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mplishing the greatest good of her life； and to do good even in a small way rendered happiness to Jane Withersteen。 She had attended the regular Sunday services of her church； otherwise she had not gone to the village for weeks。 It was unusual that none of her churchmen or friends had called upon her of late； but it was neglect for which she was glad。 Judkins and his boy riders had experienced no difficulty in driving the white herd。 So these warm July days were free of worry； and soon Jane hoped she had passed the crisis； and for her to hope was presently to trust； and then to believe。 She thought often of Venters； but in a dreamy； abstract way。 She spent hours teaching and playing with little Fay。 And the activity of her mind centered around Lassiter。 The direction she had given her will seemed to blunt any branching off of thought from that straight line。 The mood came to obsess her。
In the end； when her awakening came； she learned that she had builded better than she knew。 Lassiter； though kinder and gentler than ever； had parted with his quaint humor and his coldness and his tranquillity to become a restless and unhappy man。 Whatever the power of his deadly intent toward Mormons； that passion now had a rival； the one equally burning and consuming。 Jane Withersteen had one moment of exultation before the dawn of a strange uneasiness。 What if she had made of herself a lure； at tremendous cost to him and to her； and all in vain！
That night in the moonlit grove she summoned all her courage and； turning suddenly in the path； she faced Lassiter and leaned close to him； so that she touched him and her eyes looked up to his。
〃Lassiter！。。。Will you do anything for me？〃
In the moonlight she saw his dark； worn face change； and by that change she seemed to feel him immovable as a wall of stone。
Jane slipped her hands down to the swinging gun…sheaths； and when she had locked her fingers around the huge； cold handles of the guns； she trembled as with a chilling ripple over all her body。
〃May I take your guns？〃
〃Why？〃 he asked； and for the first time to her his voice carried a harsh note。 Jane felt his hard； strong hands close round her wrists。 It was not wholly with intent that she leaned toward him； for the look of his eyes and the feel of his hands made her weak。
〃It's no trifleno woman's whimit's deepas my heart。 Let me take them？〃
〃Why？〃
〃I want to keep you from killing more menMormons。 You must let me save you from more wickednessmore wanton bloodshed〃 Then the truth forced itself falteringly from her lips。 〃You mustlethelp me to keep my vow to Milly Erne。 I swore to heras she lay dyingthat if ever any one came here to avenge herI swore I would stay his hand。 Perhaps II alone can save thethe man whowhoOh； Lassiter！。。。I feel that I can't change youthen soon you'll be out to killand you'll kill by instinctand among the Mormons you kill will be the onewho。。。Lassiter； if you care a little for melet mefor my sakelet me take your guns！〃
As if her hands had been those of a child； he unclasped their clinging grip from the handles of his guns； and； pushing her away； he turned his gray face to her in one look of terrible realization and then strode off into the shadows of the cottonwoods。
When the first shock of her futile appeal to Lassiter had passed； Jane took his cold； silent condemnation and abrupt departure not so much as a refusal to her entreaty as a hurt and stunned bitterness for her attempt at his betrayal。 Upon further thought and slow consideration of Lassiter's past actions； she believed he would return and forgive her。 The man could not be hard to a woman； and she doubted that he could stay away from her。 But at the point where she had hoped to find him vulnerable see now began to fear he was proof against 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 child？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Of course you mean to give her Mormon bringing…up？〃
〃No。〃
His questions had been swift。 She was amazed at a feeling that some one else was replying for her。
〃I've come to say a few things to you。〃 He stopped to measure her with stern； speculative eye。
Jane Withersteen loved this man。 From earliest childhood she had been taught to revere and love bishops of her church。 And for ten years Bishop Dyer had been the closest friend and counselor of her father； and for the greater part of that period her own friend and Scriptural teacher。 Her interpretation of her creed and her religious activity in fidelity to it； her acceptance of mysterious and holy Mormon truths； were all invested in this Bishop。 Bishop Dyer as an entity was next to God。 He was God's mouthpiece to the little Mormon community at Cottonwoods。 God revealed himself in secret to this mortal。
And Jane Withersteen suddenly suffered a paralyzing affront to her consciousness of reverence by some strange； irresistible twist of thought wherein she saw this Bishop as a man。 And the train of thought hurdled the rising； crying protests of that other self whose poise she had lost。 It was not her Bishop who eyed her in curious measurement。 It was a man who tramped into her presence without removing his hat； who had no greeting for her； who had no semblance of courtesy。 In looks； as in action； he made her think of a bull stamping cross…grained into a corral。 She had heard of Bishop Dyer forgetting the minister in the fury of a common man； and now she was to feel it。 The glance by which she measured him in turn momentarily veiled the divine in the ordinary。 He looked a rancher； he was booted； spurred； and covered with dust； he carried a gun at his hip； and she remembered that he had been known to use it。 But during the long moment while he watched her there was nothing commonplace in the slow…gathering might of his wrath。
〃Brother Tull has talked to me；〃 he began。 〃It was your father's wish that you marr