gainst all persuasion.
The iron and stone quality that she had early suspected in him had
actually cropped out as an impregnable barrier. Nevertheless, if
Lassiter remained in Cottonwoods she would never give up her hope and
desire to change him. She would change him if she had to sacrifice
everything dear to her except hope of heaven. Passionately devoted as
she was to her religion, she had yet refused to marry a Mormon. But a
situation had developed wherein self paled in the great white light of
religious duty of the highest order. That was the leading motive,
the divinely spiritual one; but there were other motives, which, like
tentacles, aided in drawing her will to the acceptance of a possible
abnegation. And through the watches of that sleepless night Jane
Withersteen, in fear and sorrow and doubt, came finally to believe that
if she must throw herself into Lassiter's arms to make him abide by
"Thou shalt not kill!" she would yet do well.

In the morning she expected Lassiter at the usual hour, but she was not
able to go at once to the court, so she sent little Fay. Mrs. Larkin was
ill and required attention. It appeared that the mother, from the time
of her arrival at Withersteen House, had relaxed and was slowly
losing her hold on life. Jane had believed that absence of worry and
responsibility coupled with good nursing and comfort would mend Mrs.
Larkin's broken health. Such, however, was not the case.

When Jane did get out to the court, Fay was there alone, and at the
moment embarking on a dubious voyage down the stone-lined amber stream
upon a craft of two brooms and a pillow. Fay was as delightfully wet as
she could possibly wish to get.

Clatter of hoofs distracted Fay and interrupted the scolding she was
gleefully receiving from Jane. The sound was not the light-spirited trot
that Bells made when Lassiter rode him into the outer court. This was
slower and heavier, and Jane did not recognize in it any of her other
horses. The appearance of Bishop Dyer startled Jane. He dismounted with
his rapid, jerky motion flung the bridle, and, as he turned toward the
inner court and stalked up on the stone flags, his boots rang. In his
authoritative front, and in the red anger unmistakably flaming in his
face, he reminded Jane of her father.

"Is that the Larkin pauper?" he asked, bruskly, without any greeting to
Jane.

"It's Mrs. Larkin's little girl," replied Jane, slowly.

"I hear you intend to raise the chil