In the shade of a wide, low, vine-roofed porch Jane found Brandt’s wives entertaining Bishop Dyer. They were motherly women, of comparatively similar ages, and plain-featured, and just at this moment anything but grave. The Bishop was rather tall, of stout build, with iron-gray hair and beard, and eyes of light blue. 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. I never got it, nor will you, unless you throw away your soul. We’ve all watched your affair with Venters in fear and trembling. Some dreadful thing will come of it. You don’t want him hanged or shot—or treated worse, as that Gentile boy was treated in Glaze for fooling round a Mormon woman. Marry Tull. It’s your duty as a Mormon. You’ll feel no rapture as his wife—but think of Heaven! Mormon women don’t marry for what they expect on earth. Take up the cross, Jane. Remember your father found Amber Spring, built these old houses, brought Mormons here, and fathered them. You are the daughter of Withersteen!” Jane left Mary Brandt and went to call upon other friends. They received her with the same glad welcome as had Mary, lavished upon her the pent-up affection of Mormon women, and let her go with her ears ringing of Tull, Venters, Lassiter, of duty to God and glory in Heaven. “Verily,” murmured Jane, “I don’t know myself when, through all this, I remain unchanged—nay, more fixed of purpose.”