Once resigned to further loss, and sure of herself,
Jane Withersteen attained a peace of mind that had not been hers
for a year. She forgave Tull, and felt a melancholy regret over
what she knew he considered duty, irrespective of his personal
feeling for her. First of all, Tull, as he was a man, wanted her
for himself; and secondly, he hoped to save her and her riches
for his church. She did not believe that Tull had been actuated
solely by his minister's zeal to save her soul. She doubted her
interpretation of one of his dark sayings--that if she were lost
to him she might as well be lost to heaven. Jane Withersteen's
common sense took arms against the binding limits of her
religion; and she doubted that her Bishop, whom she had been
taught had direct communication with God--would damn her soul for
refusing to marry a Mormon. As for Tull and his churchmen, when
they had harassed her, perhaps made her poor, they would find her
unchangeable, and then she would get back most of what she had
lost. So she reasoned, true at last to her faith in all men, and
in their ultimate goodness.
The clank of iron hoofs upon the stone courtyard drew her
hurriedly from her retirement. There, beside his horse, stood
Lassiter, his dark apparel and the great black gun-sheaths
contrasting singularly with his gentle smile. Jane's active mind
took up her interest in him and her half-determined desire to use
what charm she had to foil his evident design in visiting
Cottonwoods.
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