Этюд в багровых тонах
John Ferrier talks with the Prophet.
Hewasstillsittingwithhiselbowsuponhisknees,consideringhowheshouldbroachthemattertohisdaughterwhenasofthandwaslaiduponhis,andlookingup,hesawherstandingbesidehim. Oneglanceatherpale,frightenedfaceshowedhimthatshehadheardwhathadpassed.
“Icouldnothelpit,”shesaid,inanswertohislook. “Hisvoicerangthroughthehouse. Oh,father,father,whatshallwedo?”
“Don’tyouscareyourself,”heanswered,drawinghertohim,andpassinghisbroad,roughhandcaressinglyoverherchestnuthair. “We’llfixitupsomehoworanother. Youdon’tfindyourfancykindo’lesseningforthischap,doyou?”
Asobandasqueezeofhishandwasheronlyanswer.
“No;ofcoursenot. Ishouldn’tcaretohearyousayyoudid. He’salikelylad,andhe’saChristian,whichismorethanthesefolkhere,inspiteo’alltheirprayingandpreaching. There’sapartystartingforNevadato-morrow,andI’llmanagetosendhimamessagelettinghimknowtheholewearein. IfIknowanythingo’thatyoungman,he’llbebackherewithaspeedthatwouldwhipelectro-telegraphs.”
Lucylaughedthroughhertearsatherfather’sdescription.
“Whenhecomes,hewilladviseusforthebest. ButitisforyouthatIamfrightened,dear. Onehears—onehearssuchdreadfulstoriesaboutthosewhoopposetheProphet:somethingterriblealwayshappenstothem.”
“Butwehaven’topposedhimyet,”herfatheranswered. “Itwillbetimetolookoutforsquallswhenwedo. Wehaveaclearmonthbeforeus;attheendofthat,IguesswehadbestshinoutofUtah.”
