As the chill evening closed in that Sabbath night when the city
was stilled of all its Conference bustle,--for Conference had been
adjourned to meet again in six months--John Stevens hurried down to
spend the quiet evening hours with Ellen Tyler. He had resolved to ask
her to be his wife, and if she happily consented, he should insist that
no delays of months or even weeks were necessary, but the sweet June
month, not far away with its rose-blown days and its fragrant, mellow
nights, should see their wedding day with its tender promise of loving
reality.
"Well, Aunt Clara," he said to that good lady, "I am here again, you
see. Who comes so often as I do?"
"No one that is half so welcome," she answered gently, with her kindly
smile. "Come right in, John, and let me take your hat."
"How are you all, Aunt Clara, and I suppose I may as well out with it:
where is Ellie?"
"We are well, John, and so is Ellie. She got over her little sick spell
all right, and went to meeting this morning. But she is not at home
tonight, nor will she be for a few days. I let her go home with the
Meachams, who live in Provo, you know. I have had to be away from home
so much this winter and spring, nursing the sick, that Ellen has been
real lonesome. I felt a little sorry to let her go, for I don't like
our girls away from home these times. However, you know I can't always
have my way, and Ellen teased so long, and Brother Meacham said he
would be very careful of her, and as she promised to be back inside of
two weeks, I just had to let her go."
"Where did the Meachams stay, while they were here, Aunt Clara? Did
they put up with you?"
"Oh, no; you know we had all of Jane's folks from Davis County, and we
had eight of the new arrivals from England, some folks that Brother
Kimball told to come here; they had been so kind to him while he was in
England."
"I wonder where the Meachams did stay, then?" asked John, uneasily.
"I ain't sure, but I think they camped in the Tithing Yard; you know
they have a good wagon, and as they are pretty independent, they would
rather do for themselves than to stay with anyone, unless it was an own
brother or sister."
John picked up his hat with his usual slow, decisive motion, and
refusing Aunt Clara's warm invitation to stay awhile and chat with
her, he left the house, with his long, swinging strides, and was soon
out of the gate, on his way to the Tithing Yard. He did not stop to
ask himself why he was going there, for he knew that most of the teams
which had camped there would be on their hurried way for home, as soon
as the Conference was once closed. Yet he walked as rapidly as was
possible for him, and he told himself that all he hoped to find out was
what hour the Meachams left, and who else was with Ellen Tyler.
It was a dark night in the early spring. Once inside the yard he made
his way through the mass of debris and over outstretched wagon tongues
to the one lone campfire burning brightly in a distant corner of the
yard. The children were sitting with sleepy, bent heads upon their
mother's knees, listening with all but unconscious ears as one or
another gave the company the benefit of some imitation of Yorkshire
dialect, or spun a yarn in canny Scotch. As John approached the group,
he noted one face, with a positive start.
"James Meacham," he called out, unable to contain himself, "I thought
you were on your road to Provo. I was told you had started this
afternoon; and also, that you had Ellen Tyler with you, who was going
with your wife and daughter to make a short visit. How is it I find you
here?"
"Well, Brother John, you find me here because I am not there; I did
not start, because I was not ready to start. And I haven't seen your
precious young friend, Ellen Tyler; no more has my wife, nor my girl
Maggie, I think. She was to be here tonight to let us know if she could
go down with us. And what's more, I am wondering why it is you are so
particular to know. Are you going to marry that fine young woman?"
"Where is Sister Meacham?" asked John, in a low tone, unheeding his
friend's raillery.
"She is just gone to bed in the wagon. Here, Maggie," he called, at the
side of the wagon, as he led the way for John, "here's John Stevens
huntin' up pretty Ellie Tyler."
"Sister Meacham, have you seen Ellen today, and do you know whether she
went to Provo with anyone else?"
"Why, Brother Stevens, I saw Ellie yesterday, and she told me she was
going to go with us down to Provo for a day or two, but she hasn't
been around today, and as I thought maybe she was wanting to get a
bit readier. I asked James to wait all night and we would go down to
Tyler's in the morning on our way out of town and pick Ellie up. Have
you been down to her house? I guess she is there, all right."
John said a few hurried words, and then hastened away in the silent
night, leaving the Meachams with a little wonder on their minds, but
no suspicion of anything serious. He remembered that Ellen often
stayed at Winthrops over night when Aunt Clara had to be out nursing,
and he would go there before he gave way to the horrible doubts and
fears that were nearly overmastering him. His knock at the door was
answered by Diantha herself, and she held out her hand to John with a
pretty attempt which began at serious coldness, but which ended like
an invitation to forgive and forget. John did not see her outstretched
hand. He was too full of other emotions to even see the welcoming
sparkle in her blue eyes. He merely took off his hat and asked
laconically:
"Is Ellen Tyler over here?"
"No, I've hardly seen Ellen for weeks, that is, except at a distance."
Her manner was cold at once. He had come hunting another girl.
John's next words dispelled this coldness, and communicated to her
something of the excited fears which tore the breast of the man before
her.
"Diantha, Ellen Tyler left her home this afternoon just after meeting,
telling Aunt Clara that she was going to Provo with James Meacham's
family to spend a fortnight. Aunt Clara is near worn out with nursing
and Conference visitors, and consented to let Ellie go for two weeks.
Ellen took her clothes with her, and bade them all goodbye. She is not
with the Meachams, who are still encamped in the Tithing Yard, nor is
she at home nor here. Where is she?"
Diantha looked with fixed, widening eyes at the pale face before her,
and she repeated slowly and mechanically, as if too stunned to think:
"Where is she?"