long ago secretly concluded that the practice was one which suited them
very well, as it had suited David and Solomon, and even Abraham. But for
all this, although she was sure in her uncanny fashion that her baby's
death would come of her staying, she refused to leave her husband as she
had refused eleven years before.

Doubtless affection was at the bottom of it, for Janey Dove was a very
faithful woman; also there were other things--her fatalism, and stronger
still, her weariness. She believed that they were doomed. Well, let the
doom fall; she had no fear of the Beyond. At the best it might be happy,
and at the worst deep, everlasting rest and peace, and she felt as though
she needed thousands of years of rest and peace. Moreover, she was sure no
harm would come to Rachel, the very apple of her eye; that she was marked
to live and to find happiness even in this wild land. So it came about
that she refused her husband's offer to allow her to return home where she
had no longer any ties, and for perhaps the twentieth time prepared
herself to journey she knew not whither.

Rachel, seated there in the sunless, sweltering heat, reflected on these
things. Of course she did not know all the story, but most of it had come
under her observation in one way or other, and being shrewd by nature, she
could guess the rest, for she who was companionless had much time for
reflection and for guessing. She sympathised with her father in his ideas,
understanding vaguely that there was something large and noble about them,
but in the main, body and mind, she was her mother's child. Already she
showed her mother's dreamy beauty, to which were added her father's
straight features and clear grey eyes, together with a promise of his
height. But of his character she had little, that is outside of a courage
and fixity of purpose which marked them both.