The Mormon Girl.

By Paula Brown.

EDITOR'S NOTE.-The author of this story has spent practically all of her life in Salt Lake City, Utah. Her parents were for many years members of the dominant church in Utah, but later were converted and became members of the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. She has had every opportunity to study and observe conditions in her native State. She vouches for the fact that all of the leading events in the story, incredible though some of them may seem, are based on actual occurrences.

CHAPTER VIII.—“MARRIAGE IS FOR ETERNITY."

RS. BROWNLEY was anxious and worried. While she had no thought of antagonizing the bishop, she was none the less determined that he should not have her daughter for a polygamous wife, if it were in her power to prevent it. When the bishop called the next day he was met at the door by Mrs. Brownley. He was in a very complacent mood, and stood smiling and rubbing his hands as usual. She asked him to be seated. He complied, and she took a seat also, though not very close to him. Conversation seemed strained, and they both felt ill at ease. He felt intuitively that she was the greatest obstacle he would have to overcome, and his courage increased with the knowledge. He felt an awe in her presence, which he tried to hide from her; and she felt a fear and anxiety that she wished to conceal from him.

He asked after the health and welfare of the family, and she replied that all were well. After a few remarks on general topics he asked for June, fearing the usual reply-"Not at home."

Mrs. Brownley answered that she was well and at home; but she made no move to call her, and he grew perceptibly nervous.

"Sister Brownley, I suppose you are aware of the purpose of my visit this afternoon, and that a-I can rely on your-a-sanction and a-assistance?" he stammered, rubbing his hands vigorously. She was nonplused for a moment.

"Bishop, you can rely upon me always and under all circumstances wherever my daughter's happiness or welfare is concerned," she answered.

He looked relieved, and said: "Ah-and you do not doubt my ability and my willingness to make her happy, I know?" with an air of self-approval, as he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. "I doubt the ability of any man to make a woman happy in polygamy, for it is an impossibility."

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"Indeed! And how long have you been of that turn of mind, may I ask?" he said in a tone of displeasure, mingled with surprise. 'Always. It is not in the nature of woman to be happy in polygamy, and no one knows that fact better than you ought to." She was gathering strength as she warmed to the subject. "Just reverse the case and put yourself in her place. Could you be happy under like circumstances?"

"That is out of the question," he said, with a movement of impatience.

"Certainly, and polygamy ought to be, too."

He arose, moved his chair closer to hers, and sat down facing her. He assumed an air of responsibility and anxiety, leaned toward her and said in a confidential tone: "My dear sister, do you realize the serious the awful danger of your position? Why! You are not only destroying your own chances of salvation, but you are preventing your husband's exaltation."

"We are humble people, and are contented to remain so."

"I was referring to the future life," he said, rising with great dignity.

"So was I."

"May I speak to Miss June for a few minutes?" he asked.

She went to the door and called to June to come in, and resumed her seat. The bishop understood from this that she did not intend the interview to be private; but he thought he would make the best of the opportunity, nevertheless.

June came in, looking embarrassed and frightened. She went to her mother and stood with her hand on the back of her chair. The bishop went up to her, and taking both of her hands in his, said: "My dear, have you considered well what I said to you the other evening?" and he peered anxiously into her face. "I have come here to-day to make you an honorable offer of my heart and hand, the highest honor a man can offer a woman-a high and honorable position in my household here, and queen over my kingdom hereafter."

"I do not wish to marry yet; I am too young," she said, as she tried to free her hands from him.

The angry blood suffused his face, and dropping her hands, he strode across the room and back again. He stopped before her again and asked: "Would you have answered that young Gentile so if he had asked you to have him?"

"There is no danger of his asking me, bishop," she answered blushing.

"Not if I can prevent it," he muttered to himself, as he turned and paced the floor once more.

