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diff --git a/old/68249-0.txt b/old/68249-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a6d107d..0000000 --- a/old/68249-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13139 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of When a witch is young, by Philip -Verrill Mighels - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: When a witch is young - -Author: Philip Verrill Mighels - -Release Date: June 5, 2022 [eBook #68249] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Mary Glenn Krause, Charlene Taylor, Barry Abrahamsen, and - the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN A WITCH IS YOUNG *** - - - - - - WHEN A WITCH IS YOUNG - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - ═════════════════════════════ - _WHEN A WITCH_ - ───────────────────── - ❦ _IS YOUNG_ ❦ - ═════════════════════════════ - _A Historical Novel_ - ───────────────────── - B y 4 — 1 9 — 6 9 - ═════════════════════════════ - - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - - ═════════════════════════════ - _R. F. FENNO & COMPANY_ - 9 AND 11 EAST 16TH STREET, New York - ───────────────────── - 1901 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1901 - By R. F. FENNO & COMPANY - In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS. - - --- - - - PART I. - - CHAPTER PAGE - I. Le Roi est Mort 9 - II. A Friendship of Chance 14 - III. The Germ of a Passion 22 - - - PART II. - - I. A Rover and his Retinue 27 - II. An Ungodly Performance 36 - III. ’Twixt Cup and Lip 45 - IV. The Opening of a Vista 53 - V. A Weighty Confidence 62 - VI. Pan’s Brother and the Nymph 71 - VII. The Meeting in the Greenwood 78 - VIII. Paying the Fiddler 86 - IX. A Matter of State 94 - X. To Foil a Spy 100 - XI. Dangerous Tributes 105 - XII. Hours that Grow Dark 110 - XIII. A Kiss Deferred 121 - XIV. Overtures from the Enemy 133 - XV. Love’s Inviting Light 140 - XVI. Garde’s Lonely Vigil 149 - XVII. A Night Attack 153 - XVIII. The Glint of Treasure 160 - XIX. Mutiny 164 - XX. Garde’s Extremity 171 - XXI. Randolph’s Courtship 180 - XXII. David’s Coercion 187 - XXIII. Goody’s Boy 193 - XXIV. A Greenwood Meeting 200 - XXV. Love’s Traps for Confessions 213 - XXVI. A Holiday Ended 221 - XXVII. In Boston Town 228 - XXVIII. Love’s Garden 234 - XXIX. The Enemy in Power 243 - XXX. A Fight at the Tavern 249 - XXXI. A Refugee 255 - XXXII. A Foster Parent 260 - XXXIII. Repudiated Silver 269 - XXXIV. Lodgings for the Retinue 275 - XXXV. Garde Obtains the Jail Keys 280 - XXXVI. Garde’s Ordeal 287 - XXXVII. Rats in the Armory 296 - XXXVIII. Love’s Long Good-by 303 - XXXIX. Mutations 308 - XL. Golden Oysters 314 - XLI. Fate’s Devious Ways 319 - XLII. Little Ruses and Waiting 327 - - - PART III. - - I. A Topic at Court 335 - II. Illness in the Family 342 - III. Foiled Purposes 345 - IV. Making History 350 - V. Old Acquaintances 357 - VI. Juggling with Fire 362 - VII. A Beef-eater Passes 368 - VIII. A Woman Scorned 371 - IX. Revelations 382 - X. After Six Years 392 - XI. A Blow in the Dark 398 - XII. Adam's Nurse 403 - XIII. Goody in the Toils 407 - XIV. Garde’s Subterfuge 414 - XV. The Midnight Trial 425 - XVI. The Gauntlet Run 436 - XVII. Bewitched 442 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - WHEN A WITCH IS YOUNG. - - ---------- - - - PART I. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - LE ROI EST MORT. - - -THE first, the last—the only King the Americans ever had, was dead. It -was the 13th day of August, in the year 1676. The human emotions of the -Puritan people of Massachusetts tugged at the shackles of a long -repression and broke them asunder, in the seemly town of Plymouth. King -Philip, the mighty Sachem of the Wampanoag Indians, had been slain. His -warriors were scattered and slaughtered. His war was ended. - -Through the streets of Plymouth poured a vast throng of people. Men, -women and children, they ran and walked, surrounding a buff-colored army -that filled the thoroughfares like a turgid flood. This was the regiment -which Captain Benjamin Church had led to the final camp of King Philip, -in the swamps at Mt. Hope and Pocasset, where the last scene in the -sanguinary drama had been enacted. - -Here was a troop of sixty horse, with officers. They were well mounted, -caparisoned with glittering back, breast and headpiece, and armed with -clanking sword, shouldered carbine, and great pistols, that flopped at -the waist. Behind them were foot-soldiers, brown Puritans—stern, -mirth-denying, lusty at fighting. Some of these bore no weapon other -than a pike. Another frequently had upon him sword, pistol and carbine. -Above the heads of these men on foot waved a thin forest of pike-staves, -on the tips of which bright steel threw back the dazzling rays of the -sun. There was clatter of scabbards on the pavement, thud and thud of -hoofs and feet in the roadway, and above all, shouts of men and gabble -of children. - -There were hordes on either side of this human flood, pushing and -crowding to gain the front of the column, while a similar aggregation -hung back upon the flank of the regiment, hooting, craning necks and -racing to keep pace with the steady, long strides of the soldiers. This -division of interest was caused by the two counter attractions of the -pageant. Thus at the front, a red Indian was leading the march with a -wild, half-dancing step, while he contorted his body weirdly for the -purpose of displaying to all beholders the ghastly proof of victory—the -head of the great King Philip. This Indian ally might have stood for the -mockery of a drum-major, heading a march of doom. - -The spectators, racing, crowding, following, took a crazed delight in -beholding this gory head. Love, anger, joy, the daily emotions of man, -were habitually so repressed by these serious people that now it seemed -as if they reveled as in an orgie of shuddering and gasping, to give -vent to their pent-up natures. They laughed, they skipped on nimble -feet, they sang praises. The young men and women snatched the occasion, -with its looseness of deportment, to look unbridled feelings into one -another’s eyes. - -The other attraction, in the rear, was a captive, a mere boy, as white -as any in the multitude, and paler than the palest. Tall and lithe as he -was, his age was scarcely a whit above fourteen. He was dressed as an -Indian; he bore himself like a sullen brave. At his side was old -Annawon, the last of King Philip’s councilors, who, having surrendered -under a promise of “good quarter” was even now being led to his -execution. - -The interest centered, however, in the boy. Through the stoicism which -he labored to hold as a mask upon his face, the signs of anguish played -like an undercurrent. In all the throng he had but a single friend, the -Red-man with whom he was marching. He looked about at the pitiless -embankment of faces. Near him a score of nimble boys were running, a -frantic desire to strike him depicted in their eyes. Further away a tall -man was moving, perforce, with the tide. On his shoulder he bore a -little Puritan maiden, who might have been crushed had he placed her on -her feet. She was looking at the boy-captive with eyes that seemed a -deeper brown for their very compassion. She clung to the man who held -her, with a tense little fist. Her other tiny hand was pressed upon her -cheek till all about each small finger was white, in the bonny -apple-blush of her color. It seemed as if she must cry out to the young -prisoner, in sympathy. - -While the boy was gazing back his answer to the child—a quiver in -consequence almost loosening his lip—an urchin near him abruptly cast a -stone that struck him smartly in the side. With a panther-like motion -the captive launched himself upon his assailant and bore him to earth in -a second. The old councillor, Annawon, spoke some soft, quick word at -which the lad in buckskin immediately abandoned his overthrown -antagonist and regained his place in the march. His eyes blinked -swiftly, but in vain, for tears, of anger and pain, forced their way -between his lids and so to his cheeks, when he dashed them swiftly away -on his sleeve. - -The foot-soldiers scurried forward and closed in about their dangerous -charge. The bawling youths of Plymouth seemed to multiply by magic. But -their opportunities for committing further mischief were presently -destroyed. The pageant was passing Plymouth jail. An officer hustled ten -of his men about the boy-prisoner and wedged them through the press of -people toward this place of gloom. Above the clamor then rose a voice, -and in the Indian tongue the boy-captive heard the words: - -“Farewell, Little-Standing-Panther.” - -It was old Annawon, who had divined that there would be no other parting -with the lad, who was the only creature which the war had left on earth -for him to love. - -The boy cried: “Farewell,” and the passage through the people closed -behind him. - -Those who looked beheld old Annawon smile faintly and sadly. It was the -only expression which had played across his face since his surrender, -and there was never another. - -Through nearly every street the glad procession wound. At length, the -head of the butchered King Philip was thrust upon an iron stake, which -was planted deeply in the ground. Governor Winslow then requested that -the people disperse to their several homes. - -The night at length came down—night the beneficent, that cloaks the -tokens of men’s barbarisms. Then the moon arose, casting a pale, cold -light, lest remorse lose her way. What a passionless calm settled upon -the sleeping village! - -At last, with a tread as silent as that of death itself, an active -figure crept from shadow to shadow, in the streets which the moon had -silver-plated. The lone human being came to the square wherein was -planted the stake with the moon-softened head upon it. The visitor was -the white boy-captive, dressed in his Indian toggery. He had escaped -from the jail. - -In the moonlight he came forward slowly. He halted and extended his arms -toward the stake with its motionless burden. He approached in reverence, -murmuring brokenly in the Indian tongue: - -“Metacomet—Metacomet,——my foster-father,——I have come.” - -He knelt upon the ground and clasping the cold iron stake in his arms, -he sobbed and sobbed, as if his heart would break. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - A FRIENDSHIP OF CHANCE. - - -THROUGH the gray mist of Plymouth’s dawn there came a sound of -footsteps, and then a murmur of melodious humming, somewhat controlled -and yet too sturdy and joyous to be readily accounted for in the strict -Puritan village. Presently, looming out of the uncertain light, appeared -the roughly-hewn figure of a young man of five and twenty. He was -singing to himself, as he hastened with big strides through the deserted -streets. - -On the point of passing the place where the gibbeted head of King Philip -made a rude exclamation point in the calm of gray Plymouth, the early -riser suddenly noted the curled-up form of a human being on the ground, -his arm loosely bent about the iron stake, his head resting loosely -against it, his eyes fast closed in the sleep of exhaustion. The man -started slightly, halted and ceased his singing. - -He blinked his eyes for a moment, shifted his feet uneasily and rubbed -stoutly at his jaw, as he gazed in perplexity at the picture before him. -He then tip-toed as if to go on, quietly, about his own business. He -glanced at the head, then back to the boy, from whose lips, in his -sleep, a little moan escaped. The visitor noted the traces where tears -had channeled down the lad’s pale cheeks. There was something -unescapable in the attitude of the bare golden head against the stake. -The man stopped and laid his big hand gently on the half-curled locks. - -Instantly the boy awoke, leaped to his feet and fell down again, from -sheer stiffness, staring at the man with eyes somewhat wild. He arose -again at once, more steadily, overcoming the cramps in his muscles -doggedly, never ceasing for a second to watch the man who had waked him. - -“I give you good morrow,” said the man. “It seems to me you have need of -a friend, since you have clearly lost one that you much esteemed.” - -There was persuasion and honesty in the stranger’s warm-blue eyes, good -nature in his broad, smooth face and a large capacity for affection -denoted in his somewhat sensuous mouth. Such a look of friendship and -utter sincerity as he bestowed on the startled and defiant boy before -him could not have been easily counterfeited. The youthful know -sincerity by intuition. - -“Who are you?” said the boy, his voice hoarse and weakened. “What would -anybody want with me?” - -“My name is William Phipps,” said the stranger, simply. “I am a -ship-builder of Boston. If you have no better friend, perhaps I would do -till you can find one. I am on my way to Boston now. If you need a -friend and would like to leave Plymouth, you may come with me, unless -you feel you cannot trust any one about this village.” He paused a -moment and then added, “I think you must be the boy I heard of, Adam -Rust, brought in with the captured Indians.” - -“My name is Adam Rust,” the boy admitted. “I have no friends left. If -you have been helping to kill the Wampanoags I would rather not try to -be your friend. But I know I would like you and I should be glad to go -to Boston, or any place away from here.” In the daylight he could not -bear to look up at the head above him. - -“I have been too busy to fight,” said William Phipps, employing the same -excuse he had used for friends with recruiting proclivities. “And I have -been too happy,” he added, as if involuntarily. “So, you see, there is -no reason why I should not be your friend. Have you had any breakfast?” -He put out his hand to shake. - -“No,” said Adam. He lost his hand in the big fist which Phipps -presented, and restrained himself from crying by making a mighty effort. -He had gone without eating for two days, but he said nothing about it. - -“Then,” said Phipps heartily, “the sooner we start the better. We can -get something hot on the brig.” - -He began his long striding again. Adam hesitated a moment. He looked up -at the features above him, his heart gushing full of emotion. - -Some inarticulate farewell, in the Indian tongue, he breathed through -his quivering lips. His eyes grew dimmed. He fancied he saw a smile of -farewell and of encouragement play intangibly on those still, saddened -lineaments, and so he held forth his arms for a second and then turned -away to join his new-found protector. - -William Phipps, having thought the boy to be following more closely than -he was, stopped to let him catch up. Thus he noted the look of anguish -with which the lad was leaving that grim remnant of King Philip behind. -Phipps was one of Nature’s “motherly men”—hardly ever more numerous than -rocs’ eggs on the earth. He felt his heart go forth to Adam Rust. -Therefore it was that he looked down in the boy’s face, time after time, -as they walked along together. Thus they came to the water-front and -wharves, at the end of one of which the brig “Captain Spencer” was -swinging. - -“This ship belongs to me and I made her,” said Phipps, with candid pride -in his achievement. “You shall see that she sails right merrily.” - -They went aboard. A few sailors scrubbing down the deck, barefooted and -with sleeves at elbow, now abandoned their task temporarily, at the -command of the mate, who had seen his captain coming, to hoist sail and -let go the hawsers. The chuckle in the blocks, as the sailors heaved and -hauled at the ropes, gave Adam Rust a pleasure he had never before -experienced. - -Breakfast being not yet prepared for service, Phipps conducted his -foundling about the craft for a look at her beauties. When Adam had -putted the muzzle of the brig’s gun and felt the weight of a naked sword -in his fist, in the armory, the buoyancy of his youth put new color in -his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes. He was a bright-natural, -companionable lad, who grew friendly and smiled his way into one’s -affections rapidly, but naturally. When he and Phipps had come up again -to the deck, after breakfast, they felt as if they had always been -friends. - -The brig was under way. Shorewards the gray old Atlantic was wrinkled -under the fretful annoyance of a brisk, salty breeze. The ship was -slipping prettily up the coast, with stately courtesies to the stern -rocks that stood like guardians to the land. - -“I think we shall find you were born for a sailor, Adam,” said the -master of the craft. “I can give you my word it is more joy and life to -sail a ship than to make one. And some day——” but he halted. The modest -boasts, with which he warmed the heart of his well-beloved wife, were a -bit too sacred for repetition, even to a boy so winning. “But,” he -concluded, “perhaps you would like to tell me something of yourself.” - -Thus encouraged Adam related his story. He was the son of John Rust, a -chivalrous gentleman, an affectionate husband and a serious man, with a -light heart and a ready wit. John Rust had been the friend of the -Indians and the mediator between them and the whites until the sheer -perfidy of the Puritans had rendered him hopeless of retaining the -confidence of the Red men, when he had abandoned the office. Adam’s -mother had been dead for something more than four years. Afflicted by -his sense of loss, John Rust had become a strange man, a restless soul -hopelessly searching for that other self, as knights of old once sought -the holy grail. - -He went forth alone into the trackless wilderness that led endlessly -into the west. Although the father and son had been knit together in -their affections by long talks, long ranges together in the forests and -by the lessons which the man had imparted, yet when John Rust had gone -on his unearthly quest, he could not bear the thought of taking young -Adam with him into the wilds. - -He had therefore left the boy with his friends, the lad’s natural -guardians, the honorable nation of Wampanoags. “Keep him here, teach him -of your wisdom, make him one of your young warriors,” he had said when -he went, “so that when I return I may know him for his worth.” - -King Philip, the mighty Sachem of the tribe, had thereafter been as a -foster-father to the boy. For more than two years the Red-man had -believed John Rust to have found his final lodge, and this was the -truth. And perhaps he had also found his holy grail. He perished alone -in the trackless forest. Adam had learned his wood-lore of his red -brothers. He was stout, lithe, wiry and nimble. He rode a horse like the -torso of a centaur. He was a bit of a boaster, in a frank and healthy -way. - -King Philip’s war, ascribed, as to causes, to “the passion of the -English for territory; their confidence that God had opened up America -for their exclusive occupancy; their contempt for the Indians and their -utter disregard for their rights,” had come inexorably upon the -Wampanoags. In its vortex of action, movement, success and failure at -last for the Indians, Adam Rust had been whirled along with Metacomet. -He had never been permitted by King Philip to fight against his “white -brothers,” but he had assisted to plan for the safety of the old men, -women and children, in procuring game and in constructing shelters. He -had learned to love these silently suffering people with all his heart. -The fights, the hardships, the doom, coming inevitably upon the hopeless -Wampanoags, had made the boy a man, in some of the innermost recesses of -a heart’s suffering. He had seen the last sad remnants of the -Wampanoags, the Pocassets and the Narragansetts scatter, to perish in -the dismal swamps. He had witnessed the death of King Philip, brought -upon him by a treacherous fellow Red-man. And then he had marched in -that grim procession. - -Adam made no attempt to convey an idea of the magnitude of his loss. It -would not have been possible. There is something in human nature which -can never be convinced that death has utterly stilled a beloved voice -and quenched the fire of the soul showing through a pair of eyes -endeared by companionship. This in Adam made him feel, even as he told -his tale to William Phipps, that he was somehow deserting his faithful -friends. - -Bareheaded on the sun-lit deck as he told his story, lithe in his -gestures, splendidly scornful when he imitated the great chieftains of -the tribes, and then like a young Viking as at last he finished his -narrative and looked far and wide on the sparkling sea, in joyousness at -the newer chapter which seemed to open to the very horizons themselves -before him, Adam awakened the lusty youth and daring in William Phipps -and the dreams of a world’s career always present in his brain. - -The man’s eyes sparkled, as he spun the wheel that guided the brig, -bounding beneath their feet. A restlessness seized upon the spirit in -his breast. - -“Adam,” he said, “do you like this ship?” - -“Yes!—oh, it makes me feel like shouting!” the boy exclaimed. “I wish I -could straddle it, like a horse, and make it go faster and wilder, ’way -off there—and everywhere! Oh, don’t it make you breathe!” - -“Then,” said Phipps, repressing his own love of such a madness as Adam -had voiced, “let us go for a long sail together. I have long had in mind -a voyage for trading to Hispaniola. If you would like to go with me, I -will get the brig ready in a week.” - -For his answer young Adam leaped as if he would spur the ship in the -ribs and ride her to the end of the earth forthwith. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - THE GERM OF A PASSION. - - -A BONNIE little Puritan maid, Mistress Garde Merrill, stood in the open -doorway at her home, fervently hugging her kitten. The sunlight seemed -almost like beaten gold, so tangibly did it lay upon the house, the -vines that climbed the wall, and the garden full of old-fashioned -flowers. - -A few leaves, which had escaped from the trees, in a longing to extend -their field of romping, were being whirled about in a brisk zephyr that -spun in a corner. A sense of warmth and fragrance made all the world -seem wantoning in its own loveliness. - -Little Garde, watching the frolic of the leaves, and thinking them -pretty elves and fairies, dancing, presently looked up into the solemn -visage of a passing citizen, who had paused at the gate. - -“Mistress Merrill,” he said, gravely, after a moment’s inspection of the -bright, enchanting little face, “your eyes have not the Puritan spirit -of meekness.” Thereupon he departed on his way, sadly shaking his head. - -Garde’s eyes, in all truth, were dancing right joyously; and dancing was -not accounted a Puritan devotion. Such brown, light-ensnaring eyes could -not, however, constrain themselves to melancholy. No more could the -apple-red of her smooth, round cheeks retreat from the ardor of the sun. -As for her hair, like strands on strands of spun mahogany, no power on -earth could have disentangled its nets wherein the rays of golden light -had meshed and intermeshed themselves. In her brightness of color, with -her black and white kitten on her arm, the child was a dainty little -human jewel. - -She was watching a bee and a butterfly when a shadow fell again into the -yard, among the flowers, at the entrance. Garde felt her attention drawn -and centered at once. She found herself looking not so much at a -bareheaded boy, as fairly into the depths of his very blue and steadfast -eyes. - -The visitor stood there with his hands clasping two of the pickets of -which the gate was fashioned. He had seen everything in the garden at -one glance, but he was looking at Garde. His eyes began laughingly, then -seriously, but always frankly, to ask a favor. - -“I prithee come in,” said Garde, as one a little struck with wonder. - -The boy came in. Garde met him in the path and gave him her kitten. He -took it, apparently because she gave it, and not because he was -inordinately fond of cats. It seemed to Garde that she knew this boy, -and yet he had on a suit that suggested a young sailor, and she had -never made the acquaintance of any sailors whatsoever. If he would only -look elsewhere than at her face, she thought, perhaps she could -remember. - -“See them,” she said, and she pointed to where the leaves were once more -capering in the corner. - -The boy looked, but his gaze would swing back to its North, which it -found in two brown eyes. - -“I saw you that day in Plymouth,” he said. “And I got out of their old -jail, and I didn’t see anybody else that looked kind or nice among all -those people.” - -“Oh!” said Garde, suddenly remembering everything, “oh, you were—that -boy marching with the old Indian. I was so sorry. And I am so glad that -you got away. I am real glad you came to see me. Grandfather and I were -down there for a visit—so I saw you. Oh dear me!” She looked at her -young visitor with eyes open wide by amazement. It seemed almost too -much to believe that the very boy she had seen and so pitied and liked, -in that terrible procession at Plymouth, should actually be standing -here before her in her grandfather’s garden! “Oh dear me!” she presently -said again. - -“I hate Plymouth!” said the boy, “but I like Boston.” - -“I am so glad,” said Garde. “Will you tell me your name? Mine is Garde -Merrill.” - -The boy said: “My name is Adam Rust.” - -“I was named for all my aunts,” the maid imparted, as if eager to set a -troublesome matter straight at once, “Gertrude, Abigail, Rosella, -Dorothy and Elizabeth. The first letters of their names spell G-A-R-D-E, -Garde.” - -Her visitor was rendered speechless for a moment. “Metacomet and all the -Indians used to call me Little-Standing-Panther,” he then said, -boyishly, not to be outdone in the matter of names. - -“Metacomet—King Philip? Oh, then you are the boy that used to live with -the Indians, and that was how they got you!” gasped the little maid. -“Grandfather told auntie all about it. Oh, I wish I could live with the -Indians! I am very, very sorry they got you! But I am glad you came to -see me.” - -Adam flushed with innocent and modest pride, thus to impress his small -admirer, who was named so formidably. He thought that nothing so -pleasant had ever happened in all his life. - -“It is too sad to live with Indians,” he answered. A mist seemed to -obscure the light in his eyes and to cast a shadow between them and the -sweet face at which he was looking with frank admiration. The cloud -passed, however, as clouds will in the summer, and his gaze was again -one of illuminated smiles. “I am a sailor now,” he said, with a little -boast in his voice. “To-morrow morning we are going to start for -Hispaniola.” - -“Oh dear me!” said Garde, in sheer despair of an adequate expression of -her many emotions. Then she added contritely: “I mustn’t say ‘Oh dear -me!’ but—oh dear—I wish I might.” - -“I shan’t mind,” said Adam. - -“I wish I could go to Hispaniola, too,” said Garde, honestly. “I hate to -be kept here as quiet as a clock that doesn’t go. I suppose you couldn’t -take me? Let’s sit down with the kitten and think it over together.” - -“I don’t think we could take any girls,” said Adam, seating himself at -her side on the porch, “but I could bring you back something when I -come.” - -“Oh, let’s talk all about what we would rather have most,” Garde -responded. - -So their fingers mingled in the fur of the kitten and they talked of -fabulous things with which the West Indies were reported to abound. His -golden hair, and her hair so darkly red, made the picture in the -sunlight a thing complete in its brightness and beauty. The wind floated -a few stray filaments, richly red as mahogany, from the masses on -Garde’s pretty brow, across to the ringlets on Adam’s temple. To and -fro, over these delicate copper wires, stretched for its purpose, the -sweet love that comes first to a lad and a maid, danced with electrical -activity. - -“If you are going to-morrow,” said Garde, “you must see all the flowers -and everything now.” She therefore took him by the hand and led him -about the garden, first she, then he, and then she once more carrying -the kitten. - -They were still in the midst of their explorations of the garden, which -required that each part should be visited several times, when the gate -opened and in walked Garde’s tall, stern-looking grandfather. - -David Donner rubbed his eyes in amazement, hardly believing that his -senses could actually be recording a picture of his granddaughter, hand -in hand with some utter stranger of a boy, in his own precincts. He came -quickly toward the pair, making a sound that came within an ell of being -a shout. - -Garde looked up in sudden affright. Adam regarded the visitor calmly and -without emotion. Having first dropped the young sailor’s hand, Garde now -resolutely screwed her little warm fingers back into the boy’s fist. - -“Grandfather,” she said boldly, “I shall sail to-morrow for Hispaniola.” - -David Donner, at this, was so suddenly filled with steam pressure, which -he felt constrained to repress, that his eyes nearly popped out of their -sockets. - -“Go away, boy,” he said to Adam. “Mistress Merrill, your conduct is -quite uncalled for.” - -Having divined that his sister had deserted her post and gone, as was -her wont, to the nearest neighbor’s, for a snack of gossip, he glared at -Adam, swooped down upon Garde and caught her up in his arms abruptly, -kitten and all. - -Her hold on Adam’s hand being rudely wrenched asunder, Garde felt her -heart break incontinently. She began to weep without restraint, in fact, -furiously. She also kicked, and was also deporting herself when the door -was slammed behind the forms of herself, her kitten and her grandfather, -a moment later. - -Adam looked once where she had gone. His face had assumed a stolidity -which he was far from feeling. He walked to the gate and went away, -without once turning to look back at the house. - -Mistress Garde, confronted by David Donner at close quarters, soon -regained her maidenly composure and wept surreptitiously on the stomach -of the kitten. At length she looked up in defiance at the silent old -man. - -“I have changed the name of my kitten,” she said. “His name is -Little-Standing-Panther!” - -Her grandfather, to whom this outbreak seemed something of an indication -of mental disorder, on her part, stared at the child dumbly. Not without -some justification for her deductions, Garde thought him quelled. In a -spirit of reckless defiance, and likewise to give some vent to her -feelings, she suddenly threw her arms about the bedewed kitten, on its -pillow, pressed her face against its fur and said to it, fervently: - -“Little-Standing-Panther, I love you, and love you and love you!” - -Grandfather Donner looked up in alarm. “Tut, tut, my child,” said he, -“love is a passion.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - PART II. