He dismounted with his rapid, jerky motion flung the bridle, and, as he turned toward the inner court and stalked up on the stone flags, his boots rang.

In his authoritative front, and in the red anger unmistakably flaming in his face, he reminded Jane of her father.
"Is that the Larkin pauper ?" he asked, bruskly, without any greeting to Jane.
"It's Mrs.Larkin's little girl," replied Jane, slowly.
"I hear you intend to raise the child ?" "Yes." "Of course you mean to give her Mormon bringing-up ?" "No." His questions had been swift.

She was amazed at a feeling that some one else was replying for her.
"I've come to say a few things to you." He stopped to measure her with stern, speculative eye.
Jane Withersteen loved this man.

From earliest childhood she had been taught to revere and love bishops of her church.

And for ten years Bishop Dyer had been the closest friend and counselor of her father, and for the greater part of that period her own friend and Scriptural teacher.