Was Marion at the temple?  If so he realized that she was beyond his reach.  But the woman had said that she was not there.  Where could she have gone?  Why had not Strang taken her with his wives?  In a flash Nathaniel thought of Arbor Croche and Obadiah—­the two men who always knew what the king was doing.  If he could find the sheriff alone—­if he could only nurse Obadiah back into sane life again!  He thrust his pistol into its holster.  There was but one thing for him to do and that was to return to the old councilor.  It would be madness for him to go down to St. James.  He had lost—­Strang had won.  But his love for Marion was undying.  If he found her Strang’s wife it would make no difference to him.  It would all be evened up when he killed the king.  For Marion loved him—­loved him—­

He turned his face toward Obadiah’s, his heart singing the glad words which the woman had spoken to him back there in the sixth chamber.

And as he was about to take the first step in that long race back to the mad councilor’s he heard behind him the approach of quick feet.  He crouched behind a clump of bushes and waited.  A shadowy form was hurrying through the grove.  It passed close to him, mounted the castle steps, and in the doorway turned and looked back for an instant in the direction of St. James.

Nathaniel’s lips quivered; the pounding of his heart half choked him; a shriek of mad, terrible joy was ready to leap from his lips.

There in the dim glow of the great lamp stood Strang, the Mormon king.

CHAPTER IX

THE HAND OF FATE

Like a panther Nathaniel crouched and watched the man on the steps.  His muscles jerked, his hands were clenched; each instant he seemed about to spring.  But he held himself back until Strang had passed through the door.  Then he slipped along the log wall of the castle, hugging the shadows, fearing that the king might reappear and see him in time to close the door.  What an opportunity fate had made for him!  His fingers itched to get at Strang’s thick bull-like throat.  He felt no fear, no hesitation about the outcome of the struggle with this giant prophet of God.  He did not plan to shoot, for a shot would destroy the secret of Marion’s fate.  He would choke the truth from Strang; rob him of life slowly, gasp by gasp, until in the horror of death the king would reveal her hiding-place—­would tell what he had done with her.

Then he would kill him!

There was the strength of tempered steel in his arms; his body, slender as an athlete’s, quivered to hurl itself into action.  Up the steps he crept so cautiously that he made no sound.  In the intensity of his purpose Nathaniel looked only ahead of him—­to the door.  He did not see that another figure was stealing through the gloom behind him as cautiously, as quietly as himself.  He passed through the door and stood erect.  Strang had not seen him.  He had not heard him.  He was standing with his huge back toward him, facing the hall that led to the sixth chamber—­and the woman.  Nathaniel drew his pistol.  He would not shoot, but Strang might be made to tell the truth with death leveling itself at his heart.  He groped behind him, found the door, and slammed it shut.  There would be no retreat for the king!