The preacher ended his discourse, started a hymn, and commenced to “call up mourners.”  Old Mrs. Henshaw began to pray aloud and clap her hands.  The preacher came down from the platform, gave his hand to her, and she rose and began to shout.  Then the excitement commenced.  Others joined in the shouting and the uproar became deafening.  It was a familiar scene to Westerfelt, but to-day it was all like a dream.  He could not keep his eyes off the trees behind which he had left Harriet with his new rival.  What could be keeping them?

Presently he saw them emerge from the woods.  They were still walking slowly and close together.  Westerfelt could learn nothing from Harriet’s passive face, but Bates now certainly looked depressed.  A sudden thought stunned Westerfelt.  Could she have told Bates of her old love for Wambush, and had he—­even he—­decided not to marry her?  They passed the shed, went on to Bates’s buggy, got into it, and drove down the road to Cartwright.

Chapter XX

The religious excitement had spread over all the congregation.  Every bench held some shouting or praying enthusiast.  Some of the women began to move about on the outside, pleading with the bystanders to go forward for prayer.  One of them spoke to Westerfelt, but he simply shook his head.  Just then he noticed Mrs. Dawson sitting on the end of a bench next to the centre aisle.  She had turned half round and was staring at him fixedly.  When she caught his eye, she got up and came towards him.  Other women were talking to men near him, and no one noticed her approach.

In the depths of her bonnet her withered face had never appeared so hard and unrelenting.  She laid her hand on his arm and looked up into his eyes.

“Are you a seeker, John Westerfelt?” she asked, with a sneer.

“No, I am not.”  He tried to draw his arm away, but her bony fingers clutched and held it.

“They say the’s a chance fer all to wipe out sins,” she went on, “but I have my doubts ’bout you.  You know whar you’ll land.  You kin mighty nigh feel the hot now, I reckon.”

He caught her wrist and tore his arm from her grasp.

“Leave me alone!” he cried; then he dropped her wrist and added:  “For Heaven sake don’t—­don’t devil me to death; you make me forget you are a woman and not a beast—­a snake!  My God, let me alone!”

His angry tone had drawn the attention of a few of the bystanders.  A tall, lank countryman, standing near Westerfelt, turned on him.

“Be ashamed o’ yorese’f, young man,” he said; “ef you don’t want to be prayed fer you don’t have to, but don’t cut up any o’ yore shines with these Christian women who are tryin’ to do good.”

“You don’t know what you are talking about,” replied Westerfelt, and he turned away quickly, and went across the cleared space to his horse and buggy.  Jake, who was lying on the ground with some other negroes, ran forward and unfastened his horse, and gave him the reins.