“And did your father force you to this marriage?”
The reply was given hesitatingly. It was in the affirmative. “He did.”
“For what reason did he so?”
“I could never tell. The man had some power over him; but how or in what way, I knew not then, nor do I now. My father told me it was a debt—a large sum which he owed him, and could not pay. I know not whether it was that. I hope it was.”
“You think, then, that Stebbins used some such means to force your father’s consent?”
“I am sure of it. My father told me as much. He said that by marrying Stebbins I could save him from disgrace, and entreated, rather than forced me to it. You know, sir, I could not ask why: he was my father. I do think that it was not his wish that I should have that man; but something threatened him.”
“Did your father know it was a false marriage?”
“No, no; I can never think so. I am sure the villain deceived him in that, as he did me. Oh! father could never have done so! People, I believe, thought him wicked, because he was short with them, and used rough language. But he was not wicked. Something had crossed him; and he drank. He was at times unhappy, and perhaps ill-tempered with the world; but never with us. He was always kind to sister and myself—never scolded us. Ah! no, sir; I can never think he knew that.”
“He was aware that Stebbins was a Mormon—was he not?”
“I have tried to believe that he was not—though Stebbins afterwards told me so.” I well knew that he was aware of it, but said nothing.