"Well!" he exclaimed. "Did you suppose that I should allow you to row through that lane alone? There is no lonelier spot in America; and with the forest full of negroes—were you mad to think of such a thing?"
"I never thought about it," said Betty, humbly. "I am not very timid."
"I never doubted that you would be heroic in any conditions, but that is not the question. You must not take such risks. I shall return with you tonight—"
"And Harriet!" exclaimed Betty, in sudden alarm. "Perhaps we should not leave her."
"She will be with the crowd. Besides, it is her husband's place to look after her. I am concerned about you only. And I certainly shall not permit you to go to a camp-meeting, nor shall I leave you to take care of her. So put her out of your mind for the present."
And Betty Madison, who had been pleased to regard the world as her football, surrendered herself to the new delight of the heavy hand. He re-entered the long water lane in the cleft of the mountain, and she did not speak for some moments, but his eyes held hers and he knew of what she was thinking.
"I wonder if you always will do what I tell you," he said at length.
She recovered herself as soon as he spoke.
"Too much power is not good for any man! Nothing would induce me to assure you that you held my destiny in your hands, even did you!"
His face did not fall. "You are the most spirited woman in America, and nothing becomes you so much as obedience."
"Nevertheless—"