“I am going myself.”

“Hossback ur buggy?”

“Buggy.”  Westerfelt turned suddenly and walked back towards the hotel.  He had decided to invite Harriet Floyd to go to camp-meeting with him, let the consequences be what they might.  He wanted to see her, and nothing should prevent it—­not even Mrs. Dawson’s presence in the village nor her threats.

As Westerfelt walked away Washburn said to himself; “It u’d be tough on ’im ef Bascom Bates is ahead of ‘im, after all his hangin’ back.  By George!  I can’t imagine who else Bates could ‘a’ intended to ask; he’s give up goin’ to Hansard’s.  I’ll bet my hat Bates means business with Miss Harriet.”

Westerfelt walked into the parlor of the hotel.  A colored girl was sweeping the carpet and went out to tell Harriet that he wished to see her.  Harriet didn’t keep him waiting long.  On rising she had dressed for church.  She wore a pretty gray gown with a graceful bow of ribbon at her throat, and carried her cloak on her arm.  She put it on the sofa as she entered.  She was agitated, and he felt her hand quiver when he took it.

“I came to ask you to drive to the camp-ground with me,” he said, as her hand slid out of his; “will you go?”

“Why—­why,” she stammered, “I—­I—­promised to go with Mr. Bates; I’m very sorry; if I had known—­”

He glanced through the open door; his face had suddenly grown cold, hard, and suspicious.  He was jealous even of a man she had never been with before.  She sank into a chair and looked up at him helplessly, appealingly.  She knew he was jealous, and in that proof of his love her heart went out to him.

“Oh, it don’t matter,” he said, quickly.  “I’m going to drive out myself anyway, and I thought if you had nobody to take you, you might like to go ’long.”

“He asked me yesterday,” she faltered.  Her voice was full of startled concern.  “I’d rather go with you, you know I had.  I have never gone with him anywhere.  We are almost strangers.  I—­I would hardly know how to talk to him.”

She knew it was not with his natural voice that Westerfelt answered.  “Well,” he said, coldly, “you can’t go with two fellows, and he got to you first.  I reckon Bates knows the roads; you’d better take the river-bottom route.  Washburn says the other is not as good as it might be.  Good-bye.”

He had reached the veranda when she called him back.  As he re-entered the room she rose and stepped towards him.

“Are you mad with me, Mr. Westerfelt?”

He was ashamed of himself, but he could not conquer his horrible humor.  “Not in the least; I don’t blame you.”  His tone was still cold and his glance averted.  She put her handkerchief to her face in vexation, but removed it quickly as she caught his glance.

“I’ll not go; I’ll stay at home,” she affirmed.

“No, go; you’d never hear the end of it if you were to slight Bates.”