To prey on weak women through their religion--that was the
last unspeakable crime!
"Then he finished, an' by this time he'd almost lost his voice.
But his whisper was enough. 'Tull,' he said, 'she begged me not
to draw on you to-day. She would pray for you if you burned her
at the stake....But listen!...I swear if you and I ever come face
to face again, I'll kill you!'
"We backed out of the door then, an' up the road. But nobody
follered us."
Jane found herself weeping passionately. She had not been
conscious of it till Lassiter ended his story, and she
experienced exquisite pain and relief in shedding tears. Long had
her eyes been dry, her grief deep; long had her emotions been
dumb. Lassiter's story put her on the rack; the appalling nature
of Venters's act and speech had no parallel as an outrage; it was
worse than bloodshed. Men like Tull had been shot, but had one
ever been so terribly denounced in public? Over-mounting her
horror, an uncontrollable, quivering passion shook her very soul.
It was sheer human glory in the deed of a fearless man. It was
hot, primitive instinct to live--to fight. It was a kind of mad
joy in Venters's chivalry. It was close to the wrath that had
first shaken her in the beginning of this war waged upon
her.
"Well, well, Jane, don't take it that way," said Lassiter, in
evident distress. "I had to tell you. There's some things a
feller jest can't keep.
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