But just here, Erma's body falls a dead weight upon him and her head droops on his shoulder.
Looking at her, he sees that she has fainted so quietly that he has not noticed it, and an awful shock coming upon this conventional and orthodox young man, he gasps to himself, "Good Gad, Erma's father!" and is so paralyzed and petrified that he makes no effort to revive the girl, but simply looks on in a horrified kind of wonder as the festival proceeds.
In a daze, he hears the old New York club man play his rôle of Mormon exhorter and apostle, and do it very well, for he has just brought forward five children of assorted sizes and sexes, and has proclaimed with sanctimonious voice to the uncouth Saints assembled about him: "These are my hostages to the State of Deseret; these are my pledges to the Zion of our Lord!" And taking up the smallest of his family—a babe with Erma's eyes—this evangelist continues: "This tot I have named Brigham after our well-loved President, and Joseph for our first Prophet, and Hyrum after his sainted brother, who was murdered with him—unto the glory of our true religion and the damnation of our unbelieving enemies." So, holding the little one on his arm he cries, "Let us pray!"
And he does pray—so earnestly, so impressively, so tremendously that Oliver, gazing at him with agitated eyes, begins to pray himself, thinking affrightedly: "What shall I do? My God, I am here with a Mormon's daughter!"
Then he would make an effort to arouse the girl to consciousness, and perhaps cause a scene, but he suddenly thinks, "If I disturb the meeting, they may treat me roughly. These infidels do not believe in Gentile interruptions to their religious ceremonies;" and so sits quietly by the side of the unconscious girl, till Bishop Tranyon, of Salt Lake City, ex-Ralph Travenion, the New York exquisite, dandy and club man, finishes his harangue, and the people crowd about the platform and congratulate him on his great speech, to the glory of God and Brigham Young, his prophet.
But looking at Bishop Tranyon now, Oliver thinks he sees the cynic scoff of the Manhattan swell, as if, fight it how he will, he can't keep down a sneer at the religion that he preaches.
Just then, heart-breaking consciousness and recollection coming to the girl, she says in a low, faltering voice, placing a feeble though pleading hand upon his arm, "Take me away!"
In the confusion and hilarity of the festival, the melodeon playing loudly and the children singing that well-known Utah Sunday-school hymn,
"Say, Daddy, I'm a Mormon!"
unnoticed by all save Kruger, who knows his arrow has struck its shining mark, Oliver gets Erma out of the hall and to the carriage, which fortunately has returned.