“The Comet is going to have a rest to-day,” observed Billie the next morning at the breakfast table. “He’s being screwed up and oiled and cleaned for his last spurt across the continent.”

“For my part,” said Miss Campbell, “I’m glad to take a rest from the Comet. I think I have automobile legs, just as ocean travelers have sea legs. When I’m sitting still, I seem to be constantly moving, and when I’m moving, I feel like a young bird learning to fly. I believe that by the time we reach San Francisco, my limbs will refuse their office, as grandpapa used to say.”

The girls laughed at the picture Miss Campbell drew of herself.

“I think a bath in the lake will do us all good,” said Billie. “You can’t sink, you know, Cousin Helen. All you have to do is to lift your feet and you float about like a little chip.”

“First to the Temple; then to see Brigham Young’s houses, and then to the lake,” said Mary, studying the guide-book.

“And then back to the hotel for a good night’s rest on a perfectly delightful bed,” added Miss Campbell, who had enjoyed her night’s sleep exceedingly.

After breakfast, they inquired at the desk for a message from Daniel Moore, but he had left none and was not in his room.

As the five ladies left the hotel, half an hour later, a messenger boy passed them on the run.

“A rush message for Miss Helen Campbell,” he said breathlessly to the clerk.

“She’s gone out,” said the young man, looking up the number of her room and examining her letter box with official deliberation. “Her key’s on the hook.”

And at that moment, Miss Campbell, with a swish of her silk skirts and a flutter of blue chiffon veils, had turned the corner and was out of sight. If she had lingered three minutes longer over the breakfast table; or if the messenger boy had hurried his steps still more, or the clerk had watched more carefully the comings and goings of the guests of the hotel, the tide of this story would certainly have been changed.

As it happened, the Motor Maids and Miss Helen Campbell did not return to the hotel until late that evening, and all that time this important letter was waiting for them.

“On to the Temple!” cried Billie, engaging a little boy to guide them to that enormous structure.

“I don’t like it at all,” announced Nancy, as they approached the Mormon church. “It’s stern and hard and ugly, and I am sure that Mr. John James Stone is just a chip of granite out of one of the sides.”

“He does bear rather a strong family resemblance,” said Miss Campbell, gazing rather fearfully at the great structure.

But opinions differed about the Temple.

“I think it’s very fine,” said Billie, “if only for its bigness.”

“I like it as long as I don’t think of it as a church,” observed Elinor. “I’m sure I couldn’t say my prayers in it, without feeling that God was a cruel king who would punish me severely for my sins.”

“Well, that is what they believe, isn’t it?” asked Mary.

“The only thing I know about their belief,” observed Miss Campbell, with a top-lofty air, “is that they frown on old maids.”

“They would never frown on you, dearest cousin, if they saw you first,” laughed Billie.

The doors to the Temple were closed to visitors that morning, but their little guide led them behind the structure, where stood the Tabernacle, a peculiar building, resembling a monster egg. Here was the great organ, which Elinor desired particularly to hear, and, by a lucky chance, when they entered the auditorium, the place was filled with music. Miss Campbell, with Elinor and Mary, seated herself in one of the pews to listen, while Billie and Nancy wandered up a side aisle, looking very much like two pigmies under the vast dome of the roof. Presently they also sat down and composed themselves to listen to the strains of the wedding march, the first notes of which had been sounded on the organ.

Some one touched Billie on the shoulder.

It was Evelyn Stone.

“Just for a moment, so that I can talk to you. No one will see us; there.”

Unnoticed by the others, the three girls tip-toed down the aisle to the entrance, where they hid themselves in a recess in the wall.

“I’ve been over to the annex with father and the florist,” she said. “I am to be married there to-morrow, you know—at least, I suppose I am.” The annex was another chapel connected with the Temple.

“Poor Daniel Moore,” ejaculated Billie. “We are awfully sorry for him. We think he’s one of the nicest men we ever knew.”

“Do you?” exclaimed Evelyn, clasping Billie’s arm and smiling into her face, as if she herself had been paid a high compliment.

“Indeed we do,” cried Nancy.

“Oh, dear; oh, dear,” exclaimed the girl, beating her hands together. “It would be a great scandal if I ran away on my wedding day. But I am so unhappy. Oh, so unhappy, and I do want to see Daniel so much. Why, if he wasn’t married, didn’t he ever come near me?” she added, stamping her foot angrily.

