Livingston almost to death.

So, coming out from this interview, Harry Lawrence draws his check at Walker Brothers, has it certified, and walks over to Mr. Bussey's Bank, to restore Miss Travenion's money to her letter of credit.

Chancing on his errand to meet Bishop Kruger, that gentleman looks at him and chuckles to himself, remembering the ball of the evening before: "You play a strong game, young man, but I rather think I hold the hand on ye this deal," and being reminded of his promise to Miss Travenion, proceeds to hunt up Mr. Ferdie upon Main Street, remarking, "That cigarette boy will play my next chip for me right 'cute."

He does not tell him this, however, on meeting, but says affably, "How de, Mr. Chauncey? I think I can furnish a leettle amus.e.m.e.nt for you and your party."

"As you did last night, dancing the double shuffle?" laughs Ferdie, who is not particularly in love with Lot.

"No, I kin do better than that. Your party are out here studying the manners and customs of us natives, I take it. Now, if you will bring your crowd up to the Twenty-fifth Ward meeting to-night, you'll see a Mormon Sunday-school celebration. Please tell Miss Ermie that I will see her thar; I ain't forgot my promise, and her dad's to be in town to-night."

"I'm delighted to hear that! Miss Travenion has been looking anxiously for her father," replies Ferdinand. "I will give her your message, and if you will promise to cut a pigeon wing, I'll come up myself," and with this leaves the genial Lot, who, cursing his impertinence under his breath, mumbles, "Some day, my jumping-jack, your wit may cost you the leettle brains you've got."

After Lawrence has left her, Miss Travenion goes back to her room blushingly happy, and says complacently, "Papa will fix everything.

Lawrence will win his mine,--and then--" and her blue eyes seem to look quite confidently into the future, for she has supreme faith in her father.

Every time he had come to New York on his various visits, he had brought happiness to her; she remembers the joy of his arrival, the little _fetes_ prepared for her as a school girl, and the magnificent presents lavished upon her from Tiffany's and Kirkpatrick's when she was old enough for such things, and thinking of her absent dear one, she grows anxious as to Mr. Kruger's promise, sending to the office several times to ask if any one has called upon her, or asked for her, but the answer always comes back, "No!" Then she takes to reading Ralph Travenion's last letter to her, a thing she has done a dozen times during the past few days, and while occupied in this, there is a knock on the door, and springing up and tripping lightly to it, she opens it, crying, "Papa! at last!" but is disappointed, for it is only Ferdie's laughing face.

He says to her, "I have not brought your father, but Mr. Kruger wants to see you."

"Indeed? Is he down-stairs?" asks Erma eagerly.

"No, but he gave me a message for you. He has invited us all to go up and see a little Mormon Sunday-school festival."

"What has the Mormon Sunday-school performance to do with me?"

"Oh, nothing; but I thought it would be fun, and Mr. Kruger--Bishop Kruger, I beg his pardon--told me to tell you that he would be there and had not forgotten his promise. Your father will be in town to-night."

"G.o.d bless you for the news!" cries the girl, then laughs, "Do you know, I was really becoming anxious. Bishop Kruger has something to tell to me. Thanks for your invitation. I'll go. At what time?"

"About eight o'clock," answers Mr. Chauncey.

But, on arriving at the dinner-table, Miss Travenion finds that the Livingstons have made other plans for the evening. Mr. Bandman, a theatrical celebrity, at that time on his travelling tour, is to appear as Narcisse, and Mrs. Livingston has tickets for the theatre, and is anxious to go.

"I am sorry I cannot accompany you," answers Erma.

"No? Why not?"

"Because Ferdie and I are going to a Mormon Sunday-school festival. Mr.

Kruger wishes to see me there. He has received word from my father. My father will be in Salt Lake, probably, to-night."

"Indeed?" says Mrs. Livingston complacently. "I am delighted to hear that; then we can shorten our visit to Salt Lake," for she has grown rather tired of the town, and is anxious to proceed on her journey.

"Please give your father my compliments, Erma, and tell Mr. Travenion he must breakfast with me--at ten to-morrow morning." Then she says diplomatically, "Ferdie, wouldn't you like to see Mr. Bandman?"

"Quite well," answers that gentleman; "they say he has a very pretty leading lady."

"Then you had better come with us. I hardly dare trust Miss Travenion to you in a Mormon a.s.semblage. You make careless remarks that excite their rage." She now comes to the point to which she has been working, and suggests: "Oliver, you had better take Erma," and is pleased to hear her son remark: "I will do so with pleasure."

"Thank you," says the girl in so grateful a tone that Mrs. Livingston, who has heard of Captain Lawrence's call during the afternoon, and has been fearful as to its effect in regard to Oliver's chances with the heiress, goes very complacently away from her dinner, and taking Ferdie and Louise, proceeds to the Salt Lake Theatre.

Then Miss Travenion, very much excited, takes carriage, and, escorted by Mr. Oliver Livingston, drives to the Sunday-school festival in the little Mormon meeting-house of the Twenty-fifth Ward.

"Papa will be in town to-night," she says in happy tones. "Fancy, I have not seen him for eight months. And Mr. Kruger says he is well."

"I shall be very happy to see him, also," returns Livingston cordially.

"I have not met a man in this crude community yet to whom I cared to talk. Your father's old Unity Club anecdotes will seem to me like an echo of New York."

"I am glad to hear that papa's small talk pleases you," laughs the young lady, and a moment after says: "We are here."

a.s.sisting her from the carriage, Oliver cries to the hackman: "Be back in an hour!" for a carriage at a Mormon ward meeting is so unusual that it attracts the attention of the crowd of Latter-Day Saints who are entering the building. Then he adds: "You need not stop in front of this place. Just draw up about a quarter of a square from here!"

And the man driving away, they mingle with the crowd, and are scarcely noticed again, as Miss Travenion, thoughtful of the place to which she has come, has dressed herself in her most unpretentious gown, and has covered her bonnet and face with a veil so as not to attract attention by any contrast of toilet with the surrounding congregation. The hall is already almost filled, and they only find seats in the back row unoccupied. On these they sit down, and Miss Travenion's eyes go wandering over the a.s.semblage searching for Mr. Kruger.