“Hester,” said Jane, sternly, “you may go home, and you need not come back.”

Jane shut the door and returned to Lassiter.  Standing unsteadily, she put her hand on his arm.  She let him see that doubt had gone, and how this stab of disloyalty pained her.

“Spies!  My own women!...Oh, miserable!” she cried, with flashing, tearful eyes.

“I hate to tell you,” he replied.  By that she knew he had long spared her.  “It’s begun again—­that work in the dark.”

“Nay, Lassiter—­it never stopped!”

So bitter certainty claimed her at last, and trust fled Withersteen House and fled forever.  The women who owed much to Jane Withersteen changed not in love for her, nor in devotion to their household work, but they poisoned both by a thousand acts of stealth and cunning and duplicity.  Jane broke out once and caught them in strange, stone-faced, unhesitating falsehood.  Thereafter she broke out no more.  She forgave them because they were driven.  Poor, fettered, and sealed Hagars, how she pitied them!  What terrible thing bound them and locked their lips, when they showed neither consciousness of guilt toward their benefactress nor distress at the slow wearing apart of long-established and dear ties?

“The blindness again!” cried Jane Withersteen.  “In my sisters as in me!...O God!”

There came a time when no words passed between Jane and her women.  Silently they went about their household duties, and secretly they went about the underhand work to which they had been bidden.  The gloom of the house and the gloom of its mistress, which darkened even the bright spirit of little Fay, did not pervade these women.  Happiness was not among them, but they were aloof from gloom.  They spied and listened; they received and sent secret messengers; and they stole Jane’s books and records, and finally the papers that were deeds of her possessions.  Through it all they were silent, rapt in a kind of trance.  Then one by one, without leave or explanation or farewell, they left Withersteen House, and never returned.

Coincident with this disappearance Jane’s gardeners and workers in the alfalfa fields and stable men quit her, not even asking for their wages.  Of all her Mormon employees about the great ranch only Jerd remained.  He went on with his duty, but talked no more of the change than if it had never occurred.

“Jerd,” said Jane, “what stock you can’t take care of turn out in the sage.  Let your first thought be for Black Star and Night.  Keep them in perfect condition.  Run them every day and watch them always.”