“He tried and tried, and wrote letters, and everything—but he couldn’t get near you. Your father——”

“Oh, yes, father, of course,” said Evelyn, pressing her lips together and frowning. “It’s not only that Ebenezer is a Mormon. It’s other things—money, I think. Father is involved, I’m certain of it, and Ebenezer is rich—very rich.”

“You needn’t run away with Daniel to-morrow,” put in Billie irrelevantly. “You can run away with—with the Comet, our motor car——”

“Hush,” interrupted Evelyn. “I’ll send you a note to-night. There they come now. Good-by, you dear, kind friends. I feel as if I had known you always.”

The two girls hurried back into the Tabernacle and a little later emerged from another door and were conducted by their small guide to the homes of Brigham Young. And very fine houses they were, “The Beehive” especially, with its quaint dormer windows and sloping roof. But somehow, our five spinsters were not deeply interested in these historic homes, and after wandering around the city for another hour, they boarded a small train headed for Salt Lake.

“When people are traveling, they will do anything,” complained Miss Campbell, as she tucked a small black bathing suit under one arm and disappeared in the bath house. “They will wear hired bathing suits, a thing I never expected to stoop to——” her voice continued from the interior of her compartment.

“And sleep on the ground,” called Elinor from across the passage.

“And eat with robbers,” began Nancy, when Mary stopped her.

“Hush, Nancy,” she said. “How do you know there are not people listening to you?”

A few moments later they strolled out to the pier in their hired bathing suits. A woman attendant looked at them closely and then disappeared into a telephone booth.

Some morbid people with bad digestions have premonitions of approaching trouble, but our four happy young girls and Miss Campbell, youngest and happiest of them all in her heart, had no inkling, on that glorious day, of disasters to come. They sat silently in a row on the beach and gazed enchanted at the wonderful scene. There was not a ripple in the inland sea which stretched before them like a sheet of green glass. In its bosom were reflected the encircling mountains, mysterious and mystical. They, too, were like mountains of glass, in many pale colors, pinks, blues, delicate greens and lavenders.

“It’s like a dream picture,” said Mary softly. “I can hardly believe it’s true. No wonder it’s called ‘the dead sea.’ It’s so silent and still.”

“Nothing lives in it, you know,” said Billie. “No fish of any kind. It’s salty beyond words to tell.”

Hundreds of people were scattered about on the beach, but their voices and laughter sounded muffled and far away. It was all very strange to the travelers who seemed to have fallen under the spell of the enchanted lake on whose waters they presently floated in a dreamy state, as if a magician’s wand had changed them into so many human boats.

They sat on the sands for a long time after their bath, chatting in low voices. Then, after another dip, they dressed and lunched in the restaurant of the splendid bathing pavilion, one of the finest structures of its kind in the world. Again they sat on the beach watching the opalescent mountains. They felt intensely drowsy in the warm, dry air, and by and by sleep descended on them, and they lay like so many enchanted victims by the still waters of that mysterious lake.

At last the sun set in a blaze of red and gold, wonderful to behold, and the five sleepers sat up and rubbed their eyes.

“Dear children, it’s been a remarkable experience,” announced Miss Campbell; but whether she referred to the nap or the bath or the entire splendid day she did not explain.

It was seven o’clock when they reached the hotel in a blissful state of irresponsibility, like human beings who had wandered unexpectedly into fairy land.

There would be lots to tell Daniel Moore that night at dinner, they were thinking. And perhaps he would have news for them.

All this time Billie and Nancy had carefully kept secret the meeting with Evelyn Stone.

Letters awaited them at the hotel, and last of all, Miss Campbell opened a note from Daniel Moore, so certain was she that they would see him in ten minutes in the dining room. Suddenly, without warning, she burst into the next room where the four girls were engaged in a quartette of buttoning up.

“Oh, my dears, my dears, something dreadful has happened,” she cried. “Mr. Moore has been arrested and put in jail for receiving stolen goods from the train robbers. He expects to get bail, he says, very soon, but he advises us to leave this town at once. It’s that dreadful Stone man who has done it. Poor Mr. Moore says—‘I look for trouble for you and dread your being involved in anything disagreeable. Don’t lose a moment in leaving Salt Lake City. They have no case against me, of course, but I am afraid the old villain will keep me here until after Evelyn’s marriage. He’s a very powerful man in this town. I beg of you not to make any efforts to see Evelyn. He is capable of most anything, I think, and it is too late to stop the wedding now.’ Now, wasn’t I right not to let you deliver that note, Billie, dear?” she added triumphantly. “I tell you it is most dangerous interfering with other people’s affairs.”