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - A ROVER AND HIS RETINUE. - - His only gold was in his hair; - He had no silver hoard; - But steel he had, enow to spare— - In his thews and in his sword! - - -TOWARD the close of a glorious day in September, 1683, William Phipps -beheld a smart brig nose her way up the harbor of Boston, and drop in -her anchor in the field of water wherein his ship-yard thrust its toes. -A small boat then presently put forth and made straight for the -ship-yard landing, where three men calmly alighted, throwing ashore a -small heap of shabby-genteel-looking baggage. - -Somewhat annoyed, thus to have his precincts employed by any Tom, Dick -and Harry of chance, Phipps stepped from between the ribs of a ship’s -skeleton, which was being daily articulated, and strode toward the -intruders. Then a rumble, which ought to have been a shout, broke from -his lips, about the same second that a roar of joy appeared to leap out -of the foremost of the strangers, who had landed and who were coming -boldly forward. - -William Phipps and the leader of the invading trio then rushed hotly -together and collided, giving each other a bear-like hug from which the -ship-builder presently extricated himself at a thought of how he might -be shocking all or any good Puritans who might chance to be witnessing -the scene. - -“Well, shatter my hilt! and God bless you! if it isn’t your same old -beloved self!” said the stranger, heartily. - -“My boy! Bless your eyes, Adam, I never thought to see you again!” said -bluff William Phipps. “You big young rascal! You full-rigged ship! Where -have you come from? What do you mean by making me swear myself into -purgatory at your carelessness in getting yourself killed? You -twenty-gun frigate—you—you big——” - -He left off for very constraint, for his throat blocked up, despite his -most heroic efforts. He and Adam Rust began to roar with laughter, the -tears in their eyes needing some excuse. Meantime the two companions who -had come with the young rover, stood gazing about them, in patience, and -likewise looking in wonder on the two men before them. - -There was reason enough to look, for Adam and Phipps were a pair to -command attention. It seemed as if a founder had used the big -ship-builder as a pattern on which to refine his art in casting the -younger man. Adam’s back was a trifle narrower; his chest was a bit -wider; he was trimmer at the waist, neater at the thigh, longer-armed. -His hands were smaller, just as his movements were quicker and lighter. - -Although Adam’s hair crowned him with tawny ringlets of gold, while that -of Phipps was browner, and though the young fellow wore a small -mustache, in contrast, to the smooth-shaved face of his friend, it might -yet be said that the two men looked alike. Both were bronzed by weather, -both had steadfast eyes with the same frank expression, the same blue -tint and the same integrity about them. - -In their dress the two men differed. William Phipps, whatsoever he might -indulge himself in doing when away on the sea, conformed to the -dark-brown simplicity of the Puritans when in Boston. Adam, on the other -hand, wore a brown velvet coat which, though at present somewhat faded -and moulting, had once been fine feathers in England. His waistcoat had -been of royal purple, before its nap fled before the onslaughts of the -clothes-brush, while his breeches were of a time-tanned forest green -which disappeared into the maw of his wide-topped leather boots. He wore -at his hip a veteran blade of steel, in a scabbard as battered as the -outer gate of a stronghold. When not in his fighting fist, the hilt of -this weapon contented itself with caresses from his softer hand, the -left. - -The two men having shaken hands for the third time, and having looked -each other over from head to foot, and laughed and asked each other a -dozen questions, to which neither had returned any answers, Adam -suddenly remembered his comrades, waiting in the background. He turned -to them now, not without affection. - -“Here, Pike and Halberd,” he said, “you must meet my third father, -Captain William Phipps, a noble man to whom you will owe allegiance all -your miserable lives. William, these are my beef-eaters. Don’t ask me -where I got them. They are neither out of jail nor heaven. But they have -let me save their lives and feed them and clothe them, and they are -valiant, faithful rascals. To know them is to love them, and not to know -them is to be snubbed by Satan. They have been my double shadow for a -year, sharing my prosperous condition like two peers of the realm.” - -The beef-eaters grinned as they exchanged salutations with Phipps. Pike -was a short individual, inclined to be fat, even when on the slimmest of -rations. The pupils of his eyes were like two suns that had risen above -the horizon of his lower lids, only to obscure themselves under the -cloud-like lids above. Their expression, especially when he gazed upward -into Adam’s face, was something too appealingly saint-like and -beseeching for anything mortal to possess. Halberd was a ladder of a man -up which everything, save success, had clambered to paint expressions on -his face, which was grave and melancholy to the verge of the ludicrous. -He had two little bunches of muscle, each of which stuck out like half a -walnut, at the corners of his jaws, where they had grown and developed -as a result of his clamping his molars together, in a determination to -do or to be something which had, apparently, never as yet transpired. - -The two looked about as much like beef-eaters as a mouse looks like a -man-eater. They were ragged, where not fantastic, in their apparel; they -were obviously fitter for a feast than a fight, for the sea had depleted -both of their hoardings of vigor and courage. - -“Sire,” said Halberd, theatrically, “we have had nothing but good -reports of you for a year.” Whether he placed his hand on his heart or -his stomach, as he said this, and what he meant to convey as his -meaning, could never be wholly clear. - -“We shall be honored to fight for you, if need arise,” said Pike, who -panted somewhat, on all occasions, “while there is a breath in our -bodies.” - -“It is a privilege to know you both,” said Phipps, whose gravity was as -dry as tinder. - -“Any friend of the Sachem’s is a friend of ours,” responded Halberd. He -said this grandly and made a profound bow. - -“The ‘Sachem’?” repeated Phipps, and he looked at Adam, inquiringly. - -Adam had the grace to blush a trifle, thus to be caught in one of the -harmless little boasts in which he had indulged himself, over sea. “Just -a foolish habit the two have gotten into,” he murmured. - -“Ah,” said William Phipps. “Well, then, Sachem, it will soon be growing -dark, you had best come home with me to dinner.” - -Involuntarily Adam turned about to look at the beef-eaters. Their eyes -had abruptly taken on a preternatural brightness at the word dinner. - -“I have much to ask you and much to tell you,” Phipps added. “And the -goodwife would exact this honor if she knew you were come.” - -The invitation did not include Adam’s retinue. He swallowed, as if the -delicious odors of one of Goodwife Phipp’s dinners were about to escape -him. - -“Well,” he said, “the honors are all the other way about, but—the fact -is—a previous engagement—I—I have promised a rousing hot din—I have -accepted an invitation to dine with the beef-eaters, at the Crow and -Arrow.” - -The ship-builder knew all about those “rousing hot dinners” of cold -eel-pie, potatoes and mustard, for which the Crow and Arrow tavern was -not exactly famous. He looked at Adam, to whom as their sachem the -beef-eaters appealed with their eyes, like two faithful animals. Adam -was regarding the pair silently, a faint smile of cheer and camaraderie -on his face. - -“But—but my invitation included our friends,” Phipps hastened to say. -“Come, come, the tavern can wait till to-morrow. Gentlemen, you will -certainly not disappoint me.” - -“’Tis well spoken that the tavern can wait,” said Pike. - -“To disappoint the friend of the Sachem would be a grievous thing,” said -Halberd. “Let the galled tavern sweat with impatience.” - -They would all have started away together at once, had not Phipps noted -the heap of baggage, left untidily upon his landing when the travelers -arrived. - -“Well,” said he, “Adam, you know the way to the house, suppose you and -your friends carry your worldly goods to the tavern, engage your -apartments, and then follow me on. I, in the meantime, can hasten home -to apprise the wife that you are coming, with the beef-eaters, and she -can therefore make due preparations in honor of the event.” - -“This is good sense,” said Adam. “Go along, or we shall be there before -you.” - -Phipps, with a half dozen backward looks at his guests and their shabby -chattels, made his way out of the ship-yard without further delay. Adam -and his retinue gripped three or four parcels apiece and started, with -clank of sword, and in some discomfort, for the Crow and Arrow. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - AN UNGODLY PERFORMANCE. - - -ADAM RUST knew the Crow and Arrow more by that repute which had traveled -back to England, through the medium of young stalwarts and sailors, than -he did from personal acquaintance with its charms. He had seen the place -frequently enough, when first he came to Boston with William Phipps, but -the town had expanded much since then and bore an air of unfamiliarity. -The young man and his beef-eaters therefore wandered somewhat from their -course. - -Being overladen and dressed out of the ordinary fashion, the trio soon -found themselves attracting attention, particularly from certain of the -youths of the quarter and the rough characters incidental to shipping -and the neighborhood thereof. Adam was carrying a long box, somewhat -decrepit with age. It swung against his legs and struck an occasional -post, or a corner, held insecurely as it was by his little finger only, -which was passed through a brass handle. In this manner, and with a -growing cluster of curious persons beginning to follow on behind, the -party were in sight of the tavern at last, when this long box of Adam’s -abruptly opened and spilled out a richly darkened old violin. - -With a short exclamation of impatience, Adam halted and dropped his -other bundles. Over these tall Halberd fell, with a great clatter of -weapons, tin box and shaken bones. Adam fended him off from the violin, -snatched it up and scrutinized it with the eager concern which a mother -might bestow upon a delicate child. He found it uninjured, but, as it -might have been smashed, he clung to it fondly, reluctant to place it -again in its treacherous case. - -Naturally the downfall of Halberd had delighted the gamin and the -sailors following. These formed a cluster about the party, and their -numbers drew additional spectators rapidly. A number of seafaring men -shoved stoutly forward, their eyes glistening at sight of the musical -instrument. - -“I say, give us something, then, on that there red boy!” demanded one of -the men, as healthy a looking rascal as ever drew breath. - -“You look a bonny lad, come on—there’s a good un,” said another. - -“Rattle her guts,” said a third. “We ain’t heard the like of a fiddle -since we came to this town of preachers.” - -Adam looked quietly about him. He knew most of the fellows about in the -rude circle for rough English rovers who would love him if he played, or -knock him and his belongings playfully into the street if he refused. He -was not accustomed to churlishness; moreover, he felt particularly in -the mood for playing. The ruddy sunset, the warm breath of the passing -day, the very taste of American air, seemed lusty and joyous, despite -the rigid Puritanical spirit of the mirth-denying people of the colony. -He took up the bow, twanged the strings, tightened two that had become -laggard, and jumped into the middle of a rollicking composition that -seemed to bubble up out of the body of the violin and tumble off into -the crowd in a species of mad delight. - -Had the instrument been a spirit of wine, richly dark red as old port, -and rendered alive by the frolicking bow, it could not have thrown off -more merry snatches of melody’s mirth. It chuckled, it caught its -breath, like a fat old monk at his laughing, it broke out in guffaws of -hilarity, till not a soul in the audience could keep his feet seemly -beneath him. - -The sailors danced, boldly, though clumsily. Their faces beamed with -innocent drunkenness, for drunk they were, with what seemed like the -fumes and taste of this wine of sound. They had been denied it so long -that it went to their heads at the first draught. - -Across the street, issuing quietly and, he hoped, unobserved, from a -door that led into the tavern, a Puritan father now appeared, wiping his -mouth as a man has no occasion for doing unless he had recently dipped -his upper lip into a mug. He suddenly halted, at the sound of music from -over the way. He frowned at the now somewhat dense assemblage of boys -and citizens surrounding Adam Rust, and worked up a mask of severity on -his face from which it had been temporarily absent. He opened his mouth, -as if to speak, and then, realizing that he might not be heard at this -distance from them, moved a rod toward his fellow-beings and took a -stand in the street. - -At this moment an ominous snap resounded above both the playing and its -accompaniment of scuffling feet and gruff explosions of enjoyment and -hearty appreciation. Instantly Adam ceased playing. He had felt a string -writhe beneath his fingers. The man in the roadway grasped at the moment -instantly, to raise his voice. - -“Begone, disperse, you vagabonds!” he said. “What is the meaning of this -ungodly performance? Disperse, I say, you are bedeviled by this -shameless disciple of Satan!” - -Adam, intent on his violin, which he found had not broken but had merely -slipped a string, heard this tirade, naturally, as did all the others. A -few boys sneaked immediately about the cluster of men and sped away, as -if from some terrible wrath to come. - -“Who is yon sufferer for melancholy?” said Adam, looking carelessly at -the would-be interrupter. Then suddenly a gleam came into his eye, as he -recognized in the man one of the harsh hypocrites who had been among the -few zealots who had imprisoned him, years before. “Halberd,” he added, -“fetch the gentleman forward. Methinks he fain would dance and make -merry among us.” - -His opening question had been hailed with snorts of amusement; his -proposal ignited all the roguishness in the crowd. Halberd, nothing loth -to add his quota to the general fun, strode forward at once, way being -made by the admiring throng, and he bowed profoundly before the bridling -admonisher in the street. Then without warning, he scampered nimbly to -the rear of the man of severity, took him by the collar and the slack of -his knickerbockers and hustled him precipitately into the gathering. - -Adam began to play at once. The spectators gathered about the astonished -and indignant person of severity, thirsty for fun. - -“You evidently wanted to dance, therefore by all means commence,” said -Adam. - -“You are a veritable limb of Satan!” said the man. “You shall be -reported for this unseemly——” - -“Halberd,” interrupted Adam, “the gentleman is as shy and timid as your -veriest girl. Could you not persuade him to dance?” - -“I was born for persuasion,” said Halberd. Thereupon he drew from his -belt a pistol, most formidable, whether loaded or not, and pushed its -metal lips against the neck of the hedged-in Puritan, whom he continued -to restrain by the collar. “Make merry for this goodly company by doing -a few dainty steps,” he requested. - -The crowd pushed in closer and roared with delight. Some one among them -knocked the reluctant dancer’s knees forward. He almost fell down. - -“He’s beginning!” cried Adam, and he went for his fiddle with the bow as -if he were fencing with a dozen pirates. - -“Dance!” commanded Halberd, “dance!” - -Terpsichore’s victim was not a man of sand. Drops of perspiration oozed -out on his forehead. A look of abject fear drove the mask of severity -from his face. He jumped up and down ridiculously, his knees knocking -together for his castanets. - -“Faster!” cried Adam, fiddling like a madman. - -“Faster!” echoed Halberd, with his pistol-muzzle nosing in the dancer’s -ribs. - -The man jumped higher, but not faster; he was too weakened by cowardice. -The sailors joined in. They could not keep their feet on the ground. The -contagion spread. Pike and Halberd joined the hopping. The offending -admonisher looked about at them in a frenzy of despair, afraid of who -might be witnessing his exhibition. He was a sorry dancer, for he was so -eager to please that he flopped his arms deliriously, as if to convince -his beholders of his willingness to make himself as entertaining as -possible. When he suddenly collapsed and fell down, Adam ceased playing. -The crowd settled on the pavement and applauded. - -“For shame, good friend,” said Adam, solemnly, “now that I observe your -garb, I am shocked and amazed at your conduct. Friends, let us go to the -tavern and report this gentleman’s unseemly behavior. In payment for the -fiddling, you may fetch my bales of goods and merchandise.” He waved to -his shabby baggage and led the way to the Crow and Arrow, which had long -before disgorged nearly all of its company, and its landlord, to add to -the audience in the street. - -Flinging up his only piece of gold, the young rover ordered refreshment -for all who crowded into the tavern, and while they were drinking, he -dragged the beef-eaters, with all the “bales of merchandise,” away to -the meager apartments provided above stairs in the sorry hostelry. - -In the darkness of the hall, he ran heavily against some one who was -just on the point of quitting a room. The innocent person was bowled -endways. - -“Confound your impudence!” said the voice of a man. “Why don’t you look -where you are going?” - -“I couldn’t see for fools in the way,” retorted Adam. “I am no king, -requiring you to fall before me.” - -“I can’t see your face, but I can see that you are an arrant knave,” -said the other hotly. “You never could have had a proper drubbing, or -you would be less reckless of your speech!” - -“I have always been pitted to fight with bragging rascals of about your -size and ability with a weapon, else I might have been drubbed,” Adam -flung back, laying his hand on his sword as he spoke. “It shames my -steel to think of engaging a ten-pin!” - -“By all tokens, sir, you are blind, as well as idiotic, to walk into -death so heedlessly. Be good enough to follow me into the yard.” - -“Oh, fie on a death that flees and entreats me to follow,” was Adam’s -answer. “I rolled you once in this hall; I can do so again. -Halberd—Pike, candles to place at the head and feet of death!” - -The beef-eaters, having reached the apartments appointed for their use, -had heard the disturbance in the hall, and expecting trouble, had -already lighted the candles. With three of these they now came forth. -The hall would have been light enough had it been in communication with -the outside world and the twilight, but as it was, it was nearly dark. - -“I grieve for your mother,” sneered the stranger, whose sword could be -heard backing out of its scabbard. “You must be young to be so -spendthrift of your life.” - -“On the contrary, you will find what a miser I am, even as to the drops -of my blood,” said Adam. “No one ever yet accused the Sachem——” - -“The Sachem!” interrupted the other voice. - -Halberd, who had sheltered the candle he bore with his hand, now threw -its light on the face of the man near by him. - -“Shatter my hilt!” exclaimed young Rust, “Wainsworth!” - -“Odds walruses!” said the man addressed as Wainsworth, “what a pretty -pair of fools we are. By gad, Adam, to think I wouldn’t know you by your -voice!” - -Adam had leaped forward, while his sword was diving back into its -sheath. He caught Wainsworth by the hand and all but wrung it off. - -“Bless your old soul,” he said, “why didn’t you say who you were?” - -“I was kept busy listening to you telling me who and what I was,” -Wainsworth assured him, good-naturedly. “I never heard so much truth in -all my life.” - -“I never thought to be so incontinently found out myself,” Adam -confessed contritely. “But as long as I have found you, I feel as good -as if I had fought a good fight and wiped my blade. Indeed, Henry, I am -tremendously glad to see you. How did you get here? When did you come? -What a blundering fool I was!” - -“Come in, come in to my castle,” said Wainsworth, turning back to the -apartment he had been quitting when knocked over. “Bring in your -friends. You shall all share in my dinner. I’m a ship, burdened with -news for cargo to be unloaded. Come in here; we’ll talk all night.” - -“But I am due at a dinner already, with my beef-eaters,” said Rust. “I -have been delayed past all reason now, but——” - -“You weren’t delayed by our duel of words, I trust?” - -“No, no, but I have kept our host waiting, nevertheless. I shall be back -before the night’s worn through, however, and then I am yours till -breath fails me.” - -“Haste away then, Sachem Rust, for the sooner you are gone the sooner I -shall see you returned; and I shall consume myself with impatience till -I can tell you of the sweetest plight mortal man ever got himself -tangled in. I’ve got to tell you, for no one else on earth would answer. -Begone, then. Good-by, and hasten back.” - -Adam bade him au revoir, for he felt that already William Phipps must be -thinking him sadly remiss and ungracious. - -Preparations as to evening dress were soon completed. They consisted in -a brisk wash of face and hands for the trio, not one of the party being -endowed with a second suit of clothing. Thus they were upon the road, -walking soberly, though diligently, toward the Captain’s residence, -before the twilight had begun to fade. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - ’TWIXT CUP AND LIP. - - -WITH appetites still further whetted by their various diversions, the -comrades were hardly made happier when Adam found that once more the -many years’ growth of Boston town confused him. It was something of a -walk to the Phipps’ domicile from the Crow and Arrow the best one could -do. With devious windings added, it became the next thing to provoking. - -“Aha, at last I know where we are,” said Adam, finally. “These streets -are as bad as London’s. But ten minutes more and we shall be at the -board.” - -“If this is not so,” said Halberd, gravely, with a memory of seeing Adam -part with the last money which they possessed, “it would be a kindness -to let us lie down and perish here.” - -“This is a most unlikely-looking street,” added Pike, dolefully. - -“What do you know of Boston streets?” inquired Adam, who had a doubt or -two of the place himself. “Good beef-eaters, if you weary, wait here for -a moment, till I can run a little along this road, to see where it -leads. If it is right I will presently whistle; if wrong I can the -sooner return.” - -The beef-eaters with one accord sat down upon a block of stone, while -their leader strode hastily up a passage which was in reality an alley, -at the rear of a number of residences. With a hope that he would soon -emerge into a street which he thought should be in the neighborhood, -Adam almost ran. Thus he disappeared about a turn of the lane. - -He had gone less than twenty rods when he found himself approaching a -small assemblage of boys, who were yelling, in suppressed voices, and -gathering stones which they were throwing with wild aim into a corner, -where the coming darkness had already formed a center of shadows. Rust -was well among these young scamps before they were aware of his -presence. One urchin had by this secured a long stick with which he -advanced, the others making room to let him through, to poke and jab at -something which the lads had evidently driven to bay where it could not -escape. Yet so afraid did the young rogues appear to be that this -something would yet fly upon them and do them great harm, that Adam -walked at once among them, touching one upon the shoulder. - -“The witch!” screamed this lad, as if the devil himself had clutched -him. With yells of terror all the boys scudded swiftly away, for a -matter of twenty feet, and then turned about to look at Rust. Seeing a -man merely, they were reassured. It is a singular and doubtless a -fortunate matter that there was never such a thing conceived as a male -witch. - -“What have you here?” said Adam, pleasantly. - -“A witch’s cat!” cried one of the boldest youths, re-approaching. “We -drove it in the corner to stone it to death!” - -Now Adam had a lingering fondness for cats, from a time not many years -past. - -“A witch’s cat?” he repeated. “What nonsense! What harm can a poor cat -do to big healthy boys like you? There are no witches, you young -varlets.” He went into the corner and peered about eagerly, to find the -dumb victim of the mad superstition then subtly growing in that -Massachusetts colony. - -“There was a witch and she ran away, screaming!” scolded back the bold -spokesman of the group of boys, now gaining courage to edge nearer. “She -ran away through this garden!” He pointed to a rear yard, leading off -the alley to a house not far distant. - -“She made me cough up pins and needles,” asserted another young liar, -glibly. “And a monster black monkey with cock’s feet followed her when -she ran.” - -“He’s a prince of the powers of air himself,” whispered another lad, in -awe-stricken tones. - -Adam had found the cat, a middle-aged animal, frightened, hurt, soiled, -but intelligent, since it knew it was being protected at last. He lifted -it forth from its small retreat, finding it to be a heavy, -black-and-white specimen, too inoffensive to scratch and claw, even in -its terror. - -“You young——” he started to say. - -“Here she comes! Here she comes!” yelled one of the lads, interrupting. -“Two of them! Run for your lives!” - -The self-scared young cowards, screaming like so many demons, darted -down the alley as fast as their legs would let them go. Adam looked -where one had pointed and beheld, indeed, two female figures coming on a -distracted run through the near-by yard, toward him as he was standing -with the cat in his arms. - -Although the first veil of darkness was already drawn through the air, -Rust could see that they were two young women who were coming. The one -who led, he then noted, was a plain, but a sweet, wholesome-looking -girl, who was evidently much excited. He stepped forward toward her, -with the cat, divining it was the animal she had come for, and so for -the moment he neglected to glance at the second young woman. - -When he did look at her she was not far and he caught his breath -quickly. “Shatter my hilt!” was the thought that leaped into his brain, -“they do have young witches here after all!” - -Advancing to the middle of the alley he made a profound bow, as the -foremost girl came pantingly from the garden gate. The girl, seeing him -now for the first time, halted abruptly. - -“Good evening,” said Adam, “may I have the honor of restoring your pet? -He is excellently well behaved and, I trust, not seriously hurt.” - -The girl walked timidly toward him. Her face flushed rosy red with -pleasure and confusion. Her companion, having been caught on a rosebush, -in the garden, was delayed and was stooping to disentangle her skirt -from the thorns. - -“Oh, sir, you are very kind,” stammered the girl confronting Adam. “I -thought they would kill him. He isn’t mine, but I also hold him——” - -The second young lady now came hastily out at the gate. Adam had been -too polite to look past number one, in search for the one he thought so -witching, but now his heart bounded to see her coming. She ran -precipitately at him, breaking in upon her companion’s speech. - -“Oh, Standing-Panther,” she cried, impetuously, “my own dear, darling -love, why did you ever come out to such a place?” - -She plucked her pet from Adam’s arm in one swoop. Rust, at the old name, -which he had buried with memories that sorely harrowed his soul, dropped -his hat, which he had doffed, and raising his hand to his cheek in -wonder, stared at the girl before him with widened eyes. - -“At—at your service, Miss—Mistress Gar—Mistress Merrill,” he stuttered. - -Garde, a vision of beauty distraught, suddenly looked up in his face. -Frank amazement was depicted in her glorious eyes. - -“I beg—your pardon,” stammered Adam, “I see you were speaking to your -cat, and not to me.” - -“You!—Adam!—Mr.—Mr. Rust!” she exclaimed. A red-hot blush surged upward, -flooding her face, her neck and even her delicate ears. “Not -Little-Standing—Oh dear me! Why, Prudence, what did I say? It—it isn’t -really——” she stopped in confusion. - -“Adam Rust, Kneeling Panther at your service,” supplied the rover. He -made a bow that was truly splendid, with a long sweep of his hat and a -touch of his knee on the pavement, that for sheer grace could not have -been equaled in Boston. “Miss—Mistress Merrill, you have not quite -forgotten that you commissioned me to bring you something from -Hispaniola?” he added. - -“But you—but you have grown so,” said Garde, still as red as a rose. -“And to meet like this—that was such a long time ago. I—I thank you for -saving my cat. I—we—Prudence, you must thank Mr. Rust.” - -Prudence, on whom Adam had scarcely looked, since seeing Garde, had been -standing there looking at Rust with a sudden-born love in her eyes that -was almost adoration. She had developed, out of the Puritanical spirit -of the times, a control of her various emotions that Garde would never -possess. Therefore she had herself in hand at a second’s notice. - -“I have thanked Mr. Rust,” she answered, quietly. - -Garde was stealing a look at Adam the second he turned in politeness to -Prudence. - -“This was no service at all,” he said. “Pray expend no further words -upon it.” - -“Oh, Adam, I am so glad——” burst from Garde’s lips impetuously, but she -checked her utterance the instant his glance came flashing back to hers, -and added. “I mean, Mr. Rust, I am so glad the cat wasn’t hurt, and, -Prudence, we must surely return to the house at once.” - -This was not at all what Garde had started to say, nor what she wanted -to say; but though it was the same Adam, quite to her heart’s -satisfaction, yet he was now a man, and a maidenly diffidence shamed her -riotous gladness, and—Prudence was present. - -“But,” said Adam, fumbling in a pocket over the region of his heart, -“the trinket I brought you from Hispaniola?” - -“Oh, marry, it has kept so well all these years,” said Garde roguishly, -“surely it must still keep till—surely anyway till daylight. Really, -sir, we must thank you again and return before it is actually dark.” She -gave him one look which, had he been a woman, he would readily have -interpreted, but being a man, somewhat of its significance was lost upon -him. - -“But now I know I have kept it too long already,” he insisted, still -tugging at the stubborn pocket. “Surely——” - -“It will be the riper for keeping a little longer,” said Garde, almost -impatient with him for not seeing that she wanted to receive it only -when they two were alone together. “We thank you once more, for saving -Little-Standing-Panther, and so—good night,” - -“But when—what day?—to-morrow?” cried the eager rover. “When may I give -it?” - -“Oh stupid!” said Garde to herself, almost vexed at his lack of -understanding and tact. Aloud she called back, “Did you say good night? -Prudence, say good night again to Mr. Rust.” - -Prudence called good night once more, this making her third time, and -Adam was left there in the alley alone. He went to the gate and, leaning -over it, clutched two of its pickets in his hands, as once before he had -done to another gate, and stood there gazing ardently into the gathering -darkness. - -At length, with a heavy sigh, of joy and impatience blended, he strode a -little down the lane. Then he strode back. So, up and down he paraded, -for fifteen minutes. At the end of this time he suddenly bethought him -of the beef-eaters and the dinner at William Phipp’s. He then hastened, -tardily enough, back the way he had originally come. - -Eager to find his companions, yet completely scatterbrained by the -meeting with Garde, the sight of her radiant beauty, and the chaos of -plans for seeing her again at daylight, which were teeming in his head, -he fairly fell over the outstretched feet of his faithful followers -before he saw them. - -They were still sitting upon the block of stone. They had interlocked -their arms, for mutual support, and then had fallen fast asleep, worn -out with the long day and made weak by a longer fast. - -“Good old beef-eaters,” said Adam, affectionately, and gently shaking -them by the shoulders, he aroused them, got them on their feet and -guided them out of the alley. By great good fortune, he came to a -land-mark he remembered from his short sojourn in Boston, years before. -With this as a bearing, he made good time to the Captain’s house. They -met William Phipps at the gate, going forth to hunt them up. - -“We have sauntered along,” said Adam, carelessly, “for such air as this -is a tonic to the appetite.