She wanted to be a woman--not a martyr.

Like the saint of old who mortified his flesh, Jane Withersteen had in her the temper for heroic martyrdom, if by sacrificing herself she could save the souls of others.

But here the damnable verdict blistered her that the more she sacrificed herself the blacker grew the souls of her churchmen.

There was something terribly wrong with her soul, something terribly wrong with her churchmen and her religion.

In the whirling gulf of her thought there was yet one shining light to guide her, to sustain her in her hope; and it was that, despite her errors and her frailties and her blindness, she had one absolute and unfaltering hold on ultimate and supreme justice.