"Yes, I have--I have," he muttered, "and I reckon
I really did fancy I cared for her at the time. Yes, I have been a
contemptible coward; for my own idle enjoyment I have allowed her to go
on counting on me until the thought of my going to see Lizzie Lithicum
nearly kills her. Well, by George! I can cut that off, and I shall,
too."
Just then, in looking across the meadow lying between his house and the
main road, he saw the short form of Peter Slogan approaching.
"He's coming here," thought Westerfelt. "She has asked him to bring
the letters, even before breakfast. That's the little woman's way of
showing her pride. What a contemptible scoundrel I am!"
But as he continued to watch the approaching figure he was surprised to
note that Slogan was displaying more energy than usual. The little,
short man was taking long steps, and now and then jumping over an
obstacle instead of going around it. And when he had reached the gate
he leaned on it and stared straight at Westerfelt, as if he had lost
his power of speech. Then it was that Westerfelt remarked that
Slogan's face looked troubled, and that a general air of agitation
rested on him.
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