June sat down near her mother, but the bishop continued to pace the floor in silence for a few minutes. He was dumfounded, shocked, to think this poor, humble girl would refuse a man of his wealth and high position in the church. Mrs. Brownley sat still, observing him, but she did not interrupt him in any way. Once more he paused before June and said: "Listen to me. If you marry that young Gentile, you'll lose your own soul. Marriage is not for this life only, but for all eternity; and our sealing is the only true marriage."

"Bishop, what 'young Gentile' do you refer to? if I may be permitted to ask," said Mrs. Brownley.

"To the one that was here last night-oh, she knows," with a glance at June.

"Mr. Gray? Why, she has never met him until last evening." "That's nothing. The 'straws show which way the wind is blowing.'" He glanced at June again as he said this, and she blushed

again. He turned to Mrs. Brownley and said: "I feel it my duty to warn you, though this doctrine can't be new to you, that no woman can be resurrected unless she's been sealed to some man who will call her up in the resurrection morn. Just reflect on these things, my dear sister, and I believe you'll see some things differently." Then turning to June again, he continued: "As for you, my dear, you are not old enough to understand, and realize these deep mysteries yet; but you have found a warm place in my heart, and no matter when the time--no matter what the circumstanceswhenever you're ready to come to me, you'll find a welcome; for my arms will always be open to you; and I know you'll come, for it has been revealed to me. It is the will of Cod." He took up his hat, and saying "I bid you both good day," he departed.

It was the custom of the dominant church in Utah to send the ward teachers to visit every family in the ward every week. Two teachers to each block generally went together. It was among their duties to see that each member paid his tithing; that he perform all the family duties devolving upon him; that there be no iniquity, no hard feelings among them, etc. In those days they would often ask the questions plainly, "Do you pay your tithing regularly?" "Do you believe in polygamy or celestial marriage?" Mrs. Brownley had always evaded the discussion of these questions with the teachers, but it did not take them long to learn her attitude in regard to these principles after her encounter with the bishop. They came to labor with her, to show her the error of her ways. They told her she was a "stumbling-block" to her husband and family; that she was keephim from his "rights and privileges," and from "exaltation hereafter," etc.

Finding her incorrigible, they turned their attention to Mr. Brownley. They told him he should not let his wife rule him, and keep him from his "eternal salvation and exaltation"; that she was no longer a wife to him, having broken her "sacred oaths and covenants." They exhorted him to "put her away and take others, build up your kingdom, and attain 'celestial glory,' which is not only your privilege, but it is your duty."

Mr. Brownley listened patiently to this harangue until now, when his southern blood arose in rebellion. "Brethren, I believe I am still capable of conducting my own domestic affairs; when I find I am not, I'll call on you; but until then, good evening." He arose and pointed to the door. They recognized the "danger signal" and quickly departed.

CHAPTER IX. THE WEDDING.

The little chapel was brilliantly lighted, and decorated with palms, ferns and flowers. It was well-filled with expectant relatives and friends of the happy couple. At 8 o'clock the familiar strains of the "wedding march" burst forth as two carriages, containing the bridal party, drove up to the entrance. Frank Thomas and Wilbert Gray alighted from the first carriage and walked slowly up the aisle to the altar, where they were met by the Rev. Mr. Bridge. They turned to welcome the bride, Miss Belle Raney, as she came

in leaning on her father's arm, and accompanied by June Brownley. Frank received his bride from her father with a grave bow and a happy smile. The ceremony being completed, they walked down the aisle again to the strains of "Blest be the tie that binds," followed by June and Wilbert. As they were passing through the vestibule, Wilbert bent his head close to June's and said in an undertone:

"I hope we will stand before the altar together again before long." She looked up into his face quickly, as if to read the interpretation of his novel speech.

He read her questioning glance and said, "Oh, I mean it.”

"I am afraid it can never be," she replied, softly.

"Why? What is it you are afraid of?" She made no reply. "Tell me please," he urged, and he held her by the arm as they reached the outer door.

"I can not tell you now."

"But you will when I come again?" and he looked anxiously into her face.