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - THE OPENING OF A VISTA. - - -FOR a man who had taken so much tonic, Adam had but indifferent relish -for the savory and altogether comforting little dinner which Goodwife -Phipps had kept all warm and waiting for the coming of her guests. His -head was filled with love and with altercations between hope that Garde -had meant this and fears that she might have meant that, and with -conjuring up all her speeches and glances, till he could hardly have -told whether he was afoot or horseback. - -But if their leader neglected his opportunities, the beef-eaters made -good the reputation for three, as swordsmen with knife and fork. -Fortunately Goodwife Phipps had provided amply. But a fowl became a -glistening skeleton; a hot meat-pie was represented at last by a dish -that yawned like an empty chasm; a pyramid of Indian maize became a -scattered wreckage of cobs, and potatoes, bread and pudding vanished -into mere memories of what they once had been. - -Adam, although he said nothing, talked like an auctioneer, during the -meal, to divert what he could of the attention which his retinue -perforce attracted to their appetites. This innocent ruse was not lost -on the charming little wife of William Phipps. She was a sweet little -woman, plump, black-haired, brown-eyed and gifted by Nature with much -vivacity, in her wit and in her engaging manners. She was older than her -husband, having been the widow of one merchant Hull, when she and the -Captain wedded. They were a happy couple, being indeed un-Puritanly -joyous in their partnership. She had taken a great liking to Adam, when -Phipps first brought him home. Now that he was a man, she liked him none -the less, yet she saw that he would always be a big, straightforward -boy. She watched him now with pleasure, listening to his quips and -sallies of nonsense, and nodding motherly at his evident concern for his -two forlorn beef-eaters, so obviously attached to him by ties of -affection. - -The dinner being at length come to an end, with great satisfaction to -all concerned, Adam counseled the expanded beef-eaters to fare to the -Crow and Arrow, lest in their absence anything befall to prevent their -occupancy of the selected apartments. As nothing was to be had to drink -where they were, the worthy two were glad to act upon his suggestion. -Accordingly Adam and his hosts were left to themselves, whereupon they -fell upon a banquet of narrative and reminiscence forthwith. - -“Now, Adam, tell us all about where you have been, and what you have -done, and all about everything,” said Mrs. Phipps, putting her plump -elbows on the table, which she had swiftly cleared of the dinner -wreckage. “Just begin at the day you left, with William, and tell us all -there is. But tell us first, have you fallen in love? Of course you must -have, but I do hope you will like one of our own girls best.” - -“I fear you would have me begin at the last end first, after all,” said -Adam, thinking how recently he had fallen victim to Eros. “My tale is -brief and of no interest. William bade me cultivate the society of -gentlemen, when he sent me to England. Well, I had fencing and fiddling -of an Italian nobleman; I have fought with holy friars and princes; I -have sworn strange oaths with prelates and bishops; I have danced with -nuns and duchesses; I have ridden to hounds with curs and Kings. If I -have not learned drinking, gambling, love-making, dueling, swearing and -sundry other pretty accomplishments, then beshrew me for a clod and call -the court no place for schooling. I am richer than I was, since I may -look up at any moment and see you both at a glance. By the same token I -am happier. As to my heart, I’ll take oath I left it in Boston. And -there you have me.” - -“Oh, this sounds very naughty indeed,” said Mrs. Phipps. - -“I never counseled you to apprentice yourself to the devil,” said -Phipps. “You were first to learn navigation, of some——” - -“Oh, of that I neglected to speak,” interrupted the rover. “William, you -will never make an anchor out of sea foam, nor a solid ship’s master out -of me, else my first or my last preceptor would have finished me off -roundly.” - -“Who was your latest chief?” the Captain inquired. - -“Captain William Kidd,” said Adam, “a generous friend, a fearless and -skilful seaman, and as bold a fighting man as ever clutched a hilt. I -met him at Barcelona, shipped with him for Bristol, fell in with my -beef-eaters, got rid of my money and pushed my sword through a pup—Lord -Something-or-other——and was still in time to catch Captain Kidd at -Portsmouth for New York. But I can’t bark enough for a sea-dog, as Kidd -was good enough to tell me himself.” - -William Phipps nodded and nodded. Outwardly he was calm enough; inwardly -he stewed with heat. Adam had but added fuel to the fever of unrest and -thirst for adventure with which he had been born. He was not jealous of -all that his protégé had accomplished ahead of himself—indeed, he had -furthered the lad’s advancement, at the expense of his own sense of -bereavement when he and Adam parted,—but he was consumed with impatience -to be hewing at the great career for which he had from boyhood felt -himself destined. A light of determination burned in his eyes. He saw -that the boy before him had utterly outstripped him—the boy to whom he -had imparted all his own meager, self-acquired education. Not for a -moment did he regret that from Hispaniola he had sent the lad to -England, with a fellow-captain, nor would he for any price have stripped -his protégé of one single experience, but his mouth grew dry with the -lust for adventure that was glowing within him. - -His wife saw these indications. She understood what was passing in his -mind. Before she had even sighed to herself, as a woman must, who feels -herself on the brink of a separation from one she truly loves, she -consented mentally to what she knew he would presently suggest. What she -was thus prepared for, came sooner than she had expected it might. - -“Adam,” said Phipps, somewhat huskily, “I have been waiting for -something—I never knew what—to come along and start me off after the -fortune I have promised to get for the wife.” - -“You are fortune enough for me, dear,” Mrs. Phipps interposed, in spite -of herself. “I should be satisfied to live like this forever.” - -“I know,” said the Captain, “but I promised you should have a fair brick -house in the Green Lane, to the north, and I mean that you shall have -it. Adam, you are the something I have been waiting for, but what with -my worrying, over thinking you probably dead, I have never realized the -truth till this night.” - -“And what may it be my privilege to do?” said Adam. - -“Go with me to recover a fortune, sunk in a wreck. She rests on a reef -in the Bahamas, in a few fathoms of water. She was laded with gold and -went down with every ounce. I’ve got the maps, and now that I’ve got -you, bless your heart, we can sail in a week!” - -“And how have you learned of this sunken treasure?” said Adam, who for -some reason appeared not at all boyishly eager to set off on this new -adventure. “Has somebody given you this tale and the maps as the price -for a well-built brig?” - -“I had the information from a Spaniard, who died at my ship-yard,” said -Phipps. “He was the sole survivor of the wrecked vessel. I gave him -work. He was grateful. Death seized him suddenly, but before the end -came, he told me his tale, he said, as a measure of gratitude, directing -me to feel in his pockets for the maps, which I did. I have waited for -what I now am certain was your return.” - -“Well,” said Adam, thoughtfully, twisting the ends of his small -mustache, “you couldn’t easily have paid me a greater compliment, I am -sure; but, my dear friend, you place me in an awkward position.” - -“Awkward position? What awkward position?” said Phipps. “Here you are a -good swordsman, a man of some knowledge, and the companion I would -select of all the men I know.” Here Adam bowed solemnly. “Now what is to -hinder us from making this venture together? What do you mean by this -awkward position business?” - -“I mean,” said the rover, “that I seem to serve no better purpose, the -moment I return to Boston, than to separate you two good people. Now I -am sensitive about a thing like that. I don’t like to be the cause of -such a separation.” - -“What nonsense, you——” started the Captain. - -“I prepared my mind for William’s adventure, long ago,” interrupted Mrs. -Phipps. “If he doesn’t go with you, he will go with some one else. And -as long as he is bent on going in the end, I should feel so much better, -Adam, if you were with him.” - -Adam bowed to them both, again. He was glad to do this, as he was, in -point of fact, somewhat confused as to what to say. - -“There, you young rascal,” said Phipps, “that knocks away your shores -and you are launched before you know it.” - -“But,” suggested Adam, with an air of great solicitude for his friend’s -interests, “do you really think any wild-goose chase of this description -could be as solid and certain and wholesome as the ship-building -business? Would I be justified in encouraging you, Captain Phipps, to -leave your established business for such a wild——” - -“Wild?” interposed Phipps. “You—you—now look here, what do you mean—you, -by your own accounts, the wildest young scamp afloat? Wild? As if -anything could be too wild for you. There is something at the bottom of -all this. Now out with it!” - -“Why, William!” said Goodwife Phipps, “where are your eyes? Why, Adam -must have a sweetheart in Boston!” - -Rust flushed hotly. His eyes would not, for all his pulling at them, -refrain from dancing. He conjured up an immediate fit of coughing, and -therefore held a handkerchief before his face. - -Phipps looked at him suspiciously. “Is that what ails you?” he demanded. -“Is that why you are so hot to remain here in Boston?” - -“Now I leave it to you both, as two good, sensible people,” said Rust, -artfully, “how could such a catastrophe have happened? I left Boston -seven years ago, while a mere cub, and I have been here now less than -that many hours. Do you think that between sunset and my coming here I -could have saved some fair angel’s life—or the life of her—her—well, say -her pet panther? Does that seem likely, or reasonable, say?” - -“I wouldn’t dare trust you not to be saving a dozen,” grumbled Phipps. -“When a man has associated with gentlemen, you never can reckon on his -conduct.” - -“Of course it does seem absurd, Adam, I admit,” said Mrs. Phipps, who -was enjoying the conversation mightily. “I had to make some suggestion. -And—oh, why, perhaps some young lady has recently arrived here from the -old country. Is that it, Adam?” - -“I give you my word of honor that no young lady has come to Boston, -since I went abroad, for whom I care a brass farthing,” Adam assured his -hostess. “The further you go in this, the more innocent you will find -me.” - -“Then are you turned lazy, or what is it that ails you,” inquired the -Captain, “that you fail to leap, as, by my word, I had thought you -would, to embrace this opportunity?” - -“Oh, oh, poor dear Adam,” said the Captain’s wife, interrupting any -answer Rust might have been framing, “perhaps I know what it is, at -last.” She went to her husband quickly and whispered something in his -ear. - -“Hum!” said Phipps, who was inclined to be a bit short with his protégé -for his many equivocal answers, “Why couldn’t he say so at once? See -here, Adam, what’s all this rigmarole about your pride? If you haven’t -got any money, what’s the odds to me? Who’s asking you to furnish any -funds? I’ve got the brig and I’ve got provisions and arms in plenty. If -that is what ails you, drop it, sir, drop it!” - -Adam, willing to share another’s money as readily as he would give his -own last penny to a friend, had thought of nothing half so remote as -this to offer as an excuse for remaining in Boston, under the same sky -with Garde. But now that it was broached, he fathered it as quickly and -affectionately as if he had indeed been its parent. - -“I had hoped it would not be unreasonable for me to crave a few days’ -grace before giving you my answer to your generous proposition,” he -said, “for I am not without hopes of replenishing our treasury at an -early date.” - -“But in the meantime——” started Phipps. - -“Dearest,” interrupted his wife, with feminine tenderness of thought for -any innocent pride, “surely you have no mind to sail to-night? And there -are so many things for Adam to tell.” - -The Captain, who had been drawing down his brow, in that serious -keep-at-it spirit which through all his life was the backbone of his -remarkable, self-made success, slacked off the intensity of his mood and -smiled at his wife, indulgently. He loved her and he loved Adam above -anything else in the world. - -“Get you behind me, golden treasure,” he said, with a wave of his big, -wholesome hand. “Adam, I would rather hear you talk than to pocket -rubies.” - -“I must be cautious lest I bankrupt myself by telling all I know this -evening,” said Adam. “Indeed, dear friends, it grows late already. I -must set my beef-eaters the good example of keeping seemly hours.” He -arose to go before the sunken treasure topic should again break out, -with its many fascinations and pitfalls. - -His hosts protested against his leaving, yet they presently discovered -that the hour was, as he said, no longer early. He therefore departed -and wended his way through the now deserted streets, toward the Crow and -Arrow, his heart bounding with joyousness, his brain awhirl with -memories of everything of the evening, save the discussion of the sunken -treasure. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - A WEIGHTY CONFIDENCE. - - -AT the tavern, when Adam entered, Halberd had succumbed to a plethora of -comfort, which had followed too soon on the paucity thereof, which had -been the program of the three for many weeks. He was snoring fiercely in -a corner. Pike, on the other hand, was inflated with life and activity -of speech. He was bragging eloquently, not only of his own prowess, but -also of that of Halberd and Adam as well. - -Adam heard the end of a peroration of self-appraisement in which the -doughty Pike announced that one of his recent feats had been the slaying -of two murderous, giant pirates with his naked fists. - -Among the sailors, dock-hands and tavern-loafers who made up the -auditors who were being entertained by these flights of narrative, was a -little, red-nosed, white-eyed man of no significance, who now stood up -and removed his coat. - -“If you would like to have a bit of fun with me,” said he. “I’ll play -one of those pirates, till we see what you can do.” - -Pike looked at him ruefully, rubbing his chin while thinking what to -answer to this challenge. He then waved his hand, grandly. - -“Good sir,” he said, “the Sachem, my honored associate, has such an -appetite for these encounters that until he shall be satisfied I would -have no heart to deprive him of such good material as I can see you -would make for a fight. Doubtless I can arrange for him to do you the -honor you seek, after which I shall be pleased to weep at your funeral.” - -“I would rather fight with him than you,” said the would-be belligerent, -“but before he comes, if you would like to have your neck broken——” - -Satisfied that this business had gone far enough, Adam strode into the -tap-room, where the jovial spirits had congregated. - -“My friends,” he interrupted, “you can put your necks to better purpose -by pouring something down them. Landlord, attend my guests. Pike——” - -But the pirate-exterminator had fled, first edging to the door, at the -appearance of his chief, and then clattering up the stairs to the rooms -above with a noise like cavalry in full retreat. - -“But if you would like to fight,” started the accommodating manikin, -still in process of baring his drum-stick arms, “why, Mr. Sachem——” but -he was not permitted to finish. - -“Leave off the gab,” said a burly sailor. Clapping his private tankard—a -thing of enormous dimensions—fairly over the little head of the -challenger, he snuffed him completely and suddenly lifted him bodily to -the top of the bar, amid the guffaws of the entire company. - -Rust lost no time in arousing Halberd, whom he herded to the apartments -aloft with brief ceremony. - -Wainsworth, who had been sitting up in his room, writing letters while -he waited for Adam’s return, now heard his friend coming and opened his -door to bid him welcome. With another big hand-shake, and a smile over -their recent mis-encounter, the two went into the lighted apartment, -Wainsworth closing the door behind him. - -“It’s a wonder you find me anything more than a small heap of ashes,” -said Wainsworth, “for I have fairly burned and smoked with my eagerness -to see you back.” - -“I can smell the smoke,” said Adam. “How very like tobacco it is. And -now that I am here I presume you are quite put out.” - -“You are not in love or your wits would be as dull as mine,” his friend -replied. “But sit down, sit down, and tell me all about yourself.” - -“I thought you wanted to do the telling.” - -“Well, I do, confound you, but——” - -“What’s all this?” interrupted Adam. He had caught sight, on the table, -of two glittering heaps of money, English coins, piled in two apparently -equal divisions on the cloth. - -“That? Oh, nothing, your share and mine,” said Wainsworth, taking Adam’s -hat and sweeping one of the heaps into its maw with utter unconcern. -“Stow it away and be seated.” - -“Well, but——” started Rust. - -“Stow it, stow it!” interrupted Wainsworth. “I didn’t bother you with -buts and whyfores when you divided with me. I have something of more -importance to chat about.” - -“This is ten times as much as I gave to you,” objected Adam, doggedly. - -“You gave me ten times more than you kept yourself, when it meant ten -times as great a favor. I am mean enough only to divide even,” answered -Wainsworth. “Say anything more about it, and I shall pitch my share out -of the window.” - -As a matter of fact, Rust had impoverished himself for this friend, when -in England, at a moment most vital in Wainsworth’s career. He had no -argument, therefore, against accepting this present, much-needed -capital. He placed the clinking coins in his pocket, not without a sense -of deep obligation to his friend. It made one more bond between them, -cementing more firmly than ever that affectionate regard between them, -on the strength of which either would have made a great personal -sacrifice for the other. No sooner, however, had Adam cleared his hat -and weighted his clothing with the money, than he realized that the only -good argument he had possessed to oppose to Captain Phipps’ scheme to -take him away from Boston, namely, his poverty, was now utterly -nullified. He started as if to speak, but it was already too late. If -the Captain found him out, what could he say or do? - -“Now then,” said Wainsworth, “we can talk.” - -“I am an empty urn, waiting to be filled with your tales and -confessions,” said Adam. - -Wainsworth settled back in his chair and stroked his small imperial, -hung on his under lip. “Yes, we can talk,” he repeated. He sat upright -again, and once more leaned backward. “I don’t know where to begin,” he -admitted. - -“You might start off by saying you’re in love.” - -“Who told you I’m in love? I haven’t said so. You’d be in love yourself, -if ever you had met her. She’s a beauty, Adam! She’s divine! She’s -glorious! Odds walruses, you’d be clean crazy about her! Why, you would -simply rave—you couldn’t be as calm as I am if you knew her, Adam! She’s -the loveliest, sweetest, most heavenly angel that ever walked the earth! -Why, I can’t give you an idea! She,—she, she just takes your breath! -There is nothing in Boston like her—nothing in the world. Why, man, you -couldn’t sit still if you had ever seen her!” He got up and paced the -room madly. “You could no more sit there and tell me about her as I am -telling you than you could drink the ocean!” - -“No, I suppose I couldn’t.” - -“Of course you couldn’t. I’m an older man than you are—a whole year -older—and I know what I am talking about. You would go raving mad, if -you saw her. She is the most exquisite—Adam! She’s peerless!” - -“Then you are in love?” said Adam. “Up to this last moment I thought -there might be some doubts about it, but I begin to suspect perhaps you -are.” - -“Love? In love? My dear boy, you don’t know what love is! I adore her! I -worship her! I would lay down my life for her! I would die ten thousand -deaths for her, and then say I loved her still!” - -“That would be a remarkable post-mortem power of speech,” said Adam. -“And I suppose she loves you as fervently as you love her.” - -“Of course she does—that is,—now, now why would you ask such a silly -question as that? A love like mine just reaches forth and surrounds her; -and it couldn’t do that if she didn’t—well, you know how those things -are.” - -“Oh, certainly. If she loves you and you love her, that makes it -complete, and as I am a bit tired, and this leaves no more to be said——” - -“But there is more to be said! Why don’t you ask me some questions?” - -“Silly questions?” - -“No! Of course not! Some plain, common-sense questions.” - -“Well, then, is she beautiful?” - -“Odds walruses, Adam, she is the most beautiful girl that ever breathed. -She surpasses rubies and diamonds and pearls. She eclipses——” - -“Ah, but is she lovely?” - -“Lovely?—She’s a dream of loveliness. I wish you could see her! You -would throw stones at your grandmother, if you could see how lovely she -is. Lovely!—Can’t you invent some better word—something that means more? -Lovely doesn’t express it. Go on, go on, ask me something more!” - -“Oh, well, is she pretty or plain?” - -“She is most radiantly beautiful.—Look here, Adam, you think I am an -ass.” - -“My dear old fellow, I didn’t stop to think.” - -“You are making fun of me!” - -“Impossible, Henry. You told me to ask you some simple questions. Does -she live here in Boston?” - -“She does, of course she does, or I shouldn’t be here, should I? She -lives here and Boston has become my Heaven!” - -“Oh, well, thanks for your hospitality. Let’s see,—is she beauti—but I -may have asked that before.” He yawned and rubbed his eyes to keep them -open. “Oh, I do think of another. What is her name?” - -“Her name?” chuckled Wainsworth, walking up and down in an ecstasy of -delight. “Her name is the prettiest name in the universe. It’s -Garde—Garde Merrill—Garde! Oh, you just love to say Garde, Garde, -Garde!” - -Adam started, suddenly awake and alert. He passed his hand across his -eyes stiffly. His face became as pale as paper. Wainsworth was still -walking restlessly up and down, intent on his own emotions. - -“It’s a name like a perfume,” he went on. “Garde, Garde. You can’t think -how that name would cling to a man’s memory for years—how it rings in a -man’s brain—how it plays upon his soul!” - -Adam was thinking like lightning. Garde!—She loved Wainsworth—he had -said so. It was this that had made her appear so restrained, unnatural, -eager to return to the house. This was why her answers had been so -evasive. The whole situation broke in on him with a vividness that -stunned his senses. - -A mad thought chased through his brain. It was that, if he had spoken -first, this moment of insupportable pain could have been avoided, but -that Wainsworth having spoken first had acquired rights, which he, as a -friend, loving him dearly, would be bound to respect. He thought of the -money he had just accepted from this brother-like friend. He saw the -impossibility of ever saying to Henry that he too loved Garde -Merrill—had loved her for seven years—had heard her name pealing like -the bell of his own very being in his soul! But no—he couldn’t have -spoken! He knew that. He would never dare to say that she loved him, in -return for the love he had fostered for her, these seven years. No, he -could not have spoken of her like this to any soul, under any -circumstances. To him her name was too precious to be pronounced above a -whisper to his own beating heart. He did not realize that, by that very -token of her sacredness to him, he loved her far more deeply, far more -sublimely than could any man who would say her name over and over and -babble of his love. - -He only knew that his brain was reeling. He could only see that -Wainsworth, for whom he would have sacrificed almost anything, was all -engrossed in this love which must mean so much. He only realized that -all at once he had lost his right to tell this dearly beloved friend the -truth, and with this he had also lost the right, as an honorable -comrade, to plead his own soul’s yearning at the door of Garde’s heart. - -Wainsworth, in his ecstatic strolling and ringing of praises, was -tolling a knell for Adam, saying “Garde” and then “Garde” and again -presently “Garde,” which was the only word, in all his rapid talk that -reached the other’s ears. - -Adam arose, unsteadily. Wainsworth had not observed his well-concealed -agitation. - -“I—must be going,” said Rust, huskily, turning his face away from the -light. He tried to feign another yawn. “I am no longer good company. -Good night.” - -“What, going?” said Henry, catching him affectionately by the shoulders. -“Ah, Adam, I suppose I am a bit foolish, but forgive me. You don’t know -what it is to love as I have learned to love. And, dear friend, it has -made me love you more—if possible—than ever.” - -“Good night, Henry,” said Adam, controlling his voice with difficulty. -“Good night—and God bless you.” - -“Say ‘God bless Mistress Garde Merrill’—for my sake,” said Henry. - -Adam looked at him oddly and repeated the words like a mere machine. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - PAN’S BROTHER AND THE NYMPH. - - -ADAM returned to his room attempting to pucker his lips for a careless -whistle which failed to materialize. He had evolved a rude but logical -philosophy of his own for every phase of life; but what philosophy ever -fooled the maker thereof, with its sophistries? - -The beef-eaters were snoring so ominously that Adam was constrained to -think of two volcanoes threatening immediate eruptions. - -“Poor old boys!” he said to himself. There was no particular reason for -this, save that he felt he must pity something, and self-pity he -abhorred. He was trying not to think of the one companion that always -drew his emotions out of his reluctant heart and gave them -expression—his violin. - -Standing in the middle of the floor, without a light in the room, he -reasoned with himself. He said to his inner being that doubtless -Wainsworth loved her more than he did anyway; that he, Adam, having -carried away a boyish memory, which he had haloed with romanticism for -seven years, could not call his emotions love. Moreover, he had as yet -only seen her in the dark, and might not be at all attracted by her true -self in the daylight. Naturally, also, Wainsworth had as much right in -the premises as any man on earth, and no man could expect a girl to -remember a mere homely lad for seven years and know that he loved her, -or that he thought he did, and so reciprocate the affection and calmly -await his return. Clearly he was an absurd creature, for he had fostered -some silly notion in his heart, or brain, that Garde was feeling toward -him, all these years, as he felt toward her. It was fortunate he had -found everything out so soon. The thing to do now was to think of -something else. - -All the while he was thus philosophizing, he had a perfect -subconsciousness that told him the violin would win—that soon or late it -would drag his feelings out of him, in its own incomparable tones. He -only paused there arguing the matter because he hated to give in without -a fight. That violin always won. It must not be permitted to arrogate to -itself an absolute mastery over his moods. - -Presently, beginning to admit that he would yet have to tuck the -instrument under his chin, whether or no, he worked out a compromise. He -would not play it, or sound it, or fondle it in the town. If it wanted -to voice things and would do it—well, he would carry it out into the -woods. - -Feeling that he had, in a measure, conquered, Rust stole silently across -the apartment to the corner in which he had placed the violin with his -own loving hands, lifted the case without making a sound and crept out -as if he had been a thief, pressing the box somewhat rigidly against his -heart. - -He reached the street without difficulty. The town was asleep. A dog -barking, a mile away, and then a foolish cock, crowing because he had -waked, were the only sounds breaking over all Boston. The last thin rind -of the moon had just risen. In the light it cast, the houses and shadows -seemed but a mystic painting, in deep purple, blacks and grays. Silently -as Adam could walk, these houses caught up the echo of his footfalls, -and whispered it on, from one to another, as if it had been a pass-word -to motionless sentinels. - -He came to the Common, discerning Beacon Hill, dimly visible, off to the -right. With grass under foot he walked more rapidly. Past the -watch-house and the powder-house, in the center of the Common, he -strode, on to Fox Hill and then to the Roxbury Flats, stretching wide -and far, to the west of the town. - -Being now far from all the houses, alone in an area of silence, Adam -modified his gait. He even stood perfectly still, listening, for what he -could not have heard, gazing far away, at scenes and forms that had no -existence. Night and solitude wrought upon him to make him again the boy -who had lived that free, natural existence with the Indians. His tongue -could not utter, his imagination could not conceive, anything concrete -or tangible out of the melancholy ecstasy which the night aroused in his -being and which seemed to demand some outward response from his spirit. -He felt as if inspiration, to say something, or to do something, were -about to be born in his breast, but always it eluded him, always it was -just beyond him and all he could do, as his thought pursued it, was to -dwell upon the sublimity breathing across the bosom of Nature and so -fairly into his face. - -He had come away without his hat. Bareheaded, at times with his eyes -closed, the better to appreciate the earth in its slumber, he fairly -wantoned in the coolness, the sweetness and the beauty of the hour. Thus -it was past three o’clock in the morning when at length he came to the -woods. - -Man might build a palace of gold and brilliants, or Nature grow an -edifice of leaves all resplendent with purples, reds, yellows and -emeralds, but, when night spread her mantle, these gems of color and -radiance might as well be of ebon. It is the sun that gilds, that -burnishes, that lays on the tints of the mighty canvas; and when he -goes, all color, all glitter and all beauty, save of form, have ceased -to be. - -Adam saw the trees standing dark and still, their great black limbs -outstretched like arms, with upturned hands, suppliant for alms of -weather. There was something brotherly in the trees, toward the Indians, -Adam thought, and therefore they were his big brothers also. He had even -seen the trees retreating backward to the West, as the Red men had done, -falling before the march of the great white family. - -If Nature has aught of awe in her dark hours, she keeps it in the woods. -The silence, disturbed by the mystical murmuring of leaves, the reaching -forth of the undergrowth, to feel the passer-by in the depth of shadows, -the tangled roots that hold the wariest feet until some small -animal—like a child of the forest—can scamper away to safety, all these -things make such a place seem sentient, breathing with a life which man -knows not of, but feels, when alone in its midst. - -To Adam all these things betokened welcome. His mood became one of -peculiar exultation, almost, but not quite, cheer. As a discouraged -child might say, “I don’t care, my mother loves me, anyway, whether -anybody else does or not,” so Adam’s spirit was feeling, “If there is no -one else to love me, at least I am loved by the trees.” - -With this little joy at his heart, he penetrated yet a bit further into -the absolute darkness, and sitting down upon a log, which had given his -shins a hearty welcome, he removed his violin from its case and felt it -over with fond hands and put its smooth cheek against his own cheek, -before he would go on to the further ecstasy which his musical embrace -became when he played to tell of his moods. - -“Now something jolly, my Mistress,” he said to the instrument, as if he -had doubts of the violin’s intentions. “Don’t be doleful.” - -Like a fencer, getting in a sharp attack, to surprise the adversary at -the outset, he jumped the bow on to the strings with a brisk, debonair -movement that struck out sparks of music, light and low as if they were -played for fairies. It was a sally which soon changed for something more -sober. It might have seemed that the fencer found a foe worthy his steel -and took a calmer method in the sword-play. Then a moment later it would -have appeared that Adam was on the defensive. - -As a matter of fact, it was next to impossible for Rust to play bright, -lively snatches of melody, this night, try as he might. The long notes, -with the quality of a wail in them, got in between the staccato -sparkles. When Adam thought of the Indians, their minor compositions -transmitted themselves through his fingers into sound, before he was -aware. He had braced himself stiffly on philosophy all the way to this -forest-theater, but to little avail. He presently stopped playing -altogether. - -“If he loves her and she loves him,” he told himself, resolutely, “why, -then, it is much better that two should be happy than that all three -should finally be made miserable by some other arrangement, which a man -like me, in his selfishness, might hope to make. It’s a man’s duty, -under such circumstances, to dance at the wedding and be a jolly chap, -and——hunt around for another girl.” - -He attacked the violin again, when it was apparently off guard, and -rattled off a cheerful ditty before the instrument could catch its -breath, so to speak. Then a single note taunted him with a memory, and -the violin nearly sobbed, for a second, till the jig could recover its -balance. The strings next caught at a laggard phrase and suddenly bore -in a relentless contemplation of the future and its barren promise. The -brighter tones died away again. So went the battle. - -Trying his best to compel the violin to laugh and accept the situation, -while the instrument strove to sigh, Adam played an odd composition of -alternating sadness and careless jollity, the outpouring being the -absolute speech of his soul. - -He played on and on. Inasmuch as his philosophy was as right as any -human reasoning is likely to be, Adam’s more cheerful nature won. But -the victory was not decided, no more than it was permanent. Yet he was -at last the master of the situation. - -Heedless of the time as he had been, in his complete absorption, Rust -had not observed the coming of morning. Nevertheless the sun was up, and -between the branches of the trees it had flung a topaz spot of color at -his feet—a largess of light and warmth. Without thinking about it, or -paying any attention to it, Adam had fixed his eyes on this patch of -gold. - -Suddenly his senses became aware that the spot had been blotted out of -existence. He looked up and beheld a vision of loveliness—as fair a -nymph as ever enjoyed a background of trees. - -It was Garde. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - THE MEETING IN THE GREENWOOD. - - -WITH her glorious mahogany-colored hair loose in masses on her -shoulders, with her eyes inquiring, and her lips slightly parted as she -stole forward, thrilled with the exquisite beauty of Adam’s playing, in -such a temple of perfect harmonies, Garde appeared like the very spirit -of the forest, drawn from sacred bowers by the force of love that -vibrated the instrument’s strings. - -No bark of pine tree was browner than her eyes; no berries were redder -than her lips, nor the color that climbed upward in her cheeks, the -white of which was as that of the fir beneath its outer covering. As -some forest dryad, maidenly and diffident, she held her hand above her -heart when Adam looked up and discovered her presence. - -The man leaped to his feet, like one startled from sleep. It almost -seemed as if a dream had brought him this radiant figure. No word came, -for a moment, to his lips. - -“Why—it’s you!” said Garde. - -“Garde!