Етюд у багряних 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. OnehearsonehearssuchdreadfulstoriesaboutthosewhoopposetheProphet:somethingterriblealwayshappenstothem.” 

           “Butwehaven’topposedhimyet,”herfatheranswered. “Itwillbetimetolookoutforsquallswhenwedo. Wehaveaclearmonthbeforeus;attheendofthat,IguesswehadbestshinoutofUtah.” 

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