When the last had turned his back to where she stood she crept out, running again like a hunted thing, fearing what she might find as the result of their work.

To increase her distress the thought came that it was more than possible that like work had been going on at Kirtland that night.

Tears of unutterable indignation and pitiful love came to her eyes at the thought that Angel, too, might be suffering this shameful treatment.

Across some acres of open ground she saw the Smiths' house, doors and windows lit by candles.
Thither she was hastening when, in the black space of the nearer field, she almost fell upon a whitish form, grotesque and horrible, which was rising from the ground.
"Who is it ?" asked Joseph Smith.
He stood up now, but not steadily; his voice was weak, as if he had been stunned, and his utterance indistinct because his mouth had apparently received some injury.

She thought of nothing now but that he was Angel's master, and that Angel might be in like plight.
"What have they done?
What is the matter ?" she whispered tenderly, tears in her voice.
"Is it you ?" he asked curiously.