—Miss—Mistress Merrill!” said Adam, stammering. “By my hilt, -I—the—the wonder is ’tis you.” - -“Not at all,” corrected Garde, recovering something that passed for -composure. “I come here frequently, to gather herbs and simples for -Goody Dune, but for you to be here, and playing—like that——” - -“Yes,” agreed Adam, when he had waited in vain for her to finish, -“perhaps it is an intrusion. You—you came away from the town early.” - -“Why did you come here to play?” she asked. Her own nature so yearned -over the forest and things beautiful, her own emotions were so wrought -upon by the sublimity of earth’s chancels of silence, that she felt her -soul longing for its kindred companion, who must be one reverent, yet -joyous, where Nature ruled. She wanted Adam to pour forth the tale of -his brotherhood with the trees and the loneliness of his heart, that -would make him thus to play in such a place and at such a time. While -she looked at him, the love she had fostered from her childhood was -matured in one glorious blush that welled upward from her bosom to her -very eyes themselves. - -Adam had looked at her but once. It was a long look, somewhat sad, as of -one parting with a dear companion. In that moment he had known how -wholly and absolutely he loved her. His pretended doubts of the night -before had fled as with the darkness. The daylight in her eyes and on -her face had made him henceforth a sun-worshiper, since the sun revealed -her in such purity of beauty. - -In the great delight which had bounded in his breast at seeing her -there, he had momentarily forgotten his conversation with Wainsworth. -When she asked him why he had come to the woods, he would fain have -knelt before her, to speak of his love, to tell of his anguish and to -plead his cause, by every leap of his heart, but he had remembered his -friend and his old Indian schooling in stoicism gathered upon him, -doubtless for the very presence of the firs and pines, so solemn and -Indianesque about him. He put on a mask he had worn over melancholy -often. - -“Why, I came here for practise, of which I am sadly in need,” he said. -“When once I played before King Pirate and his court of buccaneers, I -was like to be hung for failing, after a mere six hours of steady -scraping at the strings. If you came for simples, verily you have found -a simple performer and simple tunes.” - -Garde was painfully disappointed in him. His flippancy had, as he -intended it should, deceived her. She shut that little door of her heart -through which her soul had been about to emerge, ready to reveal itself -to and to speak welcome to its mate. She did not cease to love him, -emotional though she was, for love is like a tincture, or an attar,—once -it is poured out, not even an ocean of water can so dilute it as to -leave no trace of its fragrance, and not until the last drop in the -ocean is drained can it all be removed or destroyed. No, she was pained. -She desired to retreat, to take back the overture which, to her mind, -had been a species of abandon of her safeguards and so patent that she -could not conceive that Adam had failed to note its significance. Yet -she gave him up for a soulless Pan reluctantly. That playing, which had -drawn her, psychically, physically, irresistibly to his side, could have -no part with things flippant. It had been to her like a heart-cry, which -it seemed that her heart alone could answer. And when she had found that -it was Adam playing—her Adam—she had with difficulty restrained herself -from running to him and sobbing out the ecstasy suddenly awakened within -her. The memory of the music he had made was still upon her and she was -timidly hopeful again when she said: - -“How long have you been practising here?” - -Adam mistook this for a little barb of sarcasm. His mind was morbid on -the subject of Wainsworth and of Garde’s evasiveness of the evening -before. He put on more of the motley. - -“Not half long enough,” he said, “by the violence I still do to melody; -and yet too long by half, since I have frightened the birds from the -forest. There is always too much of bad playing, but it takes much bad -practising to make a good performer. I am better at playing a jig. Shall -I try, in your honor?” - -“Thank you, if you please, no, I would rather you would not,” said -Garde. It was her first Puritanical touch. If she had given him -permission to play his jig, very many things might have been altered, -for Adam would have revealed himself and would have opened her -heart-doors once again, such a mastery over everything debonair in his -nature would the violin have assumed, with its spell of deeper emotions, -inevitable—with Garde so near. - -Adam laughed, well enough to appear careless. “I commend your judgment,” -he said, “though I have always thought, even after last night,—ah, by -the way, where is your companion, Mistress Prudence somebody?” - -He had parried his own tendency to get back to the tender subjects and -memories flooding his heart, but not in a manner to gladden Garde. -Indeed, the ring of artificiality in everything he said made her less -and less happy. - -“Her name is Prudence Soam. She is my cousin, and she is at home,” said -Garde, quietly. “If you would care to see her again, I will tell her of -your wish.” She could readily understand how any one might like -Prudence, knowing what a sweet, good girl her cousin was, but it caused -her an acute pain to think she had cherished the image of Adam in her -heart for seven years, only to find now that he had been inconstant. - -She suddenly thought of the meeting of the evening before. Adam’s -willingness to present her—in the presence of Prudence—with that -something which he had brought her from his first trip to Hispaniola, -appeared to her now in a light, not of his stupidity, but of his -deliberate intention to show her that he had not preserved a sacred -dream of their childhood friendship, as she had so fondly hoped he had. -She even wondered if he might not have seen, known and cared for -Prudence before. She concluded that he cared for Prudence now, and -certainly not for herself. Then she thought he might think of that -something, which he had wished so to give her—that something from -Hispaniola,—and she feared he might present it to her now. This would -have been too much to bear, under the circumstances. - -Adam was indeed thinking on this very subject, but Wainsworth—his -friend—arose like a specter in his meditations, and all that Garde had -said had confirmed him in his belief of her coldness to himself, so that -he preferred to seem to forget the trinket, which would have been at -once the token of his love and constancy. - -“Mistress Prudence Soam,” Adam repeated, replying to Garde’s last -remarks. “Indeed I should be but a sorry clod, not to wish to see her -again. Does she also come searching for simples?” - -“No,” replied Garde, a little dully. “But I thank you for reminding me -that I must set about my task. Therefore I must bid you good day.” - -Adam thought something would snap inside his breast. There was the -sunlight, streaming through the aisles of the trees; there was Garde, -whom he loved beyond anything of earth, setting off alone when he should -be at her side, culling her herbs, touching her hands as he gave her the -aromatic leaves that he too knew so well, and looking into Paradise -through her eyes, that had so danced when first he knew them. But what -of Wainsworth? What of the honor of a friend to a friend? - -“Good day,” he echoed, with a mock gaiety that struck painfully on the -ears of both. “I trust your quest will be as successful as I could wish -your life to be happy.” - -He hesitated a moment, for it was hard to part thus. Garde had hoped he -might volunteer to go along and carry the tiny basket she held on her -arm, for a woman’s love can never be so discouraged as not to have a new -little hope every other moment that something may happen to set matters -aright in spite of all. But Adam did not dare to prolong this test of -his honor to Wainsworth. He felt that his head was reeling, but with a -stately bow he took a final, lingering look at the sweetest vision he -had ever seen, and started away. - -Garde, steadied by her pride, returned his bow and walked further into -the woods. - -Adam felt that he must pause and turn; that the “Garde!” that welled up -from his heart would burst through his lips in spite of all he could do. -With his violin clasped beneath his arm, however, he conquered himself, -absolutely, and never so much as turned about again to see where the -wood-nymph had gone. - -But Garde could not so slay her dearest impulse. She turned before she -had gone ten steps. Looking back, she saw Adam, bareheaded, crowned by -his golden ringlets,—through which the sunbeams were thrust like fingers -of gilt,—trailing his sword, clutching his violin, striding off in his -boots as lithely as a panther and bearing up under his faded brown coat -as proudly as a king. - -“Oh, Adam!” she said, faintly, but he was already too far away to hear -the little wood-note which her voice had made. - -He disappeared. She knew he would soon be clear of the trees. -Reluctantly at first, and then eagerly, though silently, she flitted -along from tree to tree, where he had gone, till at length she came to -the edge of the forest. - -Adam, heavy with Wainsworth’s gold, was walking less buoyantly now. He -was far out on the flat, heading southward, not exactly toward Boston. -Garde watched him yearningly, going, going and never once looking -backward to where he had left her. - -She could bear no more. She sank down on the moss at the foot of a tree, -and leaning against the gnarled old trunk, she covered her face with her -hands and cried, heart-brokenly. - -Had she watched but a moment longer, she would have seen Adam halt, -slowly turn about, and with his hand at his lips gaze toward the woods -steadily for fully a minute. Then with a slow gesture he waved a kiss -back to where she was and once more went upon his way. - -The man had no mind to walk through Boston in daylight, with his violin -naked in his hands. Keeping therefore southward, he came at length to -the upper part of the harbor. Here he engaged a boatman with a sloop to -convey him down to the ship-yard of Captain William Phipps. - -The worthy ship-builder soon made him welcome. - -“William,” said Adam, “I have replenished the treasury, as I said I -might, and I have made up my mind to join you in your treasure-hunting -expedition.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - PAYING THE FIDDLER. - - -ASSUME a cheerfulness, if you have it not, and it may presently grow -upon you. This happened to Adam, so that when he left Captain Phipps, to -return to the tavern for his breakfast and to seek out the beef-eaters, -his mood was almost volatile again. There is much virtue in having -something other than one’s troubles to think upon. The sunken treasure -afforded Adam a topic. - -He made his way to his apartments in the Crow and Arrow by the stairs at -the rear. He found the rooms empty. Beef-eaters, bag and baggage were -gone. Even the violin-case was not to be found. - -Somewhat surprised that his faithful followers would so desert him, or -at least move the family habitation without consulting their comrade, -and on notice so brief, Rust knocked on Wainsworth’s door, to ask him if -he had seen anything of the worthy Pike and Halberd. But Wainsworth too -was out. - -Upon proceeding post haste down to the tap-room, Adam broke in upon a -scene of armistice, after a first shock of war. Standing at bay, with -drawn swords, the shabby chattels of the trio in a corner behind them, -were the beef-eaters, confronting and defying the landlord and several -valiant citizens, in the midst of whom was the small individual who had -so much desired to fight, on the previous evening, and who was now -haranguing the opposing forces volubly. - -“Here comes the master-vagabond now!” he cried, the moment Adam appeared -in the room. “Now, sirs, for your proof that you are not a pack of -wandering beggars and braggarts!” - -“At last!” cried Halberd and Pike, together, coming quickly forward to -grasp their comrade in arms by the hands. - -“We have defended your good name and possessions!” said Pike. - -“We have flung the lie into the teeth of these varlets!” added Halberd. -“You have come in good time.” - -“What’s the meaning of all this business?” demanded Adam, of the -assembled company. - -Every one started to talk or to shout at once. Adam heard such things -as: - -“They have called you and us a lot of penniless beggars and pirates!” - -“What are you but a swaggering bully?” - -“You are a fiddling limb of Satan!” - -The landlord said, more moderately, “I did but desire to protect my -house in its good repute.” - -The fierce little white-eyed man waved both his fists. - -“These dogs,” he snapped to Adam, “have boasted that you are loaded down -with gold!” - -“Yes, they mentioned gold,” said the landlord, tentatively. - -“Gold?” said Adam. “Is it a crime to have no gold? How much gold would -you see?” he pulled his two hands from his pockets and scattered heaps -of yellow sovereigns on the table. - -The beef-eaters nearly collapsed with amazement, at the sight of this -wealth. The landlord fell to rubbing his hands with ecstasy. - -“You unseemly traducers of fair gentlemen,” he said, with virtuous -indignation, to the belligerents behind him, “how dare you come here to -insult and to villify my guests?” - -“He probably stole it,” cried the incorrigible little white-eyed -terrier. “He has naught to do but to make God-fearing men——and his -betters, at that—dance against their will in the public streets!” - -“Ah,” said Adam, striding forward and purposely bending with great show -of looking down to where the little man was standing, “so you have come -to pay the fiddler for the sport which your friend enjoyed yesterday -evening? How little he reckons my fiddling worth. This is so sad that -nothing short of a breakfast can console me. Landlord——” - -“Braggart! knave!” cried the little man, interrupting. “I offer to fight -you again! You dare not fight!” - -The smaller the dog the rarer the punishments and the larger the -arrogance. - -“Shatter my hilt!” said Adam, “you and another gnat would devour me -whole.” - -Without warning, and yet gently, Rust took him by the collar, twirled -him about so that he could lay his other hand on the trousers of the -midget, and hoisting him off his feet, though he kicked and made a -disturbance with yelling and raving, carried him at once to the open -window of the tavern and dropped him out, on the sidewalk beneath. - -Three or four partisans, who had backed up little white-eyes and the -landlord, now edged toward the door. Adam made one motion in their -direction and they got out with becoming alacrity. - -“Lock that door till we have had our breakfast,” Rust commanded. - -The landlord had no more than complied, than the little rat, dropped -from the window, came banging against the barrier on the outside, -demanding admittance vociferously. - -“Who is yon whiffet?” Adam asked. - -“His name is Psalms Higgler,” laughed the landlord, with fine hypocrisy. -“How bravely you served him, and rightly too.” He rubbed his hands -gleefully. - -“And his friend who sent him hither, he that danced so divertingly, what -may be his name?” - -“Isaiah Pinchbecker, you doubtless mean. And what will you have for -breakfast, sire?” - -“I will have you carry my bales of merchandise back to my apartments,” -said Adam, who did not propose to move out of the house until he felt -inclined, preferring to remain there and command respect for himself and -the beef-eaters, even while he knew that the landlord had joined the -miserable snappers at his heels. “And look to it you move smartly and -return to order something to eat.” - -The landlord, spurred by the sight of the gold, and eager to make all -possible amends for the errors of judgment he had committed, staggered -up the stairs, panting like a grampus. - -Adam now turned to his comrades, who recited three times over the -incidents of the morning, which consisted chiefly of the charges made by -Psalms Higgler, evidently at the instigation of Pinchbecker—the -nimble-footed—and which had so nearly culminated in their expulsion from -the tavern. - -Tempest in a teapot as it had been, the business was an indication of -feelings which went as deep as politics, in which the whole colony had -been simmering for years. Moreover, the incident was not yet concluded. - -The same year which had witnessed King Philip’s war, at the close of -which Adam had gone away, one of the greatest mischief-makers with whom -the Colonists had ever been called upon to deal, Edward Randolph, had -come to Boston with a design to despoil the colony of its charter. He -had worked openly, in some directions, secretly in others. He had -enlisted malcontents, dissenters-from-everything, hypocrites and men -with private greeds, in his Tory following. Among these were -Pinchbecker, his friend, the landlord of the Crow and Arrow, Psalms -Higgler and many others of their ilk. - -Now Pinchbecker came under the category of hypocrites. He assumed the -Puritans’ manners, speech and customs, and did, in fact, despise some of -the looser habits of the Royalists, though he was their willing tool, -working for future favor and gain. He had therefore felt himself sorely -aggrieved when compelled to his dance, in a public highway, and having -first egged on his little terrier, Psalms, had then repaired to Edward -Randolph, himself, for redress of his wrongs. - -Randolph, thinking he smelt a bluff and ready Tory lot, in Adam, and his -company, found occasion to visit the tavern without delay. He arrived -while Rust and the beef-eaters were still at their breakfast. He entered -the house at the rear and ordered a drink at the bar. - -Motioning the landlord to silence, that worthy being much astonished to -see him so early, Randolph presently turned about, as if he had not -before observed the trio at table. - -“Gentlemen,” he said, “I drink ill when I drink alone; will you not -permit me to order something in which you can join me?” - -Adam looked up. “Thank you,” he said, “it is our misfortune to have -ordered, just as you were coming in.” - -“The misfortune is mine,” insisted Randolph. He drank alone. - -Rust had taken in the visitor’s details at a glance. The man was of -medium size and nervous temperament. He had a great brow, heavy with -perceptive faculties, at the expense of those of reflection. His eyes -were deep-set, round, intense and close together, the nose that divided -them being as thin and curved as a beak. His lips were thin and -tight-shutting. He looked like a human bird-of-prey. - -“By your dress and manner you are recently from England,” said the man, -sauntering leisurely toward Adam, when he had smacked his lips and set -down his mug. - -“By your courtesy,” said Adam, “you are a student, curious to know your -fellow-beings.” - -Randolph laughed. “Curious?” said he. “You do me wrong. I care neither -who nor what a gentleman is, so long as he is witty and blest with -humor. Your repute and the tale of your love for dancing have preceded -you, sir. I confess I was tempted to come here and see you.” - -“I beseech you for an opportunity to say that I was merely charitable,” -said Rust. “I ordered the dance to amuse my beef-eaters. Perhaps you are -a dancer yourself?” - -Randolph bit his lip. He was not getting on to his liking. He smiled, -however, and said: - -“I have few graces, after I have mentioned a sense of admiration——” - -“And blandishment,” put in Adam, who frankly disliked the man. - -“Say appreciation, rather,” corrected Randolph. “I have had a hearty -laugh over that dance. I wish I had been there to see it; such merriment -is so rare in Massachusetts.” - -“Nearly as rare as introductions between gentlemen,” Adam answered. - -He tipped up his mug and drank the last of his brew carelessly. Randolph -turned red with anger. His gray eyes looked like cold fire, yet he was -still unwilling to accept defeat in his effort to find out the bent of -Adam’s political views. - -“We live in a time when the stoutest friends and companions in good -causes might be lost to each other by formality,” he said, with a smile -doing its best to bend his features. “I must beg your pardon, if I -seem——” - -He was interrupted by the entrance, at this moment, of William Phipps, -who came in at the door which the landlord had quietly unbolted. - -“What, Adam, not yet done with eating?” he called out, bluntly. “Come, -come, I have been waiting this long time for you and your friends to -have a look over the brig.” - -“With you at once,” rejoined the rover. - -He and the beef-eaters knocked over their heavy chairs and stools, as -they arose from the table. Phipps looked at Randolph. The two men -nodded, distantly and somewhat frowningly. Without so much as glancing -at Randolph, Adam and his retinue walked to the door and so away, with -the Captain. - -Randolph needed no further intimation of Adam’s probable leanings, -politically, than this obvious camaraderie with Phipps—who was a patriot -as immovable and staunch as a rock fortress. He clenched his fists and -ground his molars savagely. - -“Curse the young fool!” he said. “I’ll make him wish for a civil tongue -to be hung in his head!” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - A MATTER OF STATE. - - -MISTRESS GARDE MERRILL, having several hours before delivered her -simples and aromatic leaves to old Goody Dune, just outside the limits -of the town, stood looking out of the window, at her Uncle John Soam’s -home, where she was visiting. Thus it was that she saw her grandfather, -David Donner enter the gate. Two minutes afterward she beheld the -unusual sight of three Governors come into the garden together. - -The first was ex-Governor Leverett, that stern old Roundhead, the -ex-Captain of Cromwell’s horse. At his side was Governor Winslow, up -from Plymouth, on grave affairs. Behind them was an older man, and -perhaps a wiser one, Governor Simon Bradstreet, still hale and hearty -after fifty-three years of service to the colonies. - -Bringing up the rear of the little procession was Henry Wainsworth, -private secretary to Leverett. He looked toward the windows in the hope -of seeing Garde, but that young lady stepped silently back into the -shadows, for she had no desire to be seen. - -Neither David Donner nor the other visitors came to the house, nor even -to the front door thereof. It was a fine day, so that the garden seemed -all smiles. A cow was mooing lustily and chickens were singing in their -contentment. These sounds were interspersed with the hawing of a saw, -and then with hammer strokes, these latter disturbances issuing from a -newly constructed granary and cow-shed which John Soam, Garde’s uncle, -had recently afforded. - -David Donner, who had known that he would find Goodman Soam in this -shed, had tracked across the garden without ceremony. The governors and -Wainsworth, having confidence that Donner knew what he was doing, -followed where he led, to the center whence the clatter of industry -proceeded. - -The hammer-pounding had abated nothing, nor did it cease when the three -grave citizens and Wainsworth had entered the house and ranged -themselves silently beside David Donner, to whom they could not well -speak for the din. They nodded to their friend, however, and looked up, -like students of astronomy all of one mind, at Goodman Soam above them. - -John Soam had never been reputed a carpenter of talent in Boston. -However, here he was, standing on the head of a barrel and obviously -completing the task of ceiling this room of the granary, for his head, -shoulders and arms were out of sight, in the darksome region above the -ceiling, while part of his body and his legs, below, moved in vigorous -jerks as he pounded into place and nailed what appeared to be the last -board but one which would be needed to complete the job on which he was -so commendably engaged. - -It seemed to his visitors that they had never before seen Goodman Soam -in so tight an orifice as was the one from which he now protruded. They -waited in patience for the nailing to cease, conversation being -impossible meantime. John was, by all reckoning, a thorough workman, for -he drove home nail after nail, without ceasing for so much as a breath. - -At length the board was secured to the carpenter’s satisfaction, for he -ceased to hammer and could be heard to feel his work lovingly as he -examined its beauties in the half light in which he had labored. - -“Good morrow, John Soam,” now said Governor Leverett, having first -coughed behind his hand. “Here are several fellow-townsmen come to your -place.” - -John was seen to give a squirm. “Oh, good morrow,” said he, his voice -muffled by the ceiling between him and his friends. “I have been doing a -little work. Wait a moment, good friend, till I may gather my nails and -tools.” - -The five good men waited, hearing John scramble the nails together with -a few metallic clinks. - -“We went first to your house, David,” said John Winslow to David Donner. -“We came to see you and John Soam, as promised, on a matter of some -gravity.” - -John Soam now, upon making an effort to retreat out of the slender -orifice which he had left when he nailed in his board, found his chest -and shoulders thicker than his waist. He wriggled. This being of no -avail to extricate him, he struggled. A convulsion of activity then -seized upon him. He attempted to sit down, he dragged at himself, he -began to do unseemly things. But he could not get out. He had hammered -in his own head and arms, with many good nails in the board. - -His friends below him now overheard a sound which, in a simian, if -simians talked at all, would have been a curse. John wrestled as if -demons, expert in catch-as-catch-can, were restraining him up there in -the attic. He kicked about, with a violence so great as to overthrow the -barrel whereon he had been standing. For a second his two blind feet -felt about for his whilom support in an agony of helplessness. - -“Goodman Leverett,” he then bawled, in tones of repressed emotion, “will -you put back that barrel for a moment, till I may come down?” - -“If you will constrain your legs to seemly conduct, I will,” said the -governor. He and David Donner having received a kick apiece, now -reinstated Goodman Soam’s pedestal. - -John became quiescent for a moment. His friends shifted about, uneasily. - -“May we help you in any respect, John?” inquired Winslow. - -“Are you fastened in?” added Simon Bradstreet. - -“Might we not pull him down?” suggested Wainsworth. - -“My friends, how many be you?” said the hot, muffled voice of John. - -“Five,” said one of the solemn governors. “Shall we give you a little -assistance?” - -“It would only be a little I should want,” said the carpenter, dropping -the nails he had clung to in desperation. - -The five gentlemen disposed themselves about John’s anatomy and pulled -at his legs with united strength, grasping the cloth of his trousers for -the purpose. - -“Enough! enough!” roared John, after a moment of hopeless pain and -wriggling. - -His warning came belated. His trousers were of good stuff enow, but -trousers have their limitations. They parted, slightly above the uneven -line of gripping hands, and came away in ragged banners. - -The five citizens were horrified. So was John. Two of the gentlemen, -with the booty taken from their friend, fell heavily to the floor. - -“Dear me, this was most uncalled for,” said David Donner. - -John Soam tried to draw his legs up under his coat, vainly. He made -terrible sounds of anguish, in his nakedness below and his loneliness up -above the ceiling. His fellow-citizens, undecided as to whether they -should go outside, for the sake of modesty, or remain and lend further -aid to John, looked at one another inquiringly. - -“John,” then said Leverett, somewhat sternly, “would you council us to -get an ax and knock out the board you have hammered into place?” - -“Yes,” bawled the carpenter, “there be two axes in the corner. Let them -both be employed!” - -“I have chopped down a tree in my youth,” said David Donner. - -He therefore took one of the axes, while Governor Winslow took the -second. - -They were then at a loss to reach the ceiling, wherefore it became -necessary for the good men to build up a platform, of boxes and boards, -while John Soam’s legs tried to hide, one behind the other. - -The platform being hastily constructed, the ax-men mounted and began to -swing ill-directed blows upward at the stubborn board which the -carpenter had hammered in so thoroughly. - -No more than three blows had been delivered when John made protest, -howling lustily for the purpose, as the ax-men failed at first to hear -him, while busy with their work of salvation. - -“It jars me rudely,” he roared out, unable wholly to repress his -feelings. “It’s hellish.” - -“Ahem,” said Governor Leverett. “What would you council us to do next, -friend Soam?” - -“Saw the board,” counseled John. “It was a rare good fit, but it had -best be sawed.” - -The platform was now changed and one after another the five citizens -plied the saw, for the board was wet, and to saw above one’s head is -irksome in a high degree. Yet at length the cut was made, at one end, -and those below could thrust the imprisoning plank upward. Being still -stoutly nailed at the further end, the board scraped off some buttons, -erstwhile sewn to John’s waistcoat, and it otherwise harassed him before -it was high enough to permit the carpenter to emerge from his attic. He -appeared at last, however, red of countenance and in a fine condition to -do some private blaspheming, had the opportunity been present for the -exercise of this, man’s inalienable function. His friends were -immeasurably relieved to see him, safe. - -“Friend John,” said David Donner, “we have come hither on matters of -state. When you are rehabilitated we shall, I believe, be glad of your -further counsel.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - TO FOIL A SPY. - - -HIS friends, forming a hollow square, now escorted John to the house at -a quick walk. He disappeared like a Jack into its box, when the door was -finally opened, while the grave citizens entered the parlor and awaited -his return. Clothed decorously once more, he was presently with them -again, when the council of five, with Wainsworth sitting near, drew up -to the heavy, oaken table. - -They now listened to Governor Winslow, who had journeyed from Plymouth -for this meeting. - -“I have begun to lose hope,” he said, “that we shall be able to postpone -much longer the day of evil. We thought our charter was threatened ten -or twelve years ago and we have held it by sheer power of -procrastination and tactics of elusiveness, but Randolph has been with -us here in Boston for seven years, and the harm he did to our -independence in seventy-six has been accumulating interest in trouble -for us, one might say, ever since. He has mastered our methods; he is -closing in upon us every day. It is now a desperate case, requiring a -desperate remedy. The only question is, what means can we undertake to -offset some of the ill repute in which he has caused King Charles to -hold us, and to nullify his further machinations.” - -“It would not be safe, would it, to expel the man Randolph from the -colony?” said Leverett, who had first coughed behind his hand. - -“Oh no,” said Donner. - -“Such an action would precipitate difficulties with the King,” added -Simon Bradstreet. - -“And we would not dare to restrain him from further evil work?” John -Soam inquired. - -His friends shook their heads. - -“We know well enough that he has gathered much testimony from persons -willing to swear falsely, as to the grants to Gorges and Mason, in Maine -and New Hampshire,” said David Donner. “Might we not go over this same -ground and procure true, sworn testimony and statements from more -credible persons, with which to refute him?” - -“That would have been well advised seven years ago,” said Bradstreet, -who had a way of tweaking his own nose when he began to speak, “but at -that time we were still engrossed with, and alarmed by, the war with -King Philip, and moreover we knew nothing of Randolph’s methods. It -would have done well then, but now it is too late—much too late—for that -sort of work.” - -“I have thought upon the matter long and seriously,” said Winslow. “I -can see no way so good as to send an agent from among ourselves to -England, to intercede with Charles and to plead our cause personally at -the Court, day after day.” - -David Donner knew what was coming. He glared at an imaginary Stuart -family. - -John Soam said: “I can see the wisdom of such a course. I consider that -when Goodman Simon Bradstreet went to London before, he did this colony -great service. That was—let me see—why, twenty-three good long years -since. Are you of a mind to go once more, Friend Simon?” - -“I am an old man,” said Bradstreet, tweaking his nose with extra vigor. -“A younger wit would be of far more service.” - -With his four score of years on his head Simon Bradstreet yet did -injustice to his immortal youth and energy. The council knew that it was -the gall and wormwood which he had manfully swallowed, twenty-three -years before, when he went to Charles the Second to congratulate him -upon his restoration to the throne, that wrought upon him now more than -did the infirmities of age. - -“If we prove successful in finding an agent from among us, Friend Soam,” -said Winslow, “will you be one with us to find money for his -pilgrimage?” - -“And whom would you have in mind?” John cautiously replied. - -The governors turned with one accord to David Donner. - -“They have asked this service of me,” said David. - -Leverett said: “There is no one else so free, so gifted and so -bountifully supplied with knowledge of these colonies. Nor is there any -one among us whose comprehension of the intrigues and artifices employed -by Randolph is so reliable.” - -“We have none among us more diplomatic and logical and yet adherent to -the cause of truth,” added Winslow. - -“I feel sure, David, you are the fittest man in Boston for this -important undertaking,” John Soam said, gravely. - -“And we could count on you to furnish some of the necessary funds, if -Donner will go, could we not?” asked Winslow, striking while the Soam -iron was hot. - -“You may, to be sure,” John responded, more slowly. “But David has not -yet indicated whether he will undertake this mission or no.” - -This was, indeed, the crucial point. Strict old Puritan that he was, -despiser of ostentations, father already of that spirit of independence -and Americanism being sown broadcast in New England, David Donner had -already made many a wry face over the prospect of serving the colony by -an expedient so bitter as he conceived this present task to be. - -“I have debated this matter, since I had my first intimation of what to -expect from Governor Winslow,” he said, pursing up his mouth as if he -were about to swallow a brew of hoarhound. “I am not a young man myself. -I may never return to this land. But—if it is the prompting of your -wisdom to send me, I cannot refuse to serve this colony and these -earnest, toiling people.” - -Of the joy which his colleagues felt there was no sign apparent. For -that matter, they would be as sad at losing Donner from their circle as -they would be glad to send him on his mission. Their lives were made up -of joyless duties, woven as a woof through a warp of joyless worship. - -But among his hearers there was Wainsworth, and he was glad, not so much -to have the severe old man going abroad, as to know that Mistress Garde -Merrill would now in all probability remain permanently with John Soam -and his wife, who were good-natured, affectionate people. Indeed Mrs. -Soam was a natural woman, more delighted when she was fostering or -encouraging a mating, ’twixt youthful hearts, than she was when kneading -dough into loaves that looked like fat, dimpled babies, and this is -saying more than might readily be supposed. - -Thus when, soon after, the meeting had broken up and the Governors had -stiffly departed, it was but natural that Henry should discover, -innocently enough, that he had left a bundle of papers behind. It was -quite as natural, also, that upon returning and purposely knocking at -the door of the family living-room, whereas the papers should have been -still in the parlor, he should be admitted by Goodwife Soam and asked in -most cordially, and sent with Garde to look for the truant documents. