e a change in your fortunes. I'll hurry down to the
village.... Now don't worry."

Jane retired to the seclusion of her room. Lassiter's subtle forecasting
of disaster, Venters's forced optimism, neither remained in mind.
Material loss weighed nothing in the balance with other losses she
was sustaining. She wondered dully at her sitting there, hands folded
listlessly, with a kind of numb deadness to the passing of time and the
passing of her riches. She thought of Venters's friendship. She had not
lost that, but she had lost him. Lassiter's friendship--that was more
than love--it would endure, but soon he, too, would be gone. Little
Fay slept dreamlessly upon the bed, her golden curls streaming over the
pillow. Jane had the child's worship. Would she lose that, too? And if
she did, what then would be left? Conscience thundered at her that there
was left her religion. Conscience thundered that she should be grateful
on her knees for this baptism of fire; that through misfortune,
sacrifice, and suffering her soul might be fused pure gold. But the old,
spontaneous, rapturous spirit no more exalted her. She wanted to be a
woman--not a martyr. Like the saint of old who mortified his flesh,
Jane Withersteen had in her the temper for heroic martyrdom, if by
sacrificing herself she could save the souls of others. But here the
damnable verdict blistered her that the more she sacrificed herself the
blacker grew the souls of her churchmen. There was something terribly
wrong with her soul, something terribly wrong with her churchmen and her
religion. In the whirling gulf of her thought there was yet one shining
light to guide her, to sustain her in her hope; and it was that, despite
her errors and her frailties and her blindness, she had one absolute and
unfaltering hold on ultimate and supreme justice. That was love. "Love
your enemies as yourself!" was a divine word, entirely free from any
church or creed.

Jane's meditations were disturbed by Lassiter's soft, tinkling step in
the court. Always he wore the clinking spurs. Always he was in readiness
to ride. She passed out and called him into the huge, dim hall.

"I think you'll be safer here. The court is too open," she said.

"I reckon," replied Lassiter. "An' it's cooler here. The day's sure
muggy. Well, I went down to the village with Venters."

"Already! Where is he?" queried Jane, in quick amaze.

"He's at the corrals. Blake's helpin' him get the burros an' packs
ready