"The Gentiles have spread abroad a story about one Solomon Spalding, who they say wrote the Book of Mormon, which Rigdon stole, but you know--you who have been with us from the beginning--that neither I nor your husband nor any one of us saw Rigdon until we came to Kirtland, and if his word is to be believed he never saw this Spalding or his book." She made an impatient movement of her head.

"I know," she said, "that there is no truth in that story." She moved a little away from him; she was becoming oppressed by his still earnestness.
"Isn't it any proof to you that I hadn't the wits nor the education to make the book ?" His words were wistful.
She sat down on the sill of the open window, the only seat in the room, and looked out on the moist earth.
"I guess you want to get rid of me," he said, "but I can't go till I know how it is with you, for I've been wrestling in prayer this night concerning you." Then after a minute he said, "Our brother gave you the money that he found on the person of your husband's murderer ?" "I paid it into the treasury." "But if you don't believe, maybe you are thinking of going east ?" "Do you think I could use the price of my husband's blood for that?
It is not for me to know whether the avengers of blood are right or wrong in a land where there is no law, but the money belonged to your Church." He looked at her as one who has made a study of a certain class of objects looks at a fine specimen, as a jeweller looks at a gem of the first water.

This man, with the genius for priesthood, was a connoisseur in souls.

"Emmar wouldn't have thought it no harm to keep the money the Danites gave her," and he added more reflectively, "nor would I." There was admiration in his tones.
He came a step nearer now.

"If you went east who have you to go to?
Your uncle, he's dead." Susannah started.