In the acerbity of his pique he was for a moment gratified at what he
believed to be the expression of her wounded pride, but his uneasiness
quickly returned, and at the conclusion of the service he slipped out of
the church with one or two of the more restless in the congregation.
As he passed through the aisle he heard the escort of the miller's
daughters, in response to a whispered inquiry, say distinctly: "Only
the head-waiter over at the company's rancho." Whatever hesitating idea
Reddy might have had of waiting at the church door for the appearance
of Nelly vanished before the brutal truth. His brow darkened, and with
flushed cheeks he turned his back upon the building and plunged into the
woods. This time there was no hesitation in his resolve; he would
leave the rancho at the expiration of his engagement. Even in a higher
occupation he felt he could never live down his reputation there.

In his morose abstraction he did not know how long or how aimlessly he
had wandered among the mossy live-oaks, his head and shoulders often
imperiled by the downcurving of some huge knotted limb; his feet
straying blindly from the faint track over the thickly matted carpet
of chickweed which hid their roots. But it was nearly an hour before he
emerged upon a wide, open, wooded slope, and, from the distant view of
field and shore, knew that he was at Oak Grove, the site of Woodridge's
projected hotel. And there, surely, at a little distance, was
the Woodridges' wagon and team tied up to a sapling, while the
superintendent and his wife were slowly climbing the slope, and
apparently examining the prospect. Without waiting to see if Nelly was
with them, Reddy instantly turned to avoid meeting them. But he had not
proceeded a hundred yards before he came upon that young lady, who
had evidently strayed from the party, and who was now unconsciously
advancing toward him. A rencontre was inevitable.