"But by God!--Tull you'd better kill me outright.

That'll be a dear whipping for you and your praying Mormons.

You'll make me another Lassiter!" The strange glow, the austere light which radiated from Tull's face, might have been a holy joy at the spiritual conception of exalted duty.
But there was something more in him, barely hidden, a something personal and sinister, a deep of himself, an engulfing abyss.

As his religious mood was fanatical and inexorable, so would his physical hate be merciless.
"Elder, I--I repent my words," Jane faltered.

The religion in her, the long habit of obedience, of humility, as well as agony of fear, spoke in her voice.