uspicious thoughts, and it passed, leaving her
conscious of her utter impotence. That, too, passed as her spirit
rebounded. But she had again caught a glimpse of dark underhand
domination, running its secret lines this time into her own household.
Like a spider in the blackness of night an unseen hand had begun to run
these dark lines, to turn and twist them about her life, to plait
and weave a web. Jane Withersteen knew it now, and in the realization
further coolness and sureness came to her, and the fighting courage of
her ancestors.

"Mrs. Larkin, you're better, and I'm so glad," said Jane. "But may I
not do something for you--a turn at nursing, or send you things, or take
care of Fay?"

"You're so good. Since my husband's been gone what would have become of
Fay and me but for you? It was about Fay that I wanted to speak to you.
This time I thought surely I'd die, and I was worried about Fay. Well,
I'll be around all right shortly, but my strength's gone and I won't
live long. So I may as well speak now. You remember you've been asking
me to let you take Fay and bring her up as your daughter?"

"Indeed yes, I remember. I'll be happy to have her. But I hope the
day--"

"Never mind that. The day'll come--sooner or later. I refused your
offer, and now I'll tell you why."

"I know why," interposed Jane. "It's because you don't want her brought
up as a Mormon."

"No, it wasn't altogether that." Mrs. Larkin raised her thin hand and
laid it appealingly on Jane's. "I don't like to tell you. But--it's
this: I told all my friends what you wanted. They know you, care for
you, and they said for me to trust Fay to you. Women will talk, you
know. It got to the ears of Mormons--gossip of your love for Fay and
your wanting her. And it came straight back to me, in jealousy, perhaps,
that you wouldn't take Fay as much for love of her as because of your
religious duty to bring up another girl for some Mormon to marry."

"That's a damnable lie!" cried Jane Withersteen.

"It was what made me hesitate," went on Mrs. Larkin, "but I never
believed it at heart. And now I guess I'll let you--"

"Wait! Mrs. Larkin, I may have told little white lies in my life, but
never a lie that mattered, that hurt any one. Now believe me. I love
little Fay. If I had her near me I'd grow to worship her. When I asked
for her I thought only of that love.... Let me prove this. You and Fay
come to live with me. I've such a big house, and I'm so lonely