He was no sooner beneath the stars than he hung his head as if some one saw him.

With shame and pain written in the attitude of his hulking figure, he skulked out into the black fields.
Later that night, a lad, not of the Mormon brotherhood, making his way home in the dark to the town of Quincy, a little afraid of the dark, as lads are apt to be, was terrified by hearing a voice in the darkness, by dimly descrying a man's figure prostrate upon the ground.

The lad shrank back to a recess of the snake fence.

There, trembling, he listened.
The voice in the hoarse whisper of intensity repeated, "Give me--this woman--give--give." The breathing, like command rather than prayer, set the words grating on the air again and again.

"This woman--this woman--give! give! give!" The cause of the lad's terror was a strange conviction that the writhing creature on the earth was certainly conversing with something not of earth, whether God, or angel, or devil he did not ask.