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - DANGEROUS TRIBUTES. - - -ELOQUENT as Wainsworth had proved himself, in the presence of Adam, he -was but an indifferent love’s-man, now that he found himself alone with -Garde. - -“I wanted to come back for—for the papers,” he stammered. - -“Yes,” said Garde, whose spirit of elfishness Henry always aroused, -“they would soon have missed you sorely.” - -“Would they—What, papers?—Oh, you are making fun of——” - -“I am making a search to find them,” interrupted Garde. “Here they are. -I am so sorry they have detained you.” - -“Thank you—oh, thank you,” said Henry, still stumbling confusedly. “It -is such a lovely day I thought I should like to come back and—and—and -see—if I had really left them here.” - -“Yes, such a lovely day would make any one wish to do the same thing,” -said Garde, gravely. “Now that you have them, you must be very happy -again.” - -“Yes, oh yes—no, no, the papers haven’t made me happy.” - -“Then I am sorry you are sad,” said Garde. “Perhaps the lovely day -outside will make you feel more joyous again.” - -“But I am not sad,” protested Henry, getting momentarily redder. “I -wanted to say—I wanted to come back——” - -“Yes, you did say so, to get the papers.” - -“No—yes!—but I wanted to say——” - -“That you had left them, because it was such a lovely day?” - -“Yes, of course, but—no, no, I wanted to say—church!” - -“Oh, they are church papers, Mr. Wainsworth?” asked Garde innocently. - -“No, I—I wanted to say it is such a lovely day——” - -“You have said so many things that you may have mentioned the day -before.” Garde’s eyes were dancing, but he had hardly dared to look at -her face, lest his tongue should fail him utterly. - -He now fixed his attention on the table with all his power of will. - -“I wanted to say, if the Sabbath is a lovely day, like this, may I not -walk to meeting with you and David Donner?” - -Piqued somewhat by the way Adam had treated her, Garde instantly saw a -possible opportunity of arousing Adam’s jealousy. He would doubtless -attend meeting. He might see her with Henry. As Prudence would also be -there, with her father, there might be further developments. - -“If it is a lovely day, Mr. Wainsworth,” she answered, “I think Granther -Donner will be glad of your company, but if it is not a lovely day, -Granther and I will have to get along as best we may, alone, I suppose.” - -“No, I meant any sort of a day!” cried Wainsworth, desperately. “If the -Sabbath is any sort of a day. I only said if it was as lovely as to-day -because any day, would be a lovely day, if——” and there he stuck. - -“If it were as lovely as to-day,” Garde supplied. - -“Yes,” said Henry, hopelessly. “Then—then that is settled?” - -“Do you mean the weather? It ought to be settled, I should think.” - -“No, I mean that I am to go with you and David Donner to meeting, no -matter what sort of a day it is.” - -“I think Granther will be glad of your company,” said Garde again. She -led the way back to the living-room before Henry could frame any more of -his tumble-down speeches. - -Prudence and her mother were both here, now, and both looked up to smile -at Wainsworth, whom they had grown to like for his evident sincerity. -Mrs. Soam was a pleasant woman, with a double chin from which it seemed -all manner of comfortable little chucklings of good-nature took their -start. She should have been the mother of several boys, for she liked -nice boys and felt a sense of motherhood over all she knew. Prudence was -not at all like her mother. Her face was small and serious. She spoke -with a quaint drawl. Although quite as old as Garde, she appeared so -unsophisticated and childish, so quiet and unassertive that no one would -have looked to find womanly emotions, in her breast. - -“Well, Henry,” said Mrs. Soam, who always called “her boys” by their -first names, “how have you been and what have you been doing? Have you -heard from England recently? How was your mother, when you heard?” - -“She was quite well, thank you,” said Henry, who could talk to Garde’s -aunt without confusion, “but I have not heard from her recently. Oh—I -nearly forgot—I have heard from England, in a manner. That is, a friend -I knew there, arrived in Boston only yesterday.” - -“Yes? And who was that?” said Mrs. Soam. - -Garde had started to go up-stairs to her own apartment, which she shared -with Prudence, but she halted at the door and came back, for Wainsworth -said: - -“His name is Adam Rust.” - -Garde and Prudence both took up some knitting and began to ply the -needles, over which their eyes were bent, intently. - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Soam, encouragingly. “Is he a Puritan?” - -“I don’t know,” said Wainsworth, frankly. “I think perhaps he is. At any -rate, he belongs here, I feel sure. But wherever he belongs, or whatever -he is, he’s a splendid fellow. I was riding to hounds when we met. My -horse threw me, and my foot was caught in the stirrup. I was being -dragged when Rust stopped my run-away horse. He is one of the most -superb horsemen I ever knew.” - -“Why, do you mean that he saved your life?” inquired Goodwife Soam. “It -must have been a terrible moment.” - -“I haven’t much brains, but I was about to lose what I had,” said -Wainsworth, generously. “He came in the nick of time. And afterwards, -when I happened to be a bit short of funds—as a man will, you know, -sometimes—why, he loaned me nearly every penny he had in the world!” - -“Was that not most improvident?” said the listener. - -“Yes, I suppose it was. You know, you wouldn’t call him exactly -provident. He is too good-hearted a fellow to be that, you know. He is -one of those fellows you can tell anything about yourself. I tell him -everything.” - -He looked up at Garde, as he said this, wishing he could tell her the -half that he had confided to Rust. She never lifted her eyes, however, -from her knitting. - -“And what did he tell you of your mother?” asked Mrs. Soam. - -“Oh, nothing. He never knew the mater.” Henry tried to think what Adam -had told him. “He just—well, told me of a few general matters.” - -Garde listened eagerly, almost breathlessly, dwelling on every word -concerning Rust, but her aunt returned once more to the subject of -Wainsworth’s mother and no more was heard of Adam, for Henry presently -bade them all good day and proceeded to follow, belated as he was, where -his chief had gone, at the close of the meeting. - -When he disappeared, Garde dropped her knitting and went quietly up the -stairs, for the purpose of being alone, to think. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - HOURS THAT GROW DARK. - - -CAPTAIN WILLIAM PHIPPS was as eager as a boy, now that he had definitely -settled on the purpose which had for its object the quest of the sunken -treasure. Therefore he and Adam and the beef-eaters worked unceasingly -to prepare the brig, “Captain Spencer,” for the cruise to the Bahamas. - -What with provisioning the craft, enlisting more trustworthy men for the -voyage and refitting a somewhat depleted and inefficient arsenal, Phipps -waxed brusque and impatient. He had desired to get away from Boston not -later than Saturday afternoon, but as the tasks before them had been -tackled by Adam and the rest of them on Friday morning, the worthy -Captain’s ambition to be on the sea on the Sabbath—a day for which he -had little liking—was vain. Saturday night therefore approached and -Phipps fumed, for he could not so outrage the Puritans’ sense of things -Godly as to sail on Sunday, wherefore the departure had perforce to be -postponed till Monday morning. - -Adam, with an exaggerated sense of honor, had resisted the longing to go -by night to that same alley in which he had rescued Garde’s cat and met -that young lady with Mistress Prudence Soam. He spent the time with his -beef-eaters and with Wainsworth, making merry for these music-hungering -friends on the violin, which now seemed to him more than ever the one -thing left him on which to concentrate the love of his affectionate -nature. - -On Sunday morning Captain Phipps betook himself to his brig, as she lay -in mid-stream, to pother about by himself, while Adam dutifully escorted -Goodwife Phipps to meeting, at South Church, which was nearer than the -old church and more popular as well. - -It was a solemn, black procession of Puritans that walked decorously to -meeting in the sunlight. The day was one of almost unseemly beauty, for -Nature was fairly barbarous in the colors which she wore like jewels. -There was riotous gladness in the breeze that tipped back the bonnets -from many a pretty face, to let the sun have a look at peach-bloom -cheeks; there was a deviltry in the warmth that the girls felt first at -their ankles, where thin stockings only protected them; and there was a -twitter and chirrup of birds in the air. - -In their homely black and their stiff white collars, the men were as -solemn as posts. No bells sounded, either from afar, with mellowed -pealings, nor nearer with persistent nagging. Men, women and children -alike walked with their eyes steadfastly fixed on the ground. - -However, there were two pairs of eyes less meek. They were Adam’s and -Garde’s. It therefore came to pass that each discovered the other, -before the church portals were reached. Garde’s heart began to beat as -if it were knocking to call Adam’s attention. Adam’s hammered as if it -were forging more fetters to bind him tighter in his love. - -Garde, with her grandfather and Wainsworth, preceded Rust and Mrs. -Phipps into the sanctuary. Adam followed eagerly, and yet as one about -to enter a prison. He had seen Wainsworth, but Henry, in his ecstasy, -had contented himself with looking devotedly at Garde’s little shoes. - -Inside the church, Garde sat somewhat toward the back, while Adam, with -the men, occupied a bench at the side of the building from which he -could see Mistress Merrill’s profile perfectly, as often as he dared to -look in her direction. - -Garde, with much resolution, permitted herself not so much as one tiny -flicker of a glance toward Adam, all during the time of service. She -felt him looking at her, however, from time to time, and rejoiced that -her little ruse to make him stirred up and mayhap jealous was -succeeding. The flush of maidenhood’s beauty which had mounted to her -cheek, the moment she found that Adam was near, remained throughout the -morning. - -Later to church than any other, a man, alone, and none too reverent, -entered the door and took a seat on the side, from which he could scan -many of the faces in the place. It was Randolph. He had come there for -the sole purpose of looking about him, his reasons being various, but -none of them Godly. He shut his mouth grimly at beholding Adam present, -but when his gaze finally rested on Garde, all the more radiantly -beautiful for the simplicity of her dress, it became fixed, first, then -covetous, and finally passionate. - -It was not until the meeting was finished that Garde ventured to take a -sly glance at Adam. Her gaze met his. She saw and comprehended, then, -such a fathomless sadness in his look, before he could drop his gaze, -that she was instantly most penitent over what she had done. - -It was the same look she had seen in his eyes that day when he had -marched as a captive, at the end of King Philip’s war—a look she never -had, and never could, forget. - -As for Rust, he had confirmed to his satisfaction, all that Wainsworth -had told him. If he had not been convinced before and ready to renounce -his own hopes, he was quite persuaded and determined now. He thought how -fortunate it was that Phipps had the brig all ready to sail on the -morrow. It was very much better to end the matter with the smallest -possible delay. - -He spent the afternoon with Phipps and the beef-eaters on the ship. To -his credit, he made himself an agreeable and cheerful companion. Indeed, -what with the songs he had sung for Wainsworth and the others, and the -spirit of his raillery, boasting and readiness to fight or to fiddle, he -had succeeded in deceiving them all as to the nature under his -waistcoat. - -Yet when the night was come and the magnet which had been drawing and -drawing him to that alley, sacred to the memory of Garde’s cat, once -more exercised its influence, more powerfully than ever, he became a -restless creature. - -It has been said that man justifies himself in whatsoever he does. Adam -thought he needed justification for desiring to go once, just once, into -that alley, wherefore he prepared his mind with several excuses. Armed -with these he at length slipped away from the Crow and Arrow and found -his way to the rear of that house into which he had seen Garde and -Prudence disappear, on that memorable first night in Boston. - -Had Rust come to this trysting-place at the same hour on the two -previous evenings, he would have met Mistress Merrill face to face. -Garde, in her impulsive eagerness to see him again, had waited for -little debating before she slipped from the house, to see if he might -not have come to deliver that certain trinket from Hispaniola. Her -cousin Prudence, more diffident, had desired to come forth also, but she -had lacked Garde’s readiness of execution and courage. However she had -not lacked the incentive, and as no maiden is utterly awed, in the -presence of a tender passion, Mistress Prudence had at length steeled -her heart, and to-night she came tripping diffidently forth, not long -after Adam’s arrival on the scene. - -So silently had Prudence come that Adam, who might have arranged -otherwise, suddenly found himself confronted, before he had made up his -mind whether he wished any one might appear or not. - -“Why, good evening, Mr. Rust,” said Prudence, with a little gasp at her -own daring, “why, I was just walking in the garden and couldn’t think -who it might be, here by the gate. Why, how strange we should meet!” - -Adam had said good evening, waving a salute grandly with his hat, the -moment Prudence had spoken, for he had realized instantly that she was -not Garde and his presence of mind had risen to the occasion without -delay. - -“I—wandered up here looking, for—for distressed cats,” said Adam. - -“Oh, did you?” said Prudence, innocently. “That was real noble.” - -Adam hated to have anything he did called noble. He therefore hastened -to do penance, in a measure, for his slightly inaccurate statement. - -“I am bound to confess,” he added, “that I did have a faint hope that I -might see either you or Mistress Merrill—or both—to say good-by, for -to-morrow I am off again, for a jaunt on the sea.” - -“Going away?” echoed Prudence. “Oh, why, Garde might be disappointed, -not to see you and say good-by.” - -Adam thought this was sweet of Prudence, as indeed it was. He could have -mentioned some disappointments himself, but he refrained from doing so. -He thought, in a somewhat bitterly philosophical vein, that perhaps it -was better as it was, better that he should not see Garde again, under -the circumstances. - -“You are very kind,” he said. “Perhaps it would not be asking too much -of you to get you to take a small packet—in fact, I have presumed to -provide myself with two little packages, which I trust you and Mistress -Merrill will receive, merely as tokens of a rover’s amusement in the -little event of a few evenings ago, and of a pleasant memory which the -episode will furnish for otherwise lonely moments.” - -He had indeed made up two small parcels, intending behind the ruse of -making a small gift to both Garde and Prudence, to bestow thus the -present to Garde brought from Hispaniola and long delayed as to -delivery. He therefore took these carefully wrapped trinkets from his -pocket and held them forth. - -“If I might prevail upon your good nature,” he said, “to accept this one -and to give this other into the hands of Mistress Merrill, I should be -grateful to you for the favor.” - -Fate takes obvious delight in making her weavings complete. It was -inevitable that Garde should come out to that garden gate, while Adam -and Prudence were talking there together, and that she should therefore -see Adam, presenting something to her cousin, and should at once proceed -to place an erroneous construction on the situation. Angered, humiliated -and hurt, she fled back to the house, as Prudence was accepting the -proffered trinkets and regretfully bidding Adam Rust good-by. - -It was hardly feasible so to conceal herself in the house that Prudence -would be long in searching her out, when at length that quiet and -pleased young lady came back to the house, hence Garde accepted Adam’s -present before she exactly comprehended what she was doing. - -Prudence, having performed her duty, when the gift had passed to its -rightful owner, hastened away to open her own packet, in privacy. She -found an old Spanish doubloon in the bit of paper, and though a trifle -disappointed that she did not discover an accompanying inscription, was -nevertheless gladdened to the very core of her being. - -Garde, rebellious and ready to weep with conflicting emotions, which had -not been assuaged by hearing Prudence tell how innocently she had -happened to meet Mr. Rust, felt like flinging Adam’s gift upon the floor -and stamping it flat with her lively little foot. But the tenderness of -the love she had fostered so long, and the slight hope to which she -still clung, combined with her natural curiosity, proved too strong for -resistance. She opened the neatly tied and folded paper. - -Inside was a golden brooch of exquisite workmanship, a treasure -absolutely irresistible to any beauty-loving young woman. But her gaze -flew to a secondary little wad of paper, folded as a note. This she tore -open with nerveless fingers. - -“From Hispaniola,” Adam had written, simply. - -Under this he had penned a quatrain of rather obscure meaning and weakly -versification: - - “It always haps, when there are three, - But two can bide in unity; - That two may long their gladness keep, - The third should bury sorrow deep.” - -Garde read these lines and then read them again, more puzzled by the -second perusal than she had been by the first. She began then to feel -wounded. She was ready to cry. The brooch had made her heart bound with -joy. Then she remembered that Adam had procured it for her years before, -since when his affections might have been transferred, his ideals might -have been altered and the sense in which he gave it her might have been -reduced to something utterly unromantic. He might indeed have given it -to her only because of his desire to keep a foolish promise made in his -boyhood. - -The lines were not an explanation of his conduct. If they meant that she -was a third party, interfering with the happiness of himself and -Prudence, then the unkindness of it all was not the full depth of its -possibilities—it was impudent, arrogant and fairly hateful, in that -light. - -On the other hand, could it be possible that Adam did not mean that she -was such a third party as the lines indicated, and if so, what did he -mean? Was he himself such a third party? This appeared impossible on the -very face of it, for not only was Garde not interested in, and happy -with, some other person, but if she had been, Adam could not possibly -have known it, and certainly, in the two times they had met, she had -given him no reason for supposing that anything of the sort could exist. - -It was too much for her wearied brain to cope with. She had puzzled over -Adam’s conduct every moment since their meeting in the woods, till she -could think no more. There was the beautiful brooch, and here were these -ominous, enigmatical lines. All she knew was that she was very unhappy. - -Adam, in the meantime, made progress back to the tavern as if he were -all but becalmed and had no more than steerage way at the best. He had -only one thing to be glad about, and that was that his beef-eaters would -not be at the Crow and Arrow to meet him. They had already taken up -quarters on the brig. There Adam expected to join them, with the last of -his worldly goods, when he should have taken final leave of Wainsworth. - -When he reached his solitary apartments, however, he was sorry the -faithful old beef-eaters were not there to give him welcome, for the -place was dark and cheerless. He lighted his candle and looked about the -room with melancholy interest. - -Presently his attention was attracted to a number of bright spots on the -floor, irregular patches, from which the light was reflected somewhat -dully. Candle in hand he walked toward the corner where these glittering -objects were strewn about. With a sudden misgiving he noted that his -violin case had been brought out from the place of concealment in which -he had carefully kept it. - -Bending forward, with one hand poised in an attitude of arrested action, -he stared at the litter on the floor, his face becoming colorless as he -stood there, numbed. A low moan came from between his lips—such a sound -as he had made in his sleep, as he once lay curled up at the foot of the -stake on which King Philip’s head was impaled. - -The fragments on the floor were the scraps and litter of his violin. -There was not one piece as large as three of his fingers. Isaiah -Pinchbecker and Psalms Higgler had taken their revenge. - -Slowly Adam knelt down and gathered the bits of wood in a little heap, -lovingly. He was not enraged. A lover who finds his sweetheart murdered -cannot at first be filled with anger. Adam gathered every little scrap -and splinter. He tried to fit little fragments together; he tried to -efface heel-marks and bits of boot-grime from some of the pieces, as if -he searched for features which he loved. - -It seemed as if he could not realize that the violin was actually -destroyed. He looked away from it and then back at the small heap -beneath his hands, like one half expecting to wake from a dream and find -everything as it had been before something unthinkable occurred. - -Perhaps a woman who had given to her child, willingly and absolutely, -the mastery over her every emotion, thought and hope, and who had come -upon the body of that child, slain and mutilated, could have understood -what lonely Adam Rust underwent. - -For like such a woman, conceiving a fear that the despoilers might -return and rob her even of the body of her child, the man presently, in -a fever of excitement, took every patch, shred and chip of the red wood -and hiding it carefully inside his waistcoat, dropped himself down from -the window to the earth and went away in the darkness, like a wild thing -pursued. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - A KISS DEFERRED. - - -GARDE, when she had questioned her cousin Prudence, until there was -little or nothing concerning Adam’s visit and farewell at the gate which -she did not know, was still far from being certain of anything in -connection with the whole predicament. - -One thing, however, gave her a small measure of comfort. This was that -her brooch was much more beautiful than the Spanish doubloon Adam had -given to Prudence. Yet this comfort grew cold as she reflected that even -if Adam did possibly like her as much as he did Prudence, he had written -her those incomprehensible lines about burying sorrow, and he had gone -away, she knew not where, or in what manner, without even giving her an -opportunity of bidding him God-speed. - -Mistress Merrill was not impulsive and nimble-witted without having -resources at command, when occasion demanded. She was up ahead of the -ordinary lark, on Monday morning, making straight for the home of old -Goody Dune, for whom she frequently gathered simples. - -Goody Dune had not contented herself in life with simples only. She had -gathered complexities of wisdom and the things abstruse in life, for -many a year. She was a wrinkled old woman whom children, kittens, dogs, -horses and all things guided by instinct always sought in friendship at -once. Anyone with patience enough to reconstruct her face on the lines -it must once have worn, in her youth, would have found personal beauty -still indicated in the old woman’s countenance. Her eyes still ensnared -pretty lights of humor; her lips were still of that soft texture which -in youth is so charming and in old age too flexible over vacancies where -teeth are gone. Her hair was plentiful and so entirely gray that one -might have looked at it closely and then have said: “Yes, the black ones -seem to be coming; they will soon be getting quite thick.” - -Never yet had Garde been able to get to Goody’s house sufficiently early -to knock on the door. Goody always opened it to receive her. And always -the old woman’s great black cat stood up, on top of the tall clock, on -which she had been lying but the moment before, now arching her back and -stretching, to add her welcome to that of her mistress. - -The room never had ceased to have its fascinations for Garde, since the -first time she had seen it, in her childhood. The small bags, which hung -from the rafters, along with pendants made of herbs, roots and bulbs, -might have contained gold and precious gems, for all that Garde knew to -the contrary, while the dark cupboard and the great chest increased the -possibilities of the place, which would have been so grand to rummage -in, had it not been for the brass warming-pan, so terribly like a -watchful moon, forever looking down from the wall. Then lastly, and -mostly, in some particulars, there was Rex, the jackdaw, a veritable -concentration of all the dark arts and wisdoms extant. - -“Good morning, my dear,” said Goody, as Garde entered, breathless with -her haste, “you have come to see me early.” - -“She’s in love,” said the jackdaw, gravely. - -“Oh, dear me!” gasped the girl. - -“Rex, you wicked one,” expostulated Goody, mildly. “Never mind, my dear, -he found you out that morning last week.” - -This was the truth for Goody had said these very same words, several -times, in the presence of Rex, no more than five minutes after Garde had -gone, that day when she and Adam had met in the forest. - -“But I—oh, Goody, Rex is really wicked,” said Garde. “But I do so need -you to tell me something.” - -“Who doesn’t,” answered Goody. “What a pity it would be if I could never -save anyone in the world from some little pain, or some mistake, and -yet”—she shook her head, smiling half sadly—“how few human beings are -willing even to listen. They must all burn their fingers and learn for -themselves.” - -“Fools!” said the jackdaw, “fools, fools, fools. I’m a fool myself.” - -Fortunately Garde was not unaccustomed to these interruptions on the -part of the knowing bird, so that, although he always made her pause and -look at him, as if she expected to see how he did it, when he spoke, she -was now enabled to tell Goody her troubles with quite as much rapidity -as coherence. - -She held back nothing. She told all about her original glimpse of Adam -in the Plymouth procession, of their meeting, her immediate regard for -him, then and there, the long fostering of her affection, and the events -of the days just past. This done, she produced her slip of paper, on -which Adam had written his mediocre verse, and laid it before the wise -woman to be deciphered. - -Goody read the lines several times. “How old are you now, my dear?” she -asked, and then she added, “It hasn’t anything to do with your worries; -it is only for my own foolish gratification that I ask.” - -“I am eighteen,” said Garde. - -“Well, I should have been puzzled myself, at eighteen,” said the old -woman. She looked into vacancy, for a moment, dwelling on some fond -memory that brought her sad smile to her withered lips again. “But you -need not be worried. He loves you, dear, as indeed he should, but for -some reason or other he believes you care for somebody else, and he is -therefore taking himself away. Believing as he does, he is certainly -right, as well as brave, in going away.” - -“But I don’t love—like any one else,” protested Garde. “And I don’t see -how or why he ever got such an idea into his head. He doesn’t know -anybody that I know. He went to meeting with Mrs. Phipps—Oh! oh—Mr. -Wainsworth!—He does know Mr. Wainsworth.” - -“Yes, dearie, and does Mr. Wainsworth seem to fancy you, or anything of -that sort?” - -“And Mr. Wainsworth told us he had seen Adam, and that he told him -everything,” said Garde, thinking for herself and musing aloud. “Oh, -dear me!” - -“Oh, dear me!” said Rex, derisively. - -“And do you know where your Adam is going, and when?” inquired Goody. -“Those ought to be your main considerations now.” - -“Why, to-day,” answered Garde. “But I don’t know where, or anything else -about it. What shall I do? If he goes away like that, I may never see -him again!” - -“Did you say he went to meeting with Goodwife Phipps?” - -“Yes,—yes, I saw him myself.” - -“Then you can be almost certain that he is off somewhere with Captain -William Phipps, for a more restless, sea-hankering man never lived and -remained so good as Captain Phipps.” - -“Oh, I might have thought of that!” - -“Then you ought to be able to think of something to do this very -morning,” said Goody, a little, pretty color burning up in her wrinkled -cheeks. “It is still early, and you have good stout legs.” - -Garde suddenly jumped up and kissed her. - -“Good-by!” she said. “Oh, thank you, thank you, so much! But—haven’t you -something I can take to—to Captain Phipps?” - -Goody immediately supplied her with a small package. “Take him this -tea,” she said. “No sailor should ever go to sea without it.” - -Garde sped away, as if on the wings of impulse. - -“She’s in love! she’s in love!” screamed the jackdaw, hilariously. As -she ran, Garde could hear him clapping his wings against his body, in -noisy applauding. - -Running and walking alternately, by the quieter streets and lanes, -meeting no one on her way, Garde finally arrived in sight of the -ship-yard belonging to William Phipps. Her first impulsive thought had -by now had time to abate somewhat and give place to a more sober -reflection. Mistress Merrill began to wonder what she would say, if she -did manage to see Adam Rust. It had been by a swift inspiration, almost -an instinct of a maidenly young woman, that she had provided herself -with an excuse for racing to this place. No modest girl could bear the -thought of seeming to run after a man, or to say anything bold to him, -or anything calculated to show that she held herself in any way other -than proudly aloof, where he must bring his love, if he would sue for -her favor. - -She thought of all this as she went. She also began to think that -perhaps Goody Dune might be mistaken. If Adam were found and he did not -love her after all, not for all the world would he get one sign from her -that she loved him or cared for him one tiny bit, or cared whether he -went or remained. - -She was breathless, rosy as a cherry and excited. Her hair had fallen -down and the plaits had loosened. It hung about her face and nestled -against her creamy throat like strands of ebony, richly copper-plated. -Her dark eyes were flashing; her lips were parted, revealing her teeth -like little white soldiers in a row. As she ran, her skirts whipped -upward, in curves, about the roundest and trimmest ankles imaginable. - -She now observed a small boat, approaching the landing. Out in the -stream the sails of the “Captain Spencer” were rising like clouds. Garde -then discovered the figure of a tall man, who had been sitting on a heap -of logs, for he arose and went toward the dory, which had evidently come -from the ship to fetch him. She recognized familiar outlines and the -drag of the sword which the man was wearing. - -“Adam!” she cried. “Oh, Adam, wait!” - -But she was still too far away to be heard. Adam continued leisurely -walking toward the landing. Then the sailor who had rowed ashore for -Rust, saw the picturesque figure coming toward them so swiftly, and -pointed her out to Adam. - -Rust was puzzled for a moment. Then he knew it was Garde. His heart -turned a double somersault in his breast. He felt himself grow red to -the tips of his ears. He walked toward the girl as one uncertain of what -is expected of him next. - -Garde stopped running, when some distance away, and came on more slowly, -brushing a wisp of hair from her face. Suddenly afraid of what she had -done, uncertain of what she would or could say, to explain her presence -so that he would think no less of her than before, she was glad he had -not heard her call out his name, but she was tremendously excited. Her -eyes shone like brown jewels. Her bosom was heaving rapidly. - -“Why—good morning, Mistress Merrill,” said Adam. - -“Oh—it is you—Mr. Rust!” said Garde, in the surprise which a woman can -feign on a second’s notice. “Why, I thought—why, good morning. I thought -I might find Captain Phipps here, and Goody Dune wished me to give him -this tea, and she heard—she heard he was going away this morning.” - -“Oh! thank you, very much,” said Adam, a little thickly, in his -tremendous excitement, which he was endeavoring to restrain. “Goody Dune -was very thoughtful, and you were kind to come.” - -“But Goody didn’t tell me I should find you here,” said Garde, -truthfully enough. She had never felt so stirred in her life. But -outwardly she was beginning to be calm. “You told Prudence you were -going away. Can it be possible that you are going with Captain Phipps?” - -“Yes, this morning,” said Adam. - -Then there was a silence for a moment. Garde hardly knew what to say -next. If she should make the slightest advance and he should receive it -coldly, or derisively, or without understanding, she would die of -mortification. The pause became dreadful to bear—to them both. - -“I got—Prudence gave me the brooch—from Hispaniola,” Garde stammered, -presently. - -Adam saw it. It was rising and falling like a little golden ship, on her -bosom. He felt himself somewhat at sea. If he could only have blurted -out that he loved her—if it had not been for Wainsworth, what a moment -this would have been! - -“I am glad you like it,” he said. - -Garde felt that there was little encouragement in this remark. “You will -not forget to give the tea to Captain Phipps, will you?” she said. “I -think I must now return.” - -“I wish you had brought this tea down here for me!” said Rust suddenly, -no longer answerable to his loyalty to Wainsworth. - -Garde had wished he would say these very words. She had rehearsed the -answer she would make if he did. Her heart, had it been a bird beating -its wings, could not have fluttered more wildly. - -“If I had come down here to see you, it would only have been to tell you -that you have made some mistake,” she said, averting her gaze from his -and looking on the ground. - -Adam trembled, uncontrollably, violently. She saw it in his hand. - -“Do you mean——” he said. - -“Yes,” said Garde, raising her eyes to his frankly. - -“Then I can love you! I do love you! I’ll come back here and marry you, -sweetheart! I shall love you and tell you I love you and love you!” he -burst forth passionately. “My little Garde! my love! my sweetheart!