CHAPTER VII.
WHAT MANNER OF MAN IS THIS?
In the rear car, Miss Travenion, anxious to throw from her mind a subject that is distressing, wanders to the organ,—for this Pullman was supplied with one, as were many Western sleepers in those days,—and seating herself at the instrument, runs her hands over the keys and begins to sing. Softly at first, but afterwards made enthusiastic by melody, this young lady, who has been very well taught and has a brilliant mezzo voice, forgets all else, and warbles the beauties of Balfe, Bellini, and Donizetti in a way that draws the attention of her fellow-passengers.
Among them is the Western Lot, who, getting near to her, watches the lithe movements and graceful poses of the girl's charming figure, and seeing her soul beaming from her glorious eyes, mutters to himself, "What an addition to our tabernacle choir after I have made her one of the elect." For this young lady's loveliness has, of late, been putting some very wild ideas into the head of this friend of her father.
She leaves the organ, and noting that Miss Travenion is somewhat alone, for the interview of the afternoon seems to have produced a slight coolness between Mr. Livingston and Erma, and perchance also Mrs. Livingston, this Western product thinks he will devote himself to the young lady's edification during the remainder of the evening, opening his remarks by, "You're comin' to a great country, Miss Ermie."
"Ah, what is that?" asks the girl nonchalantly but politely.
"Utah," replies the enthusiastic Lot, "whar the people of Zion have made the wilderness to blossom as a rose of Sharon."
"Oh yes, where my father is!" cries Miss Travenion, her eyes growing bright. "To-morrow we will be there."
"Yes, in the evening," assents Kruger, an indefinite something coming in his eyes that makes the young lady restless.
A moment after she suddenly asks: "Where is my father now?"