CHAPTER IV

THE WHIPPING

Scarce had the words fallen from his lips when there sounded a slow, heavy step on the stair outside.  The young girl snatched her hand free and caught Nathaniel by the wrist.

“It is the king!” she whispered excitedly.  “It is the king!  Quick—­you still have time!  You must go—­you must go—­”

She strove to pull him across the room.

“There—­through that door!” she urged.

The slowly ascending steps were half way up the stairs.  Nathaniel hesitated.  He knew that a moment before there had passed through that door one who carried with her the odor of lilac and his heart leaped to its own conclusion who that person was.  He had heard the rustle of the girl’s skirt.  He had seen the last inch of the door close as Strang’s wife pulled it after her.  And now he was implored to follow!  He sprang forward as the heavy steps neared the landing.  His hand was upon the latch—­when he paused.  Then he turned and bent his head close down to the girl.

“No, I won’t do it, my dear,” he whispered.  “Just now it might make trouble for—­her.”

He lifted his eyes and saw a man looking at him from the doorway.  He needed no further proof to assure him that this was Strang the king of the Mormons, for the Beaver Island prophet was painted well in that region which knew the grip and terror of his power.  He was a massive man, with the slow slumbering strength of a beast.  He was not much under fifty; but his thick beard, reddish and crinkling, his shaggy hair, and the full-fed ruddiness of his face, with its foundation of heavy jaw, gave him a more youthful appearance.  There was in his eyes, set deep and so light that they shone like pale blue glass, the staring assurance that is frequently born of power.  In his hand he carried a huge metal-knobbed stick.

In an instant Nathaniel had recovered himself.  He advanced a step, bowing coolly.

“I am Captain Plum, of the sloop Typhoon,” he said.  “I called at your home a short time ago and was directed to your office.  As a stranger on the island I did not know that you had an office or I would have come here first.”

“Ah!”

The king drew his right foot back half a pace and bowed so low that Nathaniel saw only the crown of his hat.  When he raised his head the aggressive stare had gone out of his eyes and a welcoming smile lighted up his face as he advanced with extended hand.

“I am glad to see you, Captain Plum.”

His voice was deep and rich, filled with that wonderful vibratory power which seems to strike and attune the hidden chords of one’s soul.  The man’s appearance had not prepossessed Nathaniel, but at the sound of his voice he recognized that which had made him the prophet of men.  As the warm hand of the king clasped his own Captain Plum knew that he was in the presence of a master of human destinies, a