—my -little wife that I shall have and love till my heart is full!” - -Garde gasped for breath in the whirlwind of his words, that swept her -fairly off her feet. Her hand had been on a post, where she had been -picking away little particles of bark. Adam took it. His big hand -encompassed it all about. She felt his soul rush to his fingers, to meet -the throbbing of her own emotions. - -“Oh, Adam!” was all she could say for a moment. - -“Garde!” he replied, “my Garde—my love! Why didn’t you tell me about it -before?” - -“You—you were the one,” she said, somewhat regaining her footing. “You -were going away without even saying good-by.” - -“I thought——” - -“Yes, you thought such silly things,” interrupted Garde, impulsively, -yet joyfully. “You thought I could like somebody else, and that is why -you were going away—without even asking. And I don’t know why you ever -came to see me the first time and made me name my cat Standing-Panther, -if you were going to think such things as that.” - -Adam laughed. It was a sudden bubbling over of his spirits. He was the -bright-eyed, joyous boy again, all at once. - -“Poor Henry—poor Henry!” he said, with irrepressible mirth and gladness. -“But he never loved you as I love you, sweetheart! He couldn’t! I love -you so that I would cut down an army to get you and run away with you -here in my arms though all the demons of earth should follow!” - -“Oh but, Adam—you mustn’t!” said Garde, as Rust was about to demonstrate -the ardor of which he had spoken. - -“What, sweetheart, not one little kiss?” he said. - -“Why, no, of course not, Adam,” she answered him, blushing prettily. - -“Aren’t we betrothed?” he demanded. - -“I have not said I will marry you, have I, Adam?” she said, roguishly. - -“But you shall, sweetheart. I love you so much that you can’t help it! I -love you so it seems as if I shall explode! I love you, dear! Do you -hear me say it? I love you! I love you, Garde. You do love me, -sweetheart—just a little?” - -“Yes, I—love you a lit——,” Garde was saying. - -“A-d-a-m R-u-s-t.——come—aboard!” came a great voice across the harbor, -from the brig out in the stream. - -“Beg pardon, sir, the Capting’s calling,” shouted the sailor, who had -rowed ashore for Rust. - -Adam waved him a dumb reply. “Then you will give me one little kiss, for -good-by, sweetheart?” he begged. - -“No—it’s too soon,” said Garde. “Besides——” - -“But I am going away,” interrupted Adam. “And I have loved you seven -years!” - -“Oh, you are not going away now—not now, when we have just found out -there was some mistake?” said Garde. - -“I have promised to go, and therefore I must,” said Adam. “And I have to -go and get that fortune now, so that I can come back and marry you, -sweetheart! I must keep my promise to Captain Phipps.” - -“But you won’t stay away for seven years again, will you, Adam?” -inquired Garde, looking at him wistfully and candidly now, with all her -love in her eyes. “If you do——” she left the sentence unfinished. - -“No, I will not,” Adam assured her. “But if I remained away for fifty -years, I should love you and love you still. And will you love me, -dearest, as long as that?” - -“Yes, I shall love you longer than that,” answered Garde. She was not -impulsive now, but her manner was sweetly earnest, therefore it was more -beautiful than all her other beauty. “I shall always love you now, -Adam,” she added. “It seems to me as if I always had.” - -William Phipps roared across the water once again. - -Adam’s less tumultuous, more enduring love, came into his eyes. He -thought the caress of her long look was sweeter than the kiss Garde -might have given him. - -“I shall have to go,” he murmured. “God bless you and keep you, -sweetheart. Good-by, dear Garde.” - -“Good-by, Adam,” said Garde. “I shall pray for your swift return.” - -He swept her little hand to his lips for a second and then strode away. - -Garde placed her other hand over the tingling fingers he had kissed, as -if to prevent the caress from escaping. - -As he went out over the water, she waved her tiny handkerchief to him, -and permitted two warm tears to trickle down her face. - -Adam’s memory of her was of her pretty, brown figure, seen from afar, -and the look in her eyes, which he felt that no space could dim in his -vision. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - OVERTURES FROM THE ENEMY. - - -AGAINST his long journey across the Atlantic, David Donner made -preparations that consumed no small amount of time. A sufficient -quantity of money had been subscribed by the patriots who were so -concerned for the charter, but this was one of the least important -details of Donner’s contemplated venture. As a matter of fact, the -Puritans had acquired the arts of procrastination patiently and -laboriously, for this had proved their most efficient weapon of defense, -in those days of struggling against the Stuart dynasty, and therefore -the cream of the putting-off science permeated the very being of David -Donner. He nursed his preparations till they grew and flourished. - -Two ships bound for England sailed without him. He was quite calm as he -contemplated further events of a like nature. At length his -fellow-citizens, eager to have him at his work, expostulated with him, -mildly. His answer astounded them all. He said he had reasons for -believing that Edward Randolph was beginning to feel inclined toward -more kindliness of spirit with regard to the Colony and the men who had -built it there in the wilderness. Randolph had made overtures of -friendship to him. He appeared to be a more agreeable person than any -one of them had heretofore believed. - -Randolph, indeed, was fairly wooing the old man’s regard. He had begun -by nodding, pleasantly, when he and Donner passed in the streets. He had -followed this up by halting at Donner’s gate and admiring his flowers, -for which the old man had a secret passion. - -“If I could dissuade him from his evil purposes,” said David to his -colleagues, “if I could win his favor for the charter, and so enlist his -services with us, instead of against us, I should be of vastly more -service to Massachusetts by remaining here than I could be if I were to -go to the Court of Charles.” - -Nevertheless the governors held the promise of David Donner sacred. He -would go as agreed, unless he could shortly furnish something -substantial as a result of this coy flirtation of Randolph’s to gain his -good opinion. - -It had been observed that Randolph had been a regular attendant at South -Church for several Sundays. This new departure of his had been at first -regarded with suspicion. Coupled with his attention to David, however, -it began to look honest and therefore hopeful. - -Grandfather Donner was pothering about in his garden, on one of these -mornings, when Randolph paused at the gate, as he had frequently done, -and asked leave of the old man to present him with a small rose-tree, -having even then a beautiful rose upon it, to plant in some sunny corner -of the place. - -No olive branch of peace could have opened Donner’s heart more -effectually than did this simple matter. - -“Come in, friend,” said he. “Come in.” - -“It has always seemed a pity to me,” said Randolph, “that men whose -political ideas may happen to differ should not be friendly in other -particulars, with no more thought of their daily affairs than they would -have of the clothing upon their backs.” - -“Just so,” said David, who thought the time propitious for missionary -work at home, “but I should think, however, that with your youth and -earnestness you might have a great future before you, as one of us, -working as we work, hoping as we hope, and helping to build this new -commonwealth on a rock of solidity and unity.” - -“I have thought of that,” said the heavy-browed visitor. “But how would -a man proceed to accomplish a result so remote from one like myself?” - -“Would you plant it here, or next to the wall?” said David, holding the -rose-tree in his hand and looking about for a suitable place in which to -tuck its roots. - -“I would plant it here, by all means,” said Randolph. - -Donner began to dig in the earth with a knife. “Well,” said he, “I -should say you would do best to get married and adopt our ways, and -labor with us to maintain our government and rights.” - -Randolph’s deep-set eyes gleamed with satisfaction. He said: “You may -not be surprised to know that I have had such an ambition as this. Could -I look for your encouragement and support, if I entertained the idea of -marrying, here among your people, and making my life with your lives?” - -“Why, to be sure, friend. I would be the first to welcome the attachment -of your heart and your interests among us. And have you looked with -favor upon some one of our young women?” - -Randolph noted with pleasure that the rose-tree was firmly planted and -the earth about it patted and pressed down almost affectionately. “It -would hardly be fair,” he said, “to give one flower, only to ask for -another.” - -“Would you have some of my poor flowers?” said the old man, innocently. -“Why you shall, then, anything you like.” - -“I spoke of my hopes that I have dared to entertain,” said the visitor. -“I referred to the fairest flower in all Boston, indeed in all -Massachusetts.” - -Donner looked up at him quickly. He rose to his feet, having been down -on one knee to plant the rose. “Have I understood you aright?” he said. - -“It has slipped from my tongue unguardedly,” said the younger man. “Your -encouragement of my hopes led me to this confidence. But I feel I can -speak to you almost as if you were in the attitude of a father. I can -come to you where I could not come to any other man in Boston. I have -seen Mistress Merrill, in the simplicity and piety of her life, and this -has made me wish to become one of you, working with you and living your -lives. Can you not encourage me so far as this?” - -David Donner was all but rendered speechless. Such a thought as that -Garde had grown up and blossomed had never entered his mind. But not -only to find that this was so, but also to have Edward Randolph—the -enemy—desiring this alliance, this was more than he could think of, for -a moment. He had egged the man on, while he had some vague idea of some -other young woman in mind—some other man’s daughter, or -granddaughter,—he had been ready to abet such an arrangement, gladly, -for the good of the colony, but to find that it was Garde that Randolph -wanted—this was indeed a bolt from a clear sky. - -“Friend,” he said, finally, “I shall have to think this over.” - -“I feared it would sound abrupt,” said the visitor, “yet it is not a -sudden fancy with me. It has been my constant thought for many weeks. I -have even foreseen difficulties. I have worked so many years apparently -against the interests most dear to the colonists.” - -Donner nodded at him, for this sounded frank. But the old man’s thoughts -were afield, wandering, for the proposition came home to him with -tremendous significance. - -“But,” resumed Randolph, “any man can conceive that an agent must do, to -the best of his ability, that which he honestly believes to be his duty, -howsoever unpleasant the task imposed upon him may finally appear.” - -“True,” said David, still vaguely. - -“I have done my work as well as I could,” the man went on. “I have -accumulated matter of vast significance. I am almost sorry that I have -done so thoroughly well, the task appointed me, and still all this work -might make me the better fitted for citizenship among you, if I follow -out your suggestion.” - -Donner was not insensible of the threat which this artful speech -implied, the threat that all this accumulated matter and knowledge would -be used against the colony and the charter, if this man were not made -one of their number. But Garde was not to be lightly weighed in the -balance. Randolph’s frankness partially disarmed the old man; and the -life of the charter, he felt, was the life of their independence, their -manhood, their very being. The tiny roots and tendrils of American -patriotism grew from the very hearts of those early fathers of liberty. - -“This is a matter which would much concern Mistress Merrill,” said -Donner. “I made the error of trying to coerce her mother. I shall never -coerce Garde.” - -“I trust not,” replied his guest. “And yet I hope you will think upon -the matter and mayhap speak to Mistress Merrill in this regard, for -although I am in a conflict, ’twixt my duty to my King and the high -regard which I have been constrained to place with you and your people, -through Mistress Merrill, yet I fear I am eager to be remiss with -Charles, rather than a traitor to my own heart.” - -“I will think upon it,” said David, slowly. - -Randolph thanked him, spoke of the rose again and went his way. He was a -gardener himself, and having planted his seed, knew enough not to dig it -up to see if it had yet begun to sprout. - -David Donner sat down to think, not of Garde and not of all that -Randolph’s visit signified, but of Garde’s mother and his harshness when -her heart had burgeoned with aspirations for itself, and of the pain and -wretchedness he had brought to all concerned. He thought of the mad -little elopement into which he had driven his daughter, which had ended -so disastrously to the honest but poverty-overtaken father of her child. -Then he thought of the home-coming, the birth of Garde and the death of -the forlorn little mother. He could hear again her faint words of -forgiveness; he could see again her wan smile on her faded lips; he -could still feel the weak, white hands that raised to slip themselves -about his neck and which, when he had put them down, he folded on her -breast, still forever. - -“I have never coerced little Garde,” he said aloud, “never, Ruth, -never.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - LOVE’S INVITING LIGHT. - - -SOMETHING had happened to Mistress Garde Merrill, even as far back as -upon that first Sunday at Meeting, when Adam had been beneath the South -Church roof, where she could see him from the corners of her eyes. Love -had left its sign-manual upon her. She had suddenly become illumined -from within, by her heart’s emotions, so that she appeared to shine from -afar, in the somewhat gray and unjoyous lives of the Puritan young men -about her. - -Thus it was that, in addition to Randolph, who attended the service -solely for the purpose of feasting his eyes upon her beauty, there was -always Wainsworth, who heard nothing of the Meeting’s cheerless -proceedings. And there was also young Piety Tootbaker, who knew not at -which shrine he was worshiping, from Sunday to Sunday. - -Garde was half the time at her uncle, John Soam’s. This fact increased -the facilities for the young men to seek her presence, for the Soams -were life-loving people, in spite of their Puritan conformity to the -somewhat melancholy and smileless practices of the day. Moreover, John -Soam, who thought himself something of a farmer, as well as a carpenter -and Jack-of-all-genius, not infrequently impressed the would-be suitors -into various duties with which he was amusing himself about his place. - -Piety Tootbaker was a fat young man of modest wealth in his own right, -his father having died leaving Piety his sole heir. He was a heavy lump, -who came often and said next to nothing, so that his intentions might -have lain anywhere between Prudence, Garde and the family cow, for aught -that any one could ascertain definitely. He was John Soam’s easiest -prey, when the farmer or carpenter, as the case might be, was seized -with a desire to work. - -Randolph contented himself with courting David Donner. He felt no small -contempt for Wainsworth and Tootbaker, whose movements he was stealthily -watching. He had placed his reliance on power always, and with complete -success. The present was no time to alter his usual tactics. - -Grandfather Donner, left alone with his thoughts, arrived at no -conclusions rashly. He went systematically to work on his friends, to -get from each an expression of belief that Randolph, if he would become -one of them, working for instead of against them, would be a valuable -factor for the preservation of the charter. This opinion he readily -secured, especially as he gave no hint, as yet, of the method by which -Randolph’s conversion was finally to be accomplished. Indeed so much -promise could his friends discern in the securing of an end so -commendable, that David Donner began to justify himself in the thought -of aiding this matter with all reasonable power. He encouraged the -growth of a better opinion of Randolph, in his own mind. He argued the -man’s case with his friends, with fanatical insistence, until they -perforce admitted virtues in Randolph’s disposition, heretofore quite -overlooked. - -Thus he wrought upon himself until, mentally, he accepted the ex-enemy -as his grandson-in-law, to whom he was willing to extend his welcome, if -not actually his love. With this development of the case, his dislike -for the journey to England increased, while, far from abating, his -concern for the charter grew the more active, as he dreamed of -preserving it here at his own home. - -His state of mind was not a thing at which he arrived immaturely. The -proposition had come to him with something of a shock. He had never -contemplated Garde’s marriage at all. She was still a child to him, or -at least, she had been, up to the moment when Randolph spoke. Not the -least difficult of his tasks with himself had been that of compelling -himself to admit that Garde had actually arrived at the threshold of -womanhood—that she was marriageable. This having been finally -accomplished, Randolph had half won his battle. - -As long as Garde would presently desire to marry, then why not Randolph, -especially as such an alliance would be of such tremendous political -significance? Yet he continued still to tell himself that Ruth’s child -should not be coerced in any direction whither she was not counseled by -her heart and her own inclination to proceed. He could see no reason, -however, why she should entertain any notions which might be at variance -with his own. Nevertheless it was not without emotion that he finally -summoned Garde to the interview in which he meant to broach the -proposition. - -“My child,” he began, “I have desired to have a talk with you, which -bears upon matters of some importance to you and of vast significance to -the state.” - -“Yes, Grandther,” said Garde dutifully, and she sat down with her -knitting. “I suppose you are going to England at last.” - -“That remains to be seen,” said David. “The need for something to be -done is great. No loyal soul in all our commonwealth could wish for -aught but a chance to serve this colony in her present straits. Have you -great love for Massachusetts and her people, Garde?” - -“Is not love a passion?” she answered, without raising her eyes from her -work. - -“Love of one’s country is not an unseemly passion,” said her -grandfather. - -“Then I have for Massachusetts a seemly regard,” said Mistress Merrill, -who had given all her love elsewhere. - -“And could you sacrifice somewhat of your personal thoughts, and mayhap -desires, for the colony? Could you be a little patriot in the hour of -your country’s need, my child?” asked the old man, his look intent upon -her face. - -Garde thought he doubtless referred to his projected trip abroad. She -was inclined to believe that she could endure the personal sacrifice of -living with the Soams during his absence. - -“I should try to be dutiful,” she answered. - -David Donner felt his old heart knocking on his ribs. It was a moment of -much intensity for him. - -“You have always been a dutiful daughter,” he said. “Have you ever had a -thought, child, of the womanhood come upon you, and that mayhap you will -one day become a wife now, and be as other women, a child no longer?” - -“Any young woman would think on these matters by nature,” replied Garde, -sagely. “But I have thought of nothing to occur soon, as to such a -matter.” - -“No, no, to be sure,” said David, nervously. “Yet I have desired to -speak with you upon this subject, for an estimable young man has asked -me to do this in his favor.” - -Garde, who had believed his thought anywhere but here, looked up at him -quickly. She saw the old man’s face drawn and eager, his eyes bright -with the flame of incipient fanaticism. She was wholly at a loss to -understand him. - -“A young man?” she repeated. “Some one has spoken to you thus of me?” -For a moment her thought ran wildly to Adam. Could it be possible that -he had returned and spoken to Grandther Donner already? - -Donner cleared his throat. He was pale, for he had not come to this -moment without some violence to his own conscience. - -“My child,” he said, a little huskily, “a great opportunity is offered -to you to render a vast service to your country—to Massachusetts. Edward -Randolph, who has long been against us, has come to me with an earnest -desire to become one of us, working with us and not against us longer, -and asking your hand in marriage, to cement the unity of his interests -and hopes with ours. He appears to be an earnest, sincere man, at last -heartily in sympathy with our struggles, and worthy of good citizenship -among us. I have told him I would speak to you upon this matter, Garde, -and take him your answer.” He paused and mopped his forehead with his -handkerchief. - -Garde could hardly believe her ears. She looked at her grandfather -oddly. The color left her cheeks, for a moment, only to rush back in a -flood at thought of Adam and the betrothal, to her so sacred. She had no -thought whatsoever, during that interval, of the colony, or of -patriotism, or of anything save what this proposition meant to Adam and -to her. As for Randolph, she know him only by sight, and her instinct -had prompted her to shun him, if not to loathe him. Her impulse was to -start to her feet and cry out a shrill repudiation of the man’s offer. -But the sight of Donner’s face awed her. She had never seen him look -like this before. She remained seated. She resumed her knitting. - -“But I do not even know Mr. Randolph,” she said, mildly. “I have not -been taught to trust or to respect him.” - -“But if we have done him injustice,” said David, eagerly, “surely we -must welcome an opportunity to correct it. He has worked against us, it -is true. He could overthrow our charter, but he chooses rather to become -one of our number. If I go abroad, I may fail at the Court of Charles. -If we can save our charter here at home, it will be the grandest thing -we have ever done. And you can do it, my child—you can do this great -thing! You will, I feel you will!” - -Garde was a little terrified. The old man’s anxiety was almost dreadful -to see. Had he been laying bare a steel crow-bar in his nature, she -could not have comprehended more thoroughly the stubbornness which she -felt opposition to him now would discover in her grandfather. - -“This comes to me so suddenly,” she said, “that I cannot at once think -upon it.” - -“But you can think what it means to the colony!” said the man, -passionately. “You would wish to save the charter! Mr. Randolph has -become my friend. I have found that my former estimate of his character -was false. He can take away our charter in a moment—his work is done. -But he also can save us! He shall save us! Are you a daughter of this -commonwealth—a daughter of a patriot? You can save the charter. Oh, what -a glorious honor! You will let me take your answer back?” - -Garde’s color had gone again, not to return. This was a moment that -frightened her heart. No one could have lived there as she had done and -not be saturated with the hopes and fears of the colonists, not be -trembling for the government, the independence, the manhood they had -builded up on those stern rocks. In her first baby utterances she had -lisped the word “Charter.” For ten years their charter had been their -Holy Grail to those American men and women of Massachusetts. The air was -pregnant with patriotism. The Charter had hung trembling in the balance -month after month, ever since Cromwell’s son had abdicated the English -throne and Charles had sat in power once again. Garde could not have -been the true daughter of America she was, had she not thrilled first -with the possibilities of this fateful moment, before her soul shivered -at the price she would have to pay to perform this splendid-seeming -deed. - -Sense of duty had been bred and ingrained in the children of that hour. -It held a sway well-nigh incredible in youthful minds. It fell athwart -Garde’s thought with appalling weight. And yet her soul leaped to Adam’s -arms for protection, as her heart bounded to his with love. She felt as -if she could crash through the window and run away, to the -woods,——anywhere, to escape even the contemplation of this thing. Had it -not been for her knitting she felt she must have done something -dreadful. As it was she seemed to tie herself into the pattern—the -wilder self—and so to gain a sense of calmness. - -“I could hardly answer this so soon,” she said. “Haste first leaves no -time for thought after.” - -“Thought, child?” demanded the old man, on whom her calmness acted as -her mother’s had before her. “Can you wish to hesitate, when the whole -state stands breathless for your answer?” - -“And did you hold me so lightly that you said, ‘Yes,’ the moment this -was presented to you?” said Garde. “Grandther, I was but a young girl -this morning. What has a moment done to make me such a woman as this?” - -“But our charter—our government—our liberty, child!” cried David, -raising his two shaking hands above his head. “You can save them all!” - -“And is it so light a matter for me to become the mother of our -liberty?” said Garde, on whom the spirit of wisdom had strangely -descended, no doubt from Goody Dune. “Grandther, you would wish to think -of this yourself.” - -She had risen from her seat. She faced her grandfather and he saw her -eyes nearly on a level with his own. A look of her mother, sad, -appealing, forgiving, played intangibly across her face. The old man’s -look seemed to follow its transit. He passed his nervous fingers along -his brow. The fire died away in his eyes. - -“Then think it over,” he said, huskily. “Think it over, my child, think -it over. I will not coerce your decision. No, I’ll not coerce her, Ruth, -no, no, I’ll not!” - -He moved to the door, as one in a dream, and left the room. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - GARDE’S LONELY VIGIL. - - -DAVID DONNER was not to be deterred for long, by the shadow of a memory -which he had seen flit like a ghost of his past, across Garde’s -features. He was arriving at that age when a man’s memory is not so -strong as in years past and when the events of the day at hand seem -therefore the more important. He fretted under his promise to go abroad, -desiring this to be abrogated by his fellow-colonists, and this could -only be done when he should persuade them that the charter would be -saved, or at least his country better served, by his remaining where he -was. He had not as yet spoken to his colleagues of Randolph’s -proposition. He was waiting for Garde to give him her answer. - -The girl watched the old man narrowly, to see how long she could wait, -for her answer was no more ready after a week than it had been on the -first day. This was not entirely because her affections were placed -elsewhere. She was a little patriot, otherwise her love for Adam would -have prompted her reply at once, and from hot lips. She was undergoing a -genuine struggle with herself. If it were true that she could save the -charter, should she permit her own happiness or Adam’s to stand before -the happiness and rights of all the Massachusetts people? Had not Adam -himself written that when there are three and only two could be happy, -the one, representing the minority, should suffer sorrow, that the -greater number might preserve their joy? Then, when she and Adam were -only two, how much more they should endure sorrow, when all the people -of that colony weighed against them in the question. - -No, it was not a simple matter in which her own desires could speak out -above the clamor of duty. And yet, she could not feel the truth of -Randolph’s position and promise. Suppose he had not the ability, so to -save the charter as her grandfather believed he would. Suppose, having -the power, he should prove dishonest, when once he had won his desire. -What was there in a wife to tie him to his obligation? If politics had -prompted him to go so far, would they not continue to prompt him -further, after the marriage had given him his way? To sacrifice herself -and Adam was to Garde a mighty thing. She was capable of any heroism, -but her mind and her nature exacted that it be not specious. No travail -of motherhood ever gave a more acute or prolonged agony than was Garde’s -portion as she strove to give birth to a wise and right resolution. - -Her grandfather, in the meantime, waxed more and more impatient. It had -been his habit from early manhood to have his own way. In avoiding -precisely the difficulties into which he had fallen with Garde’s mother, -he felt that he was on the safe side in his promise not to coerce his -grandchild. This gave him the greater latitude in which to bring -pressure upon her from what he conceived to be another standpoint. Yet -that repression of his feelings and passions which he had practised for -long among the Puritans, made him more patient with Garde’s indecision -than would otherwise have been the case. He became childishly eager, -more than harshly insistent, in this frame of mind. He coaxed her many -times in a day, to see what her bravery and loyalty could do. - -Christmas and New Year were long past, and still Garde had made no -decision. In the spring, when she could make no more excuses for -delaying, she told her grandfather how gladly she would comply with his -wishes, if only she could know, absolutely, that Randolph would keep -faith with the colonists and secure them their charter against all need -for anxiety. This was her honest word. It came from her heart as if -every word had been jagged, leaving her wounded and all but ill. - -“Let Mr. Randolph prove that he will work for our good with the King,” -she said. “Let him secure us but one year of ease from this constant -worry—let him show us a year of the favor he can win from Charles, and -then I shall be content. This is not much that I ask. If his heart is so -set upon me as he says, surely he could wait this time and do these -things. A true regard could wait for as many years as Jacob served for -Rachel.” - -With this decision, which he regarded as a binding promise, and which he -represented to Randolph as a betrothal, David Donner had to be content. -Randolph could not, without betraying intended perfidy, object to -conditions so wisely conceived. Argument was precluded. Grimly shutting -his jaws, the man consented to the arrangement, for else he must have -abandoned his quest altogether. - -As the months wore on, he went regularly to South Church, there to sit -out the service, which he detested like poison, for the purpose of -fixing his eyes upon Garde, as if he had been a beauty-vulture, only to -be satisfied by gazing upon her until he was all but self-hypnotized. As -for Garde, conscious as she was that the man thus stared in her -direction, she never so much as once gave his eyes an answering glance. -She did not love him; there should never be any pretense, come what -might, that she did. Her thoughts and her heart beats were true to Adam, -and so should remain to the end. - -David Donner told his colleagues in triumph of what he had done, of the -answer Garde had made and of the hope they had for the future. He had -justified himself in remaining in Boston. - -The measure of the power wielded, even at the throne of England by -Edward, Randolph could never have been estimated in Massachusetts, but -month after month slipped away while the charter remained intact and the -men of that anxious colony breathed with a sense of relief which none -had felt before, in nearly a score of years. - -Garde, with what hope her year’s respite inspired, began her lonely wait -and watch for Adam’s return. