All in a flash, beyond her
control there had been in her a birth of fiery hate. And the man
who had dragged her peaceful and loving spirit to this
degradation was a minister of God's word, an Elder of her church,
the counselor of her beloved Bishop.
The loss of herds and ranges, even of Amber Spring and the Old
Stone House, no longer concerned Jane Withersteen, she faced the
foremost thought of her life, what she now considered the
mightiest problem--the salvation of her soul.
She knelt by her bedside and prayed; she prayed as she had never
prayed in all her life--prayed to be forgiven for her sin to be
immune from that dark, hot hate; to love Tull as her minister,
though she could not love him as a man; to do her duty by her
church and people and those dependent upon her bounty; to hold
reverence of God and womanhood inviolate.
When Jane Withersteen rose from that storm of wrath and prayer
for help she was serene, calm, sure--a changed woman. She would
do her duty as she saw it, live her life as her own truth guided
her. She might never be able to marry a man of her choice, but
she certainly never would become the wife of Tull. Her churchmen
might take her cattle and horses, ranges and fields, her corrals
and stables, the house of Withersteen and the water that
nourished the village of Cottonwoods; but they could not force
her to marry Tull, they could not change her decision or break
her spirit.
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