It was not only his deceit to her that she visited upon him, but her betrayal by religion, by life itself.
Her passion, like fire at white heat, consumed itself in little time.
Her physical strength failed, and still her spirit attempted to go on in magnificent denunciation of those who had wronged her.

Like a tree cut deep into its roots, she began to quiver and shake, and her anger weakened into despair.

And her ringing voice sank into a broken, husky whisper.

Then, spent and pitiable, upheld by Lassiter's arm, she turned and hid her face in Black Star's mane.
Numb as Venters was when at length Jane Withersteen lifted her head and looked at him, he yet suffered a pang.
"Jane, the girl is innocent!" he cried.
"Can you expect me to believe that ?" she asked, with weary, bitter eyes.
"I'm not that kind of a liar.

And you know it.