“But no one is married,” I reminded her. “Marriage is against the law.” “My mother was married,” she told me. “You and I can be married. We have a church and a preacher. Why cannot he marry us? He is not ordained because there is none to ordain him; but being the head of the only church that he knows of or that we know of, it is evident that he can be ordained only by God and who knows but that he already has been ordained!” I tried to argue her out of it, as now that heaven was so near I had no mind to wait three weeks to attain it; but she would not argue—she just shook her head and at last I saw that she was right and gave in—as I would have had to do in any event. I went to Pthav, who was one of our representatives in the teivos, and asked him to procure for me permission to work the vacant land adjoining my father’s. The land all belonged to the community; but each man was allowed what he could work as long as there was plenty, and there was more than plenty for us all. Pthav was very ugly—he seemed to have forgotten that I had saved his child’s life—and said that he did not know what he could do for me—that I had acted very badly to General Or-tis and was in disfavor, beside being under suspicion in another matter. “What has General Or-tis to do with the distribution of land by the teivos?” I asked. “Because he wants my woman will the teivos deny me my rights?” Pthav’s woman came in while I was talking and recognized me; but she said nothing to me other than to mention that the child had asked for me. Pthav scowled at this and ordered her from the room just as a man might order a beast around. It was nothing to me, though, as the woman was a renegade anyway. Finally I demanded of Pthav that he obtain the concession for me unless he could give me some valid reason for refusing. “I will ask it,” he said, finally; “but you will not get it—be sure of that.” As I was leaving the house Pthav’s woman stopped me. “I will do what I can for you,” she whispered. She must have seen me draw away instinctively as from an unclean thing, for she flushed and then said: “Please don’t! I have suffered enough. I have paid the price of my treachery; but know, Yank,” and she put her lips close to my ear, “that at heart I am more Yank than I was when I did this thing. And,” she continued, “I have never spoken a word that could harm one of you. Tell them that—please tell them! I do not want them to hate me so, and God of our Fathers, how I have suffered—the degradation, the humiliation—it has been worse than what you are made to suffer. The creatures are lower than the beasts of the forest. When his friends come he serves them food and drink and—me! Ugh! I could kill him, if I were not such a coward. I have seen and I know how they can make one suffer before death.” I could not but feel sorry for her, and I told her so. The poor creature appeared very grateful and assured me that she would aid me.