"Yes," she murmured, and they walked on to overtake the others. "That shall be very soon, then," he said, as he handed her into the carriage. He stepped in and sat down beside her. They accompanied the happy couple to the house, where they were to prepare for their departure, as the train would leave in about two hours.

That night June lay in the darkness hour after hour. She felt confused and bewildered, yet happy. The excitement of the evening had banished sleep, and it refused to be coaxed back. She passed through the scenes of the evening once more, and her thoughts dwelt upon Wilbert, his words and his manner. "How different he is from the young men of my acquaintance. He has such a pleasing personality, still he wields a strong influence over all with whom he comes in contact. He seems a tower of strength to me, that invites confidence. When I am with him, I feel an almost irresistible impulse to tell him all of my troubles." Her thoughts then reverted to the bishop and his words: "Would you have answered that young Gentile so if he had asked you to have him?" The blood mounted to her face again, but she felt a happy vibration which she did not understand.

The bishop had not given her up, by any means. He sought her father once more, in a very affable mood-being very careful not to atagonize him, for he had heard of his brush with the teachers and he sought to gain his ends through him. He first impressed upon him his great importance; what a power he was in the church, in politics, in business, and in society. Offering to help him in any or all of these departments, if he would only be guided by his advice. Mr. Brownley was well aware of the seriousness of giving offense to the bishop, and the conflict with the teachers. He knew it meant social ostracism and financial ruin, if no worse; therefore, he received the bishop cordially, hoping thereby to benefit himself and his family. The bishop came often to talk with him, and to advise him. He told him it was not advisable to allow that young Gentile, Gray, the freedom of his house; to discountenance any further attentions from him to his daughter, for he knew nothing of him

or his people, and he could mean no good towards her; that she was young and not competent to judge in such matters. "We must judge for her, for we can not allow the little dear to ruin her own salvation and future happiness, you know, Brother Brownley; we must use persuasion first, but we must be very strict, you knowvery strict," he said, with a very wise, self-important air.

Mr. Brownley talked to his daughter and her mother, telling them what a noble, influential man Bishop Jenkins was; what an honor he was bestowing upon them in asking for their daughter. He tried to impress upon them the great advantage of such a marriage, the wealth, position, etc. (He had been careful not to mention the bishop's frequent conferences with him on the subject, nor did he wish them to know that he was being influenced at all by the bishop.) He forbade her receiving any more visits or attentions from young Gray, or holding any communications with him in any way whatsoever. "It is just as the bishop says, that these young Gentile rascals only come here to entice and ruin our girls. I can not permit you to ruin your prospects and happiness for life; so put all sentimental notions out of your head, and prepare to marry the bishop."

"Oh, papa!-Anything but that don't ask me to marry the bishop. I'd rather die!" she pleaded, stepping between him and the door as he was about to leave the room.

"John, John! Are you going to let this man rule you, soul and body?" cried his wife.

"I am going to let no one rule me, so not another word," as if to silence her. Then, turning to his daughter, he continued, "I can not allow you to throw away a chance like this the bishop offers you."

The mother's tears flowed in sympathy with her daughter, who dropped her father's hand, and fell sobbing on the sofa. The scene was too much for his mental equilibrium, and melted his sternness somewhat. He went to his daughter, laid his hand on her head and said in a softened tone, "You are not old enough to comprehend it now, my dear, but some day you'll realize that I acted for your best good, and you'll thank me for it; so be a sensible little girl and obey your father." And he took the tear-stained face between his hands, kissed it and was gone.

Mrs. Brownley took her daughter in her arms, to comfort and sympathize with her. "Oh, mamma, I can not marry that man; let me stay with you," she sobbed.

"God grant that you may, darling."

CHAPTER X.-PARTED.

True love is the most sacred of the soul's powers or faculties; it casts a halo around our pathway as nothing else can do; it lends strength to the weak, hope to the discouraged, and smooths life's rugged pathway. It has been well said by the poet that "He that knoweth no love, knoweth not the keenest delight of earth," and he might have added-or of heaven. There is no suffering more keen, more lasting, than that of a disappointed love-when that