They were merry now; but Jane had seen them when they
were not, and then she feared him as she had feared her father.
The women flocked around her in welcome.
"Daughter of Withersteen," said the Bishop, gaily, as he took her
hand, "you have not been prodigal of your gracious self of late.
A Sabbath without you at service! I shall reprove Elder Tull."
"Bishop, the guilt is mine. I'll come to you and confess," Jane
replied, lightly; but she felt the undercurrent of her words.
"Mormon love-making!" exclaimed the Bishop, rubbing his hands.
"Tull keeps you all to himself."
"No. He is not courting me."
"What? The laggard! If he does not make haste I'll go a-courting
myself up to Withersteen House."
There was laughter and further bantering by the Bishop, and then
mild talk of village affairs, after which he took his leave, and
Jane was left with her friend, Mary Brandt.
"Jane, you're not yourself. Are you sad about the rustling of the
cattle? But you have so many, you are so rich."
Then Jane confided in her, telling much, yet holding back her
doubts of fear.
"Oh, why don't you marry Tull and be one of us?
"But, Mary, I don't love Tull," said Jane, stubbornly.
"I don't blame you for that. But, Jane Withersteen, you've got to
choose between the love of man and love of God. Often we Mormon
women have to do that. It's not easy. The kind of happiness you
want I wanted once.
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