Billie smiled faintly and exchanged a frightened look with Nancy.

“We had better leave town to-morrow morning,” she said. “We can’t leave to-night. The Comet isn’t quite ready.”

“Leave town, indeed!” exclaimed Miss Campbell. “We have nothing on our consciences. We shall stay as long as we choose. This is a free country, and I am not in the least afraid of that dreadful Mormon. Let us go down to dinner and forget all about him.”

And down she went presently, sweeping into the dining room like a haughty little queen, the Motor Maids following behind her. Elinor held her head high. She was a princess and feared no man, neither Mormon nor Gentile. Mary walked innocently at her side. Her conscience was clear, and she was not afraid to look the whole world in the face. Then came the guilty ones, pale and silent. Oh, heavens! What it is to have a black secret on one’s soul. The food had no taste. The music clashed inharmoniously, and the murmur of the conversation of other diners grated on their nerves.

“Nancy, dear, you have no appetite,” Miss Campbell was saying, when a waiter approached bearing a long, official-looking envelope on a tray.

“Another communication from our poor friend, I suppose,” she observed, breaking the seal and drawing out the letter without noticing the inscription on the envelope which announced that it came straight from the Department of Police, Salt Lake City.

As Miss Campbell read the communication contained within this formidable cover, a deep scarlet flush spread over her face, which gradually faded into a deadly white pallor. She tried to speak, but her lips refused to frame the words.

The girls were very much frightened and several of the waiters drew near with evident curiosity. It was Elinor who had the presence of mind to say:

“Dear Miss Campbell, won’t you take my arm? I am quite through dinner.” And the two walked slowly from the room, taking the mysterious letter with them.

“We had better wait a moment,” whispered Billie to the other girls. “It would be less conspicuous than if we all rushed out at once. People are already looking at us.”

She tried to butter a piece of bread, but her hands trembled and she felt that the color had left her cheeks. Nancy was the picture of misery.

“What is it, girls?” whispered Mary in a frightened voice.

“I don’t know,” answered Billie; “but something dreadful has happened, I feel sure. The letter was from the Chief of Police, I think. I did deliver the note to Evelyn Stone, Mary. I know it was wrong to have disobeyed, but I couldn’t see the harm of giving one person a letter from another person.”

“Oh, Billie!” exclaimed Mary, “there is no telling what that dreadful man will do to us. He may put us in jail, too.”

The notion was too much for their endurance, and with one accord they rose and fled from the room.

They found Elinor sitting on the floor beside Miss Campbell holding her hand. The document was spread out before them, and Miss Campbell was reading it aloud.

“‘You are regarded as suspicious characters,’” she read in a voice that had a tone of shrillness in it the girls had never heard before. “‘As suspicious characters,’” she repeated, hardly able to take in the meaning of the words, “‘and, therefore, as persons undesirable in this city, you are requested to leave the town within twelve hours. If not, you will be compelled to give an account of certain actions not regarded as lawful in the State of Utah. Signed, Chief of Police.’”

The girls were breathless with amazement and horror. Driven out of town like criminals, and all for having shielded a poor, repentant thief who had returned what he had stolen.

Without a word Billie went to the telephone and called up the garage wherein the Comet was temporarily stabled.

“What time does the sun rise?” she asked while she waited for the number.

“At about five o’clock, I think,” answered Mary.

“Have Miss Campbell’s motor car at the hotel to-morrow morning at five o’clock,” she ordered.

Miss Campbell rose. The girls looked at her timidly. They had never seen her angry before.

“I won’t try to talk with you to-night,” she said in a voice that was almost a whisper. “I shall not attempt to speak again until we leave this hateful city far behind us.”

She had hardly left the room when there was a light tap on the other door.

Billie opened it and a chambermaid gave her a note, and quickly departed down the corridor.

This is what the note said:

“I accept your invitation, and will meet you to-morrow at the railroad station in Ogden. Send a line by the chambermaid, who will wait around the corner of the hall, letting me know what time you intend to start. With a heart full of gratitude from one who is most unhappy,

“E. S.”