One of the first to hear of it was Jan Verner; and, curious to say, he heard it from Mrs. Baynton, the lady at Chalk Cottage.  Jan, who, let him be called abroad in the night as he would, was always up with the sun, stood one morning in his surgery, between seven and eight o’clock, when he was surprised by the entrance of Mrs. Baynton—­a little woman, with a meek, pinched face, and gray hair.  Since Dr. West’s departure, Jan had attended the sickly daughter, therefore he knew Mrs. Baynton, but he had never seen her abroad in his life.  Her bonnet looked ten years old.  Her daughters were named—­at least, they were called—­Flore and Kitty; Kitty being the sickly one.  To see Mrs. Baynton arrive thus, Jan jumped to the conclusion that Kitty must be dying.

“Is she ill again?” he hastily asked, with his usual absence of ceremony, giving the lady no time to speak.

“She’s gone,” gasped Mrs. Baynton.

“Gone—­dead?” asked Jan, with wondering eyes.

“She’s gone off with the Mormons.”

Jan stood upright against the counter, and stared at the old lady.  He could not understand.  “Who is gone off with the Mormons?” was his rejoinder.

“Kitty is.  Oh, Mr. Jan, think of her sufferings!  A journey like that before her!  All the way to that dreadful place!  I have heard that even strong women die on the road of the hardships.”

Jan had stood with open mouth.  “Is she mad?” he questioned.

“She has not been much better than mad since—­since—­But I don’t wish to go into family troubles.  Can you give me Dr. West’s address?  She might come back for him.”

Now Jan had received positive commands from that wandering physician not to give his address to chance applicants, the inmates of Chalk Cottage having come in for a special interdiction.  Therefore Jan could only decline.

“He is moving about from one place to another,” said Jan.  “To-day in Switzerland, to-morrow in France; the next day in the moon, for what we can tell.  You can give me a letter, and I’ll try and get it conveyed to him somehow.”

Mrs. Baynton shook her head.

“It would be too late.  I thought if I could telegraph to him, he might have got to Liverpool in time to stop Kitty.  There’s a large migration of Mormons to take place in a day or two, and they are collecting at Liverpool.”

“Go and stop her yourself,” said Jan sensibly.

“She’d not come back for me,” replied Mrs. Baynton, in a depressed tone.  “What with her delicate health, and what with her wilfulness, I have always had trouble with her.  Dr. West was the only one—­But I can’t refer to those matters.  Flore is broken-hearted.  Poor Flore! she has never given me an hour’s grief in her life.  Kitty has given me little else.  And now to go off with the Mormons!”

“Who has she gone with?”

“With the rest from Deerham.  They have gone off in the night.  That Brother Jarrum and a company of about five-and-twenty, they say.”