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - A NIGHT ATTACK. - - -THE night was a thing of perfection, on the sea. The moon rode aloft and -its light danced merrily on the tips of the waves. A smart breeze pouted -the sails on the “Captain Spencer” till she plowed her way like a -skimming albatross through the phosphorescence of the southern field of -ocean. - -On deck the beef-eaters, Adam and William Phipps, with the mate and a -jovial boatswain, were in high spirits. They were nearing their goal, -after a run which would have awakened some sort of a rollicking devil in -a deacon. Captain Phipps had felt a spell of bubbling coming upon him -for days. It always did, the moment he dropped Boston out of sight, over -the green, serrated edge of the riotous Atlantic. Therefore he had -broken off the neck of a bottle of good, red juice, which had lain for a -year in the hold of the brig, and this liquified comfort had circulated -generously. - -The beef-eaters, arm in arm, were now spraddling about the deck in a -dance of which Terpsichore had never been guilty, even in her A B C’s of -the art. The boatswain was furnishing music from a tin pipe, the one -virtue of which was that it was tireless. - -At length he altered the tune, or at least, so he said, and after a bar -or two of the measure had lost itself in the sails and shrouds, Adam -cleared his throat for a song. - - “In the Northern sea I loved a maid, - As cold as a polar bear, - But of taking cold I was not afraid— - Sing too rel le roo, - And the wine is red— - For a kiss is a kiss, most anywhere, - When a man’s heart goes to his head. - - Ho! the heart of a man is an onion, boys, - An onion, boys, with a shedding skin. - And it never gets old, for you off with its hide, - When you meet a new love, and it’s fresh within! - - In the southern sea I loved a lass, - As warm as a day in June; - And oh that a summer should ever pass— - Sing too rel le roo. - And the wine is red— - For my summer, my lads, was gone too soon, - With a man’s heart gone to his head. - - Ho, the heart of a man, etc. - - In the Western seas I loved a miss, - As shy as the sharks that swim; - And it’s duties we owe to the art of the kiss— - Sing too rel le roo, - And the wine is red— - If a maiden so shy should be took with a whim, - And a man’s heart gone to his head. - - Ho, the heart of a man is an onion, boys, - An onion, boys, with a shedding skin. - And it never grows old, for you off with its hide, - When you meet a new love, and it’s fresh within!” - -There were more of these verses, one to fit every sea, of which there be -more than seven, as the song proved. The beef-eaters and Captain Phipps -joined in the chorus, for the boatswain gave it a rare flavor of music. - -At the wheel, the second mate had jammed a marlin spike between the -spokes, to hold the brig on the wind, and sitting cosily down had gone -fast asleep. The lookout aloft had become absorbed in the singing, to -which he was bending every attention. In the midst of a chorus, which -might and might not have been the finale of Adam’s ditty, there was a -sudden alarm that rang from one end to the other of the brig, and all -too abruptly a black hulk of a ship, with never a light, came sizzling -the brine in her speed, the length of a few anchor-chains away, and made -for the “Spencer” with dire intent. - -The music ceased as if it had been cut off with a knife. Scuttling -swiftly to the side of the ship and then bawling orders, and chasing to -the armory in hot haste, Phipps, Adam and the others yelled that a -pirate was upon them. The words, like an incantation of marvelous -potency, summoned men like so many gnomes, from hatches, companion-ways -and fo’castle, on the instant. - -The brig’s deck suddenly swarmed with its own men, running hither and -thither, shouting, stumbling, swearing, while Phipps and Rust came -darting back with arms full of cutlasses, pistols and muskets, gathered -helter-skelter, and now thrown with a great clatter upon the planking. - -Scrambling here to arm themselves, the sailors heard a crunch, felt the -brig shudder beneath their feet and beheld half a dozen iron hooks come -flying over the gunwale from the pirate, and saw them jerk snug up to -the rail, as the raiders pulled taut on the lines that quickly lashed -the two vessels together. - -A black cascade of men came leaping from the pirate, landing heavily on -the “Spencer’s” deck. Their pistols blazed yellow exclamation points of -fire, as the men struck on their feet, and then with a clash of steel on -steel, Rust, Phipps and half a score of sailors rushed upon the invaders -and a mad scuffle and melée ensued. - -Rust was conscious of a few things about him in the confusion. He -thought how cold the naked blades looked, slashing in the moonlight; he -heard the yells and curses against the background of a slapping sail -that was making a sound like a weird alarm; he felt the strength of the -big rascal, who was cutting at him with that brute force and disregard -for skill which is so deadly to engage. He thought the fellow would -slice his saber in two. He lost no time in feinting. The brute of a -buccaneer lurched forward to sweep his blade clean through Adam’s body -and then suddenly a moonbeam seemed to cleave its way through the -ruffian’s neck. He dropped his sword and spun around with his head -lolling sideways and went down. - -Adam rushed to the taff-rail. The pirate ship was straining at the ropes -by which her hooks secured the two black hulks together. Smiting these -taut ropes with mad fury, Rust saw the pirate drift away and the gulf of -water widen between the two vessels, while the scoundrels aboard the -robber-ship yelled a discordant chorus of curses. - -Then back into the fray, the din of which was rising, as wounded men -smarted and yelled and rushed upon one another anew, like snarling -wolves, Adam darted, pistoling a creature who came running upon him and -then heaving him overboard as the fellow writhed on the planks. - -The sailors of the “Spencer” had somewhat the best of the conflict, -which was a match in scuffling hotly all over the deck. Less than a -dozen of the pirates had been able to leap aboard before the vessels -were apart, and their bawlings for help to their ship had been rendered -vain, for the moment, by Adam’s prompt action in cutting the lines. -However, the sea-scoundrels were versed in fighting, where the sailors -were merely rough-and-tumble sons of Cain whose rage was their principal -accoutrement. They were at their adversaries, hammer and tongs. They -were wrestling with some, hacking at others, swearing at all. It was a -small pandemonium in which it was next to impossible to distinguish -friend from foe. - -Phipps, like the woodsman from Maine that he was, hewed his way from one -group to another, shouting to his men, hoarsely. The beef-eaters, as -inseparable as when they were dancing, chose but one man between them, -and one such they peeled to a horrid core, as the demon rushed upon -their sharpened weapons. - -Adam stepped in a crawling line of gore, its head silver-tipped in the -moonlight, and slipped till it wrenched him to hold his footing. He saw -the sailors crowding three of the pirates to the rail and, joining them, -battered the cutlasses from their fists and helped to hoist them bodily -over and into the sea. - -The din had hardly abated anything of its volume. The scene was one of -the maddest activity. But the robbers not already done for, were now at -bay against the masts, the capstan or the rail. One tripped backward -over a coil of rope. The next instant he was screaming help and murder -at the top of his lungs. This he continued even after a dreadful rattle -and spluttering came in his voice. - -Over the reddened decks one or two wounded creatures were crawling, one -wiping gore from his face and flinging it off his fingers. Swords and -pistols lay about. One dying human was lying on his side, with his arm -extended and his index finger slowly crooked and straightened and -crooked again, as if he beckoned to death to come more quickly. - -The sail began to slap at the mast again, as the brig swung bow on in -the wind and stopped in stays. The croaked curses of the pirates, on -their ship, which was now again drawing swiftly toward the “Spencer,” -made Adam and Phipps suddenly run to the brig’s brass gun, which was -looking dumbly forth toward the pirate. - -Rust had filled his pocket with loose powder. The cannon was already -loaded. He poured a small pyramid of powder on the vent and he and -Phipps, with the combined strength of two giants, slewed the piece -around till a ball from the pirate could have been tossed into its -yawning muzzle. - -From the galley, the cook came running with blazing coals on a shovel. -He had been watching the gun. The pirate missed her mark. She came up in -stays, just as the “Spencer” got again on the wind. The bows of the -robber-craft were almost in touch with the brig. - -Adam saw that the cannon would fail to sweep the pirate’s decks—that the -shot would be practically wasted, if it went at the gun’s present -elevation. With a sudden impulse he leaped astride its smooth, brass -nose and bore it down, depressing the muzzle toward the water, just as -the crazy cook turned his shovel upside down on the primed vent. - -There was suddenly a deafening roar. The concussion shook every man’s -feet from under him. The gun leaped backward, like a bucking horse, and -Rust went sprawling on the decks, for he had been left abruptly, with no -support beneath him. - -The shot tore a hole in the pirate the size of a hogshead, squarely on -her water-line, in her starboard bow. She came about in the wind and the -sea rushed into her hold in a torrent. - -A dreadful silence ensued when the air was clear of the detonation. Then -a moan from a dying wretch on the “Spencer’s” deck seemed to touch into -being a chorus of yells from the doomed pirate, where the murderous crew -found themselves armed to the teeth and yet sinking, defenseless, into -the very jaws of death. Their sails slackened again and shook with a -sound as of funeral shrouds. - -The “Spencer” scudded away into the boulevard of silver which the moon -was paving with its light. The sinking pirate gathered the cannon’s -smoke about her and settled swiftly, but not in silence, into the grave -that fitted so snugly about its body. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - THE GLINT OF TREASURE. - - -THE brig “Captain Spencer,” came duly to her goal at the green Bahamas. -What with wounds received from the pirates, who had called so -unceremoniously, and from sea-sickness, which they always had, the -beef-eaters were glad of the sight of land. Phipps and Rust were filled -with rejoicings by reason of the dreams they had of thrusting a naked -arm apiece into the sea and fetching up handfuls of gold with which to -return to two sweet women in Boston. - -All hands were presently doomed to disappointment. Phipps learned that -his treasure-ship was indeed a fact, but that she was small, both in -tonnage and her burden of Spanish coins, that she lay in many fathoms of -water and that, indeed, she was scarcely worth serious attention. - -Phipps was, however, a popular man at these bits of jeweled land in the -emerald sea. He had traded there on several occasions, making friends -always. Thus it came that a hobbling old salt, whom he had befriended in -a scrimmage, consoled him with the information of a large treasure-ship, -sunk somewhere in the neighborhood of Hispaniola. He resolved at once to -pursue this matter to the end, for which purpose the “Captain Spencer” -would be wholly inadequate, as the Spanish Main was as filled with -pirates as the sky may be of buzzards over dying caravans. - -With the approval of the entire party, the brig was now headed for -England, Adam and Phipps feeling confident of their ability to secure a -larger ship for their enterprise. - -On familiar soil when the “Spencer” at length came to anchor, off the -tower of London, in the Thames, Adam had little difficulty in finding a -market for the brig. With the proceeds of the sale in his pockets, -William Phipps, under Adam’s tuition, blossomed out as a gentleman of no -little personal attractiveness. Adam, as one born to the purple, donned -a handsome attire and swaggered with all the elegance of a prince. - -He was soon in the midst of his former acquaintances, with one of whom -he fought a duel at the end of the first week, requiring his vanquished -foe, who was only sufficiently wounded to be satisfied, to kneel in -humility and to wipe the victor’s blade clean of his own red juice, on -the hem of his coat. - -Rust until now had never had occasion to regret the disfavor in which -Charles Stuart held him, since a certain distinguished lady had declared -the “Sachem” to be vastly more entertaining than his Majesty with ready -narratives. However, he was undismayed, for with James, fated so soon to -be king, he was amazingly friendly. - -William Phipps, for his part, needed but one introduction and no -recommendation. Above all things temporal, James reveled in naval -adventure. Blunt, gallant Captain Phipps appealed to him instantly. The -tale of the treasure-ship set him aflame with eagerness to go with this -adventurous company to the western Indies, where he could readily -picture himself, Phipps and Adam fighting their way to the rotting -strongholds of the Spanish galleon, sunk there half a century before. - -With an alacrity which was of a highly complimentary character to Phipps -and Rust, the Prince procured a fine vessel, the “Rose-Algier,” with a -crew of ninety-five men and an armament of eighteen guns, and gave her -into the trust of his friends for their enterprise. It was agreed that -inasmuch as he thus found the ship and the expenses of the venture, he -should have ninety per cent. of whatsoever treasure should be recovered, -Phipps declaring for himself and Adam how contented they would be with -the remaining one-tenth. - -Late in the year, which was 1684, the “Rose-Algier” bore away for -Hispaniola, Phipps, Adam, and the faithful beef-eaters, whom seasickness -nor peril could drive from Adam’s side, soon beginning to wonder what -manner of crew it was with which they had shipped. A few weeks later, -King Charles the Second died. James ascended the throne. Thus the -treasure-seekers were backed by the English monarch and his government. - -A sunken ship has frequently proved to be a small thing, and the ocean a -large one, to the seeker, eager for its cargo. The “Rose-Algier” dipped -into all manner of harbors and her master asked all manner of people all -manner of questions, to no avail. The months slipped by, in this tedious -occupation, the crew grew weary of a voyage so profitless and so -entirely unpromising. - -The grumblings of mutiny have a way of keeping below decks, where they -simmer volcanically. Nevertheless the beef-eaters heard something of the -discontent in the fo’castle, where the ruffians of the crew were for -seizing the vessel, running up the black flag and turning pirate -forthwith. The Rose was a swift, great bird upon the waves, she was -armed to the teeth, she was well provisioned. What more could be desired -for buccaneering? And piracy paid its disciples handsomely. Spain and -France, particularly, had a hundred argosies in constant flight between -the West Indies and home. Gold was the commonest burden of all. Your -pirate was a dare-devil, whose life was reputed to be one long round of -adventure, drinking and looting. All pirates either died happy or hung, -and anything was better than this pothering about in a good ship, -seeking for treasure that was sunk admittedly, while millions of -treasure was afloat and nearly all to be had for the asking. With -precious few exceptions the crew agreed that this was true enough for -every practical purpose. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - MUTINY. - - -FORTUNATELY mutinies frequently come to a head prematurely. On the -“Rose” a jealousy hatched between rival factions of the plotters, so -that before they were any of them in actual readiness, one faction, in -order to be ahead of and therefore in command over the other, rushed -upon the quarter-deck one night and made a sudden descent on Captain -Phipps, who happened for the moment to be there alone. - -Phipps became renowned for his presence of mind and courage. On this -occasion he promptly knocked down three or four of the ruffians, and -then with a loaded revolver and a handy marlin spike, he awed the others -into submission before the alarm had even time to spread. The -malefactors being summarily placed in irons and thrown into the hold, -the insurrection below decks retired into the dark corners, to knit -itself anew into shape. - -The sailors now recognized the necessity for uniting their forces. -Moreover, the faction which had been less precipitate, gained the -confidence of those half-coward, half-demon followers, or human jackals, -who were willing to urge the lions of the fo’castle on to strike the -blows of death, content if they could then sneak upon the scene for a -feast of remains. Thus a better plan was laid, while the mutineers -dissembled and lulled even the suspicious Phipps into a sense of -security that he had not possessed before the overt outbreak, which he -had been able to quell single-handed. - -The plotters found no opportunity of effecting their designs for several -weeks. At length, however, Phipps steered his vessel into a tiny harbor, -bitten by the sea into the side of a small, uninhabited island, which -was even minus a name. This he did for the purpose of reshipping the -stores, in the hold, a recent storm having shifted this cargo until the -“Rose” listed to port dangerously, and leaked. - -The crew, in silence and obediently enough, constructed a bridge to -shore and carried the stores to land, heaping them up in piles, on the -beach. - -The unlading being accomplished, the crew desired permission to rest in -the shade of the near-by woods. This was granted. Once in retirement -here, they conceived a plan without delay whereby the ship should fall -into their hands that night. - -Already they had managed to purloin a complement of arms. They had -knives, a few pistols, hatchets and several cutlasses. The stores being -ashore, the ship was at their mercy. Their plan was simple enough. They -would remain away from the shore until seven o’clock, when they would -proceed to the ship in a body, overpower Phipps, Rust, the beef-eaters -and the few other faithful souls on board, seize the “Rose” and leave -her captain and his friends on the island, to starve. There was but one -element lacking—the ship’s carpenter. The “Rose” having sprung a leak, -in the storm, was regarded by the sailors as no longer seaworthy, until -the carpenter should put her right. He therefore became a necessary -adjunct to their numbers. - -The carpenter, on being summoned to appear among them by the crew, -listened to their plan with horror. However, he was not a coward and he -had his wits about him. He nodded as if in approval of the plan, the -more readily, perhaps, as he was threatened with death if he dared -refuse to become one of the murderous gang. Then he informed them that -some of his tools he would much require, to further the plot. - -He was sent aboard the ship, with a guard beside him, who had undertaken -to see that he permitted no leakage of the crew’s little game into the -ears of the Captain. However, this carpenter was a man of resources. He -was suddenly overpowered by illness, on which pretense he went below. -Then, breaking into a run, he came to the Captain’s cabin, where Adam -was singing the song of his loves. Bidding Rust to continue, as if -nothing was happening, he swiftly communicated his news to William -Phipps. - -“Go back at once and pretend to assist in their deviltry,” commanded -Phipps. “Make no sign of anything, save compliance with their wishes, -and leave the rest to me.” - -The carpenter rejoined his guard so soon that they were entirely -satisfied. They conveyed him ashore, with his tools, and joining their -mates again, waited with what patience they could muster, for the -fateful hour of seven to arrive. - -Phipps had now two hours in which to prepare to defend the ship. -Unfortunately some of the guns had been landed with the stores. Adam -volunteered to draw the loads from these, and this he accomplished, with -highly satisfactory speed. But it would have been the work of hours to -re-transfer the stores to the hold, hence they were left on shore to -themselves. - -With close on ninety armed, desperate brutes against them, the handful -of men on the “Rose” were hardly in an enviable position. The first -thing they did was to remove the bridge which had been constructed -between the ship and the shore. The remaining guns on board were then -dragged and slewed around till they covered the approach from the woods, -by which the mutineers would be obliged to come. There was nothing to be -done, then, but to wait. - -The crew were not disappointing. They appeared duly, their savagery -whetted to a fine edge by the burly ruffian who had assumed command of -their force. Phipps had prepared his speech. He hailed the men, in his -big, gruff voice and commanded them to halt where they were, on pain of -instant annihilation. - -“Go near the stores,” he cried, “and I will blow you in splatters -against those trees!” - -The cowed scoundrels edged back toward the woods. All the muttered -threats of their leader, of what he would do if they refused to charge, -were empty to the wretches who could look into the chasm-like mouths of -a dozen guns. There courage oozed out of their veins. They were already -defeated. - -Phipps, aware that a similar number of dummies would be equally -dangerous, now, had his faithful followers run out the bridge again and -bring aboard the stores, without which it would have been madness to -sail. This work consumed no small amount of time. But it was finally -concluded. - -“Now then,” said Phipps, when the situation was all in his favor, “I -shall pull up anchor and leave you rogues to the fate you had prepared -for me. You can stay here and starve and rot!” - -This brought the mutineers to tears, and to pleading on their knees. -They were willing to come to any nameable terms, if only he would spare -them this terrible fate. They threw down their arms, in token of -absolute surrender, begging quarter of any description. - -Inasmuch as so large a vessel could not have been sailed without a crew, -Phipps received them back, the ring-leaders in chains, and doubled the -vigor of his mastery. - -“But, Adam,” he said, “it’s no use with these scoundrels. They will -drive me back to England yet, with none of the treasure.” - -Distrustful of the brutes he had between decks, Phipps now sailed for -Jamaica, where he quickly discharged nearly every man Jack of his -mutinous crew and took on a new lot of sailors. This was not a matter of -a few days, it required nearly a fortnight of time, Phipps being -exceedingly particular as to the men he selected. In the meantime two -things occurred which gave no little anxiety to the treasure-seeking -captain. Rust fell ill, with an attack of tropical fever, and a letter -arrived from Goodwife Phipps in which she begged to know if her lord and -master were still alive, and if so, would he not speedily return to -Boston and give no further heed to fortune’s beckoning. - -William Phipps had seen men sicken and die in these latitudes. Adam, -attended faithfully by the beef-eaters, took the fever lightly, as he -seemed to take everything of life. Nevertheless he was weak, when the -heat had somewhat abated in his body, and in no fit condition to remain -in the tropics. - -“Adam,” said the Captain, gravely, having schooled himself for a day and -night together for this moment, “I have about concluded that the ‘Rose’ -is no longer fit for this service. I shall return to Hispaniola, but -unless I shall make out the galleon in a few weeks, I shall sail again -to England, for a newer ship.” - -“All right,” said Adam. “I shall be ready this afternoon.” - -“Well,” said Phipps, hemming and hawing, “the fact is, Adam, you are -quite unfit to remain about these islands. Besides, I should be glad of -a messenger to send back to Mrs. Phipps in Boston. I would suggest, -therefore, that you return thither, on a frigate, sailing to-morrow -morning, and if it chance that I go to England and again return to -Hispaniola, you could meet me here and help me to find the treasure.” - -Rust seemed to hesitate before making his reply. He was sure there was a -treasure for him in Boston, but he had begun to have his doubts as to -the sunken, or any other sort of available, gold in the Spanish Main. -Yet he did not wish to appear eager to abandon the quest, and his heart -was above all else loyal to Phipps. - -“If I should, by great good fortune, discover the treasure,” continued -the Captain, “you shall suffer no loss for your absence, for your -services have been ten times over rendered already.” - -Much as he was affected by the friendship which prompted Phipps to -assure him of this, Adam was not in the least concerned with thoughts of -the treasure, nor influenced by this generous plan which his friend had -formulated. But being a reasonable being, in some directions, and being -perhaps unreasonably inclined in others, as for instance, toward -Massachusetts, he saw the wisdom of the Captain’s arrangements, and -therefore bade his friend an affectionate farewell, on the following -day, and sailed for the north, with the beef-eaters close at his heels. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - GARDE’S EXTREMITY. - - -HAD prayers been able to reach him and summon him back to Boston, Adam -would have been there long before the fever overtook him at Jamaica. -Garde, more alone than she had ever been in her life, had appealed to -the stars, to the wind, to the tides of the sea, to convey her yearnings -to Adam and to bid him hasten to her side. She was alone because she, -only, distrusted Randolph. She was alone because she felt no longer the -slightest companionship with her grandfather, because even Wainsworth -and Tootbaker respected the provisional betrothal she had made with -Randolph and because not to Prudence nor even to Goody Dune had she felt -she could confide her cares and the breaking of her heart, under the -present painful circumstances. - -Her distrust of Randolph had grown, despite the fact that, in a measure, -the threats against the charter had ceased and a pseudo peace contented -the patriots with the thought that their difficulties had been finally -remedied by the alliance to which they all now looked forward with -abnormal interest and confidence. - -Garde had maintained her right of immunity from the attentions of -Randolph, consistently and steadfastly. She had never given him the -single glance, at Meeting, or elsewhere, for which he was becoming -crazed. The light of malice that burned in his eyes was a thing that -Garde felt, occultly. It was a threat to break her will, some day; it -was tigerish in its animal hunger. No creature of prey ever lay in wait -for its victim more ready to pounce, to overpower and to drag away to -its den the coveted object of its greed and passion. - -But the months had winged heavily away on their somber-colored pinions, -and the moment for which Garde had hoped, when she set the one year’s -time of probation had never come—the moment of Adam’s return. The second -Christmas, so joyless with the Puritans, was far off, with the other -departed days of winter. The snow had melted; the tender shoots of grass -were returning, in hordes, like little green armies; the first buds were -breaking the cold, dank soil and peeking forth, while still close -wrapped, as if to say: “Is it time?” And only Garde would have pushed -them back, only Garde, usually so joyous in the returning of warmth and -beauty, would have held to the edge of the mantle of snow, to retain it -where it lay. - -Her heart was beating like a lead clapper, that tolled against the bell -of her soul, day and night, for the fear that was on her of the coming -week, when her year of respite would end. Already her grandfather looked -at her with fanatical eagerness in his eyes, and rubbed his shaking -hands with delight. He had no eyes to see that she was pale, that she -started at sounds as she had never done before, fearing that Randolph -had come a few days too soon, to claim and to carry her off. The old -man’s one idea was the safety of the charter. To secure this, no -sacrifice could have been too great. But as a matter of fact, David -Donner had no conception of the sacrifice which he was requiring. Such -zealots rarely have. - -In despair, three days before her dreaded hour should arrive, Garde -hastened like a child, afraid of an ogre, to Goody Dune. The evening was -cold, for the sky was overcast, the wind was blowing from the north and -a few scattered speckles of snow flew spitefully through the air. - -“B-u-h-h—it’s cold! B-u-h-h—it’s cold!” said the jackdaw, when Garde -came in at the door. The bird was echoing the past winter’s history of -what poor old Goody had suffered, alone in her hut. - -“Well, dearie,” said the old woman, who was evidently making -preparations to go out, on some mission of her own, “you look as if you -too are in need of some of the simples you gathered in the summer.” - -“It is nothing simple that I need,” said Garde. “I have come for wisdom -and help. Oh, Goody, I don’t know what I shall do. I wish so I had come -to you sooner!” - -“You must stop trembling first,” said Goody. “Here, take this cup of -tea. It is going to be a bitter night.” - -She had prepared the drink for herself, to fortify her meager warmth of -body against the wind, into which she expected to go on an errand, -presently. - -“It is not from the cold; it is inside that I am trembling,” confessed -the girl. But she took the cup, obediently. “If you can do nothing to -help me, I could wish the cold would never let me go back to my home!” - -“There, there, drink the tea,” said Goody, after giving her one -penetrative glance. For young women to feel that terrible demi-mania of -desiring self-destruction was not new to Goody Dune. She had gone -through the stages herself. She knew almost exactly the conditions which -universally promote the emotion in the young of her sex. - -“I know that Adam has never returned,” she said, slowly. “You have had -no word, even. I have seen that in your eyes. But, dear me, have you no -abiding faith and hope, child? In the spring——” - -“Oh it isn’t that, Goody!” broke in Garde. “I could wait—I could wait -for him fifty years, patiently—yes, patiently. I love him. But you don’t -know what has happened. I have never told you. What was the use! They -made me promise;—and if Adam knew—he might never come back. No—he would -not come back. And I love even the very places where his shadow fell, in -the forest—and the log he was sitting on. I love the gate where his -hands rested—I love everything he ever touched!” Her hands pressed upon -her bosom, where, beneath her frock, she wore the brooch from -Hispaniola. - -Goody had never seen her in such a mood. She had never heard such -passion from her lips. But by the memory of her own heart-break, she -caught at the sinister cry of something promised. - -“And have you given yourself in promise to somebody else?” she asked, -quietly, but somewhat severely. - -“Grandther forced me. What could I do?” said Garde, feverishly. “What -could anybody do, with the charter being taken away? If I could save it, -I ought to save it! But he will never, never keep his word! He is -deceiving them all,—I feel it! I know it! He is a wicked man! But you -will tell me what to do. You must tell me what to do!” - -“Sit down, dearie,” said the old woman, calmly. “You must tell me all -about it. I cannot prescribe, even simples, until you let me know what -you are driving at, you know. Now who is this he, through whom you are -to save the charter?” - -“I don’t know how it ever happened,” said Garde. “He was always known to -be the enemy of the colony, but he did something to Grandther, who has -never been the same man since Mr. Randolph——” - -“Edward Randolph!” interrupted Goody, with a sudden vehemence, the like -of which she had never before betrayed to Garde. “Did you say Edward -Randolph? Have you promised to marry him, to save the charter? There, -there, sit down and tell me your story, quietly. Only, do make haste.” - -Garde wondered, momentarily, at the old woman’s abrupt outburst. It -served to give her a new hold on herself, for it broke her own morbid -thought and excitement. She told Goody what had happened to mar her -happiness almost before Adam’s kiss had ceased to burn on her fingers. -She told it brokenly, incoherently, for she knew all the details of the -story so vividly that she could not realize that Goody was not also in -possession of the entire fabric of thoughts and struggles which had -brought about her grandfather’s cherished end. However, Goody Dune was a -woman, and quick-minded and astute at that. She patched as rapidly as -Garde gave her the irregular fragments of the tale. She had shut her -mouth tightly at the end of her own outburst, and it seemed to Garde her -lips had grown harder since. Her eyes were certainly snapping crisply. -Goody was aroused. - -“Come with me,” she presently said, interrupting Garde’s outpourings -again. “When you came I was starting to go where it would be well for -you to follow, before the hour grows later.” - -“But, Goody, won’t you tell me what to do?” said Garde, in anguish. - -“You will know what to do, when you go home,” said the old woman, -somewhat grimly. “I know Edward Randolph by his works.” - -She led the way out into the gathering twilight without further delay. -Garde shivered a little, as the cold wind struck her again, but she -followed, eagerly, with wonder in her heart and a little awe of Goody, -in her tortured mind. What could the old woman mean? Where could she now -be hastening? - -Goody proceeded with a straightness that argued familiarity with the -route, and fixity of purpose in her mind. She went by alleys that led -down toward the water, where fisher-folk had builded little shanties on -the rocks above the roar of the harbor breakers. - -“I am taking you to see another young woman,” she said. “She was pretty -too, and she had no parents. Her mother died five years ago, and her -father, James Hodder, was lost in the storm, last spring. She was an -easy prey, you see. Poor Hester! and only fifteen.” - -Garde looked at the old woman in wonder. All this half muttered preface -to something coming, served to make her heart beat so hard that she -could hear it, painfully. - -“What is it about her?” she asked, breathlessly. - -Goody made no answer. She had reached the door of one of the huts, and -pushing it open she entered, Garde, pale and large-eyed, close behind -her. - -“Ned—oh Ned!” came a half sob, half chortle of joy from somewhere in the -darkness of the place. Garde felt shivers go down her entire form. - -“Not Ned yet, my love,” said Goody, in a voice so cooing that Garde -hardly knew it. “Presently, dear, presently. He is sure to come back -to-night. Dear me, we must have a light and see how we’re doing.” - -Garde had heard a little moan which Goody’s cooing had not sufficed to -smother. Then there had been the sound of a stifled sob. Goody went to -the dying embers in the chimney-place, to get a light for a tallow dip -on which she had put her hand with unerring familiarity with the -furnishings of the place. The voice, with tears and patience in its -syllables, came again: - -“He will come—back, to-night? He—didn’t come—last night. He hasn’t—come -for a—week.” - -“Oh yes, he will surely come to-night,” crooned Goody, at the fireplace. -“But how is the little dollie?” Garde was leaning back against the door, -heavily. Her eyes were staring into the utter darkness with which the -place was filled. She felt the presence of a woman on a bed of -motherhood. She was ready to sink on the floor, with terrible -apprehensions. The woman on the bed made some heroic effort to calm -herself, and to answer Goody’s question. - -“She’s sleeping,” she said. “She was so cold, but I have got her warm -again.” - -The tallow dip now flared. Goody shielded it cautiously as it sputtered -and then she arose to her feet. Between her fingers the light spread, -throwing great, grotesque shadows of her hand on the walls, in one -direction and a larger adumbration of her head in the other. Garde saw -the couch, which she had known was in the corner. She also saw a white -face, too thin to be pretty, and all of a soul’s being and anguish -concentrated in two great eyes. Her own eyes were blazing with the -emotions by which she was possessed. As if there had been some great -affinity between them, the young woman on the couch was looking at Garde -the moment the dip illumined the room. - -“Who’s that?” said the startled Hester on the couch. - -“A friend, a friend, dear,” said Goody. “I brought her to see you. She -knows Edward.” - -“She—she knows Ned?” said the wasted young mother, raising herself up, -abruptly. “Let me see her. Oh, oh,—you are so pretty! But you won’t take -him away from me—you won’t take him, please? He does really love me—he -didn’t mean what he said. He must love me, now. He hasn’t seen our -little baby, or he would love me more than anything in the world. You -wouldn’t take him away from me—now?” - -As Hester sat there, propped up by one thin, white arm, brushing her -hair from her face and leaning eagerly toward her visitor, Garde could -only put her hand to her cheek and shake her head. Her bosom rose and -fell in the agitation which was shaking her whole being. - -“Oh, I am so glad—oh, I knew you wouldn’t,” said the girl on the couch. -“You couldn’t have the heart, could you? See—see!” - -Weakened as she was, she made a great effort to rally her strength and -dragged a little bundle forth from between the blankets and her own -throbbing bosom, where she had kept it partially warm. She was stifling -sobs all the time she was speaking. Her nerveless fingers sought in the -folds with instinctive tenderness, to uncover a tiny face, as immobile -as marble. “It’s our little child,” said the mother. “She looks so like -him. He would have to love me now—you see he couldn’t help it.” - -Goody took the babe in her arms. Garde saw everything. She saw the tidy -poverty of the hut. She saw the ghost of the girlish beauty, which this -abandoned mother had once possessed. She saw the young creature tuck in, -next her bosom, ecstatically, a worn-out stocking—a man’s stocking. - -Garde wanted to flee, but Goody brought her the babe—a little doll -indeed. Goody took her hand, for Garde seemed stricken with -helplessness, and placed it lightly on the tiny, white face of the -child. The girl drew it away with a shudder. The babe was dead. - -“Go home, dearie,” said Goody, in a croon. “You will know what to do. -God makes few of the marriages laid at His door, but He does make some -of these. Hester has a right to believe He made her a wife—else why a -mother?” - -Garde opened the door and ran out, glad, oh so glad it was cold! - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - - RANDOLPH’S COURTSHIP. - - -GARDE fled home as if some unthinkable fate were in pursuit. She was -haunted by the look she had seen in the eyes of that girl-mother, back -in the hut. She could hear the young thing still begging her not to rob -her of the man who had taken her all and given her an ineradicable shame -in exchange. - -Yet beneath every other emotion, Garde felt a sense of exultation. The -estimate of her instinct was confirmed—Randolph was perfidy itself. Not -a soul among the Puritans, she believed, could do aught but support her -against this man. And if only she could wrench herself free, how gladly -would she welcome the penance of waiting years for Adam, in payment for -her act, which she felt was disloyalty, in consenting to the provisional -betrothal into which she had been forced! - -Her grandfather now would have to be the first to protect her from the -dread fate which had come so near, she thought. To confuse politics and -the personal affairs of her narrow life is the privilege of the sex to -which Garde belonged. She planned, as she darted through the wind-swept -streets. She would tell it all to Grandfather Donner, and then he should -save her the ordeal of meeting Edward Randolph in any manner whatsoever. -She gave no thought to the charter, nor to what the man with the power -he wielded would do in revenge to their liberties, now that he would -find himself baffled, at the end of his term of waiting. - -She yearned for Adam. She could tell him, now, what she had been driven -to do, whereas before this she had always wished him to come, yet had -shrunk from the thought of confessing what she had permitted to be done. -Yes, she could lay it all bare before him now, and fairly scourge -herself with her own reproaches, joyously. What an exquisite pleasure it -would be to ask his forgiveness thus, and not at first receive it, and -then at last be taken home to his arms and his love! For her thoughts, -her heart-beats, her soul’s longings had all been constant to him, and -to him alone. She would like to tell him all this. And she would let him -kiss her, now. For through what hours had she wished, when she had -thought they might never meet in that way again, that his kiss had been -placed upon her lips that day of their parting. She almost frightened -herself with the thought of how that one kiss on her fingers might have -been his only kiss. But the next moment she tingled with ecstasy, to -think she was free and that some day he would come back, and then she -would know how to love him and to cherish him as never before she could -have known. - -Thus glowing one moment, with love’s own reveries, and chilling the -next, with sudden reminders of what had just been and what might still -be, she reached her grandfather’s house, where she had been staying with -the old man for the past year, with only rare visits to the Soams. She -went in by the kitchen door. This apartment being dark, she passed -through to the dining-room, which was lighted but unoccupied, hence she -continued on to the parlor, where she fancied she heard voices. Entering -here, she could have fallen to the floor in sheer astonishment and -fright. - -She found herself confronting her grandfather and Edward Randolph -himself. - -“Ah, here she is, you see,” said David Donner, rubbing his hands -together, delightedly. “I thought she couldn’t be far away. My child, -Mr. Randolph has come to have a little chat. Natural enough, I should -think.” He chuckled with pleasure, adding: “Dear me, I mustn’t forget to -cover my rose, on a night like this.” With fatuous smiles, that ill -suited his grim old visage, he quitted the room, in a sprightly, playful -manner, and left Garde facing Randolph, alone. - -“Good evening, Mistress Merrill,” said the man, fastening the hungry -gaze of his deep-set eyes upon her face. “I am glad to see you looking -so well.” - -“Good evening, sir, and thank you,” said Garde, in a voice scarcely -audible. She had become suddenly pale. She trembled. She looked at the -man as one fascinated by a baleful point of light. - -“It seemed but reasonable that I should call and see you, since our -betrothal is so soon to end in our marriage,” said Randolph, moving -slowly toward her, as if to prolong his own anticipation of standing -where he could reach her at last. “I have been very patient, have I not, -my pretty sweetheart?” - -“You—have been very—patient,” echoed Garde, helplessly and panting like -a spent doe, to catch her breath. - -“And I have kept my word,” he went on, still slowly approaching. -“Massachusetts has her charter, and now—I have my wife.” - -He put out his hand, like a talon, to clutch her fast. - -One convulsive shiver seemed to break the spell which had held Garde -enthralled. She leaped away, her eyes blazing, her lips quivering, her -frame shaken with emotion. - -“No!” she cried. “No! Don’t touch me! Keep away! I loathe you! I know -what you are! Keep away,—I can’t bear you!” - -“What’s this?” said the man, scowling, till his great brow threw a -sinister shadow as far down as his cheek bones. “Have a care, my dear -Garde. We made our bargain a year ago. This is no time for kittenish -pranks. Come back here where you were.” - -His tone was authoritative. The gleam in his eyes was a warning against -disobedience. But Garde could be no further frightened than he had made -her by his mere presence. She stood there, alert for the first sign -which would send her running, if need be, to jump through the window. - -“I shall never touch you, nor go near you!” she said. “There is no -bargain between us. I would rather die than to be your wife! I know what -you are, I say. I have been to Hester Hodder’s, to-night! I have seen -her. I know what you are!” - -Randolph took hold of his lip and pinched it viciously. He glared at the -girl in silence, for a moment. “This has nothing to do with me,” he -said. “You have made some mistake.” - -“I made a terrible mistake when I first submitted to this loathsome -plan,” said Garde, gaining courage as she spoke. “I always distrusted -you, despised you. Do you think I would trust a man to save our charter -who wouldn’t save a woman’s honor—who would do what you have done? You -may go—you may go away! I loathe you! I scorn you! Oh, I have found you -out in time!” - -“This is silly talk, Mistress Merrill,” said the man. “I know nothing of -your Hester Hodder.” - -Garde made a gesture expressive of disgust and impatience. - -“But all this has no bearing on anything one way or the other,” Randolph -continued. “You must not forget that I have as much power over the -charter and the colony as ever—in fact, more. I have become the friend -of these people, but you can make me their enemy with a very little of -your nonsense. Come, now, let us be two sensible beings and not begin -our union by quar——” - -“If you have had any power to do us injury,” interrupted Garde, “we will -find it done. You wouldn’t dare to trust yourself. I have a fear, such -as I never had before, of the harm you have doubtless done this colony, -darkly, in the year just passed.” - -Garde had a way, fairly uncanny, of saying terrible truths, as if from -some sort of inspiration, which came upon her unawares. Randolph had his -pockets full of documents, at that moment, which lay there like a mine -of explosives, ready to shatter the charter and government, almost at -his whisper of command. His mind could conceive of nothing so exquisite -in treachery, to these people that he hated, and in vengeance against -Garde, for the attitude she had always assumed toward him, as to marry -her first and then to destroy the charter afterward. This had been his -dream for more than the year. He had waited for its climax as patiently -as a cat will wait before a hole till the mouse shall reappear. Garde’s -words were as so many poignards, only that they failed to strike him in -a fatal spot. They stung him to greater fury than he had ever felt and -to a hotter determination to humble the girl and to reduce Massachusetts -to abject servility and despair. - -The man saw that this was an ill time to threaten Garde. She was not -made of the wax which his sophistries had substituted for the metal once -in David Donner’s composition. - -“You have entertained some strange ideas of me, Mistress Merrill, for -which I am at a loss to account,” he said, more quietly. “I feel sure we -merely misunderstand each other. Have I not shown, for a year, that my -one wish is to prove myself a staunch friend of these good people and -worthy of your esteem? I am willing to do anything further, if you can -think of anything you would like to suggest, before we are married.” - -“We shall never be married,” said the girl, self-possessed, now, and -calm enough to be fairly judicial. “If you wish to win my respect, go -and marry Hester Hodder, and let your child not be buried in shame.” - -The man winced, but not visibly. He took his lip in his fingers again -and pinched it till it was white. He realized that in her present frame -of mind, Garde was utterly incorrigible. He only made matters worse by -remaining where she was. He knew of a trick worth two of prolonging this -interview. Yet he must retire in good order. - -“I must tell you once more,” he said, “that I know nothing about this -person of whom you speak. I regret that something has prejudiced your -mind against me, especially when you insist upon doing me this wrong. -Let me say good night, for I am sure I shall find you in an altered mood -to-morrow.” - -“Good night,” said Garde, icily. - -The man smiled and went out, closing the door as if it had been the bars -of a cage, which he had dared to enter, at the risk of frightening his -prey to death. - -He went out into the garden and called to David Donner. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - - DAVID’S COERCION. - - -DAVID DONNER came in from that interview in the garden an angered -fanatic. The bitter cold of the night had entered into his soul, with -all the heaped-up threats which Randolph had hurled at his head. - -These threats had not been fired at David loudly nor fiercely. Randolph -had told him of Garde’s insubordination, of her charges and of her -repudiation of her promise. He had shown that whether her allegations as -to Hester Hodder were true or false, they had nothing to do with -Massachusetts politics. He had then opened up with his main battery—a -recital of the power he had steadily accumulated, during the past year, -and of his intention to use it, immediately, if Donner and Garde now -failed in the slightest particular to keep their share of the bargain. - -Donner became nearly crazed. For a year he had dwelt with fondness upon -the topic of the charter and of how he had saved it, until nothing else -could get foothold in his mind. Indeed he had become mildly insane upon -the subject. He had counted the days, and finally the hours waiting for -the final ratification of the contract with Randolph, whose influence -with King James had exceeded even that which he had exercised when -Charles sat upon the throne. To reflect that now, at the eleventh hour, -the mere whim of a silly girl could destroy this whole fabric and sweep -away their jealously guarded liberty and independence, at a single -breath, nearly made a maniac of the old man. - -Hester Hodder was as nothing. A hundred such women, with their dead -babes, would have been as nothing, compared to the safety of the -charter. What had Garde been born for, if she was not to save the day, -when her promise was made and when she alone stood between ruin and the -colony? What was her girlish folly, that it should stand in the path -forbidding the colony its existence? What should be her very life, when -the matter against it weighed so ponderously? - -Thinking what his compatriots would say, if they should learn of this -latest turn of affairs, Donner wrung his hands in agony, and then -clenched them in rage. For twenty years the charter had fluttered -between life and death. For the last year it had gained in strength till -it seemed that all danger had passed. No religious fanaticism, no zeal -of inquisitions ever possessed a man’s soul, heart and brain more -thoroughly than his patriotism possessed Grandfather Donner. - -When he went into the house, his trembling, bony hands were as cold as -those of a skeleton. He was half crying, with his utter vexation and -fear for the charter, and yet he ground his teeth, in his anger and -stubborn determination to compel his grandchild to adhere to her -promise. When he came to where Garde was awaiting his return indoors, -she mistook the mad light in his eyes for righteous indignation at -Randolph’s perfidy, of which she believed he had become apprised. - -“Oh, Grandther,” she said, running trustingly toward him and beginning -already to cry, from her stress of emotions. “I am so glad you have come -back to protect me!” - -“Protect you? Protect you?” he almost screamed, clutching her by the -shoulders, so fiercely that the cold and the pain which he caused seemed -to penetrate her through and through. “What madness have you committed? -What have you done? The charter,—the charter—the charter!—you shall save -the charter! Do you hear me? You shall keep your promise and save the -colony!” He shook her till the girl was gasping. She could think of -nothing but a hideous nightmare. - -“Oh, he hasn’t told you, Grandther,” she cried. “If you knew the truth -you would turn him from the door! I have seen poor Hester and her baby. -I cannot bear to think of him—I should die!” - -“You—you—you traitor!” stammered the old man, in his mania. “You—you -betray the colony! You are mad, mad! You promised. You made your own -conditions. You have deceived me. You would play us false, now—now, when -our liberties are taking heart. But you shall not! What? You come home -here with this silly story, you—you, the daughter of a Donner—and ready -to tear up the charter for your silly notions. No—no! no! no!—you shall -marry this man! You shall keep this your bargain! The charter—you shall -save the charter!” - -“Oh, but, Grandther, the story is true,” said Garde, wringing her hands. -“He is the one that is false. And I thought you would hold me too -precious for such a thing as——” - -“Enough!” commanded the crazed old man. “My word—the colony’s word—has -been given. The bargain shall be kept. This has gone too far already. To -think that for one moment you would so jeopardize the charter! I am -stricken with shame at your want of honor at this crisis of our -liberties!” - -Garde still failed to believe she heard her grandfather correctly. She -still hoped his impatience would abate sufficiently for her to tell of -what she had seen. It could not be possible that a Puritan, so -high-minded and strict for moral conduct, could know what she knew and -still insist upon this infamous marriage. To her, at that moment, it was -virtue and honor that were all important to be saved, the charter and -the colony that had become insignificant. - -“If you had touched that little dead baby,” she said. “If you had heard -Hester begging, Grandther—oh, you would have kept your promise,—you -would never coerce me in this terrible——” - -“Stop! stop!” cried Donner, madly, angered almost beyond control by this -appeal, which was so unbearably remindful of her mother. “I have not -coerced you, never! You made your promise freely. The honor of the -colony, and more than that, the safety of the charter, now hang upon -your faith in keeping your own agreement. And you shall keep it—for the -family pride—for the colony’s good name! This story—what is the -woman?—what is her child?—what is anything, when our liberty and -independence tremble in the balance? No more—I’ll hear no more of -this,—not a word!” - -Garde brushed a wisp of her red-black hair from her forehead. Her great -brown eyes were fastened wide open by amazement. Her lips alone -contained any color. How red they seemed against the white of her oval -face! Her eyebrows seemed like two curved black brands on her brow. She -looked at her grandfather in silence. It was positively incredible that -he had said what she had heard, she thought. If Hester and her child and -“everything” were held of so little worth, why—what of herself? Had it -come to this? Was it admittedly and shamelessly a sacrifice of her very -soul, to a creature only waiting to have his way first before destroying -the charter later? - -To the pure, natural mind of the girl, Randolph had become as -translucent as water, in his plotted perfidies. It appeared impossible -that any man could still believe in his lies. She would have spoken of -this, but the sight of the fanatical old man before her, sealed her -lips. She recognized the light in his eyes at last. At any other moment -her pity would have fluttered forth to him, yearningly, her little -mother instinct would have taken her on the wings of concern to smooth -the care-channeled wrinkles from his brow, but now all these tenderer -emotions had fled away, in fear and awe. She said nothing further. There -was nothing left to say, nothing that would have any weight against -mania. At length even her gaze fell before the wild look with which -David Donner confronted her, insanely. - -“Now then,” said the old man, at length, in a voice made raucous by his -recent passions, “you may go to bed and prepare your mind for -obedience.” - -“Good night, dear Grandther,” said Garde, by force of habit, and with -nothing more, she passed from the room. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - GOODY’S BOY. - - -THE right of Spring to exercise idiosyncrasies of weather was conceded, -doubtless, by the first man. Spring is well known to be female, for this -very proclivity of changing her mind as to what she will do next. Having -been a spitfire nearly all night, Spring smiled in the morning, as balmy -as if she had caught the fancy of some tropical zephyr, that hastened -rashly northward to catch her for a kiss. - -The first ray of the sun found itself entangled in the hair of Mistress -Merrill. Garde had not slept during the night. She had not gone to bed, -nor had she prepared her mind for obedience to her grandfather’s -commands. She had spent the hours sitting at the window, waiting for the -morning. - -She now sped swiftly through the unawakened streets, a prey to a sense -of fear that she was being pursued. From time to time she cast a quick -glance across her shoulder, but there was no one following. There was -hardly a sound, save that a few birds—hardy little scouts, ahead of the -northward-creeping caravan of summer—twittered and set up rival centers -of melody in the trees. - -There was no hesitation in the girl’s footsteps. She knew where she was -going. Goody Dune’s was the only place where she could go, with her -present resolutions. She had come to a logical conclusion, as to what -was now to be done, shortly after leaving David Donner. Her mouth was -firmly set, where determination had come to abide. - -As always, she found Goody stirring about, with her door wide open, when -she came to the tidy little home. Goody beheld her coming before she -reached the gate. Peering into her face knowingly, the old woman gave a -little shake to her head. She was adept at deciphering the hieroglyphics -which human emotions write upon brows and lips and eyes, especially in -the faces of the young. - -“So your grandfather insists and you are going to run away?” she said, -as Garde came eagerly up the garden path to the door. - -“Yes,” said Garde, in some awe of the wise old woman and her means of -acquiring knowledge, “and I want you to help me,—oh, you must help -me—just as fast as you can! How did you know?” - -“I could see that you were deeply troubled, and I know exactly what a -girl like you would do,” said Goody. “I was the same kind of a girl, -once, myself. Now tell me, first, where are you going.” - -“I don’t know,” said Garde, “I think to Plymouth, to my aunt Rosella.” - -“You would do well to make up your mind on that point,” said Goody. “And -how are you going, shall you sail, or ride, or walk?” - -“Oh, I shall run,” said Garde. - -“If you walk it will last longer,” said the old woman, with just a -suspicion of a smile. “Then, those two points being settled, have you -brought anything to eat, in your pocket?” - -“No—no, I didn’t wait for anything. I shan’t want anything to eat for -days. I don’t feel like eating, and I don’t know when I ever shall.” - -“And no blankets to sleep in?” - -“Oh no, Goody, how could I?” said Garde. - -“Let me see; it is something like forty or fifty miles to Plymouth,” -Goody mused. “Have you thought how it would look if a young woman were -seen, running night and day for sixty miles? You know many people walk -from Plymouth here.” - -“Yes,” said Garde, eagerly. “That is the only trouble. I want you to do -something for me, or tell me what to do. Everybody would see a girl and -if Grandther were told, he would have me caught and brought back—and I -would rather die!” - -Goody laughed at her now, more than half gaily. Her own eyes twinkled -with delight over the venture. “What would be the good of all the things -my friends have given me, all these years, if I did not use them at such -a time as this?” she asked. - -“Oh, have you got anything I could really use?” Garde responded. “What -is it? What can you do? I mustn’t wait,—they will catch me, just as sure -as the world!” - -“Not if I make you invisible,” chucked Goody. She dived into a chest she -had opened and began to paw, in an orderly manner, at a heap of clothing -which the box contained. She presently drew forth a complete suit of -clothing for a boy. “There,” she continued, “go into the next room and -put those on, as fast as ever you are a mind to.” - -“Those?” said the astonished Garde. “But these are——” - -“Yes, I know. They will make you invisible—as a girl. Do you wish to be -seen? If not, go and put them on and let me get at something else. We -still have other fish to fry.” - -“But——” started Garde, when Goody pushed her into the next apartment. - -Goody continued to rummage in the chest, producing a hat, much the worse -for age, a pair of stout shoes, a stick and a large, red handkerchief. -Into this handkerchief she knotted a number of slices of bread, some -pickles and some cold meat. She then secured it on the end of the stick, -and dropped inside it a little wad of money, tied in a parcel by itself. - -Garde now returned, blushing as red as a rose and bending her legs -inward at the knee most shyly, although anything prettier could hardly -be conceived, and there was no one present save the old woman to look, -anyway. - -“Oh dear me!” said the jackdaw. “Oh dear me!” - -“Stand up stiffly on your pins,” commanded Goody. “You are not invisible -as a girl at all. Come, now, be a man.” - -“But—Goody——” gasped Garde. “I—I really can’t——” - -“Yes, you can. You must,” corrected the old woman. “Or else you can give -up running away altogether.” - -“Oh no, no!” - -“Then do as I tell you. Feet more apart, knees stiff. That’s better.” - -“But, I feel—I feel so—so cold.” - -“Where, in your face? Nonsense. Now try on this hat.” - -Goody adjusted the hat. It was much too small to cover all of Garde’s -glorious hair. - -“This will have to come off,” said the old woman. - -“Oh!” was all Garde could reply. - -It did seem a pity, but the business in hand was altogether grim. The -scissors snipped briskly. The hat presently covered a quaint, pretty -head with close-cropped locks. Garde caught the gleam in Goody’s eyes, -for Goody could not but admire her for a most handsome and irresistible -boy, and again the blushes leaped into her cheeks, and those tell-tale -knees began to try to hide one another. - -Goody shook her head. “Any one would still know you for Garde Merrill,” -she confessed, “whether they had ever known you before or not.” - -“Then what shall I do? I might as well go back to my own clothes,” said -the girl eagerly. - -“You remain where you are,” instructed her mentor. “If you are going to -run away successfully, you must muster up your courage. But perhaps you -prefer to go back to——” - -“No! I’ll——do anything,” interrupted Garde. A sudden horror of the -thought of going back, or of being caught and taken back, to Randolph -and all the rest of it, put good steel into her shoulders and some also -into her legs. “Please make haste and let me be starting,” she added. -“They may be coming at any moment!” - -Goody lost but little time in thinking. She produced a cup, from her -shelf of decoctions, and dabbling her finger into its contents she -proceeded to stain the girl’s face a rich brown color, which made her -more handsome than ever, if possible, but which masked her so completely -that her own reflection would not have known her. The brown stuff went -into her pretty ears and all around her plump pretty throat and even on -top of her eyelids as they were closed, for Goody was something of an -artist. When she had finished, she regarded her work critically. - -“The angel Gabriel wouldn’t know you now, himself,” she said. “When you -wish to get it off, use vinegar. Take your stick and your little pack, -put it over your shoulder, so, and now you are ready. Would you like -something to eat before you go?” - -“Oh no,” gasped the girl, frightened half out of her wits, at the -prospect of going forth into the world with two pretty, visible legs to -walk withal. “I—I couldn’t eat anything. I—wait a minute. I—I think I -would like a little drink of water.” - -Goody gave her a dipper full, of which she took one miniature sip. - -“Do I—do I look—terrible?” she faltered. - -“You look like a farmer’s boy—a lout of a country lad,” said Goody. “So, -good-by, young man. My last word is, forget you have got any legs, or -you will surely be detected.” - -“Legs!” said the jackdaw, glad of a new word. “Legs! Legs!” - -“I couldn’t—wear anything—over them, could I?” said Garde, timidly, -having jumped when Rex croaked so suddenly. - -“You can wear a wedding gown over them, if you prefer,” said the old -woman, grimly, and suggestively. “I really expected you to do better -than this.” - -“Well—I will!” said the poor child, resolutely. “Good-by, dear Goody. I -shall always love you, more than ever, for this.” - -Goody kissed her, as she bent affectionately forward, and patted her -motherly on the back. “That’s a good boy,” she said. - -She opened the door and Garde went forth. The open air made her -conscious of her attire instantly. But she did her best, shy and -unboyish as the effort was. - -“Oh, I forgot to ask,” she said, glad to get one more moment in which to -get ready. “How is Hester? How was she when you saw her last?” - -Goody’s face darkened. “I saw her the first thing this morning,” she -said. “Some one must have called last night, after I left. Hester is -dead.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - - A GREENWOOD MEETING. - - -ADAM RUST, sailing northward, grew more and more hearty once again with -every day, although his pulse-beat quickened almost hourly, with a fever -of impatience which began to fasten itself upon him. He was quite -himself again, long before the ship arrived at the port of New York. But -the beef-eaters were a sorry pair, for the sea still took its revenge -upon them for Adam’s total disregard of its powers, and the passage had -been exceptionally rough. - -It was no more than natural that Pike and Halberd, on arriving as far as -New Amsterdam, should desire to have done with the boisterous Atlantic. -Adam, on the other hand, was in such a fever to go on to Boston that, -had no ships been available, and no other means possible, he would have -been tempted to swim. As it was, there was no vessel putting for the -north to any point beyond Plymouth for a week, so that Adam determined -to sail that far and either to catch another captain there, who would -convey him onward, or to walk the remaining distance alone. - -The beef-eaters, seeming absolutely in need of a rest from their -adventures on the water, reluctantly saw the “Sachem” depart without -them, they in the meantime remaining with Captain William Kidd, at his -New York home, expecting to go on to Boston with him later. This had -been the first time that Rust had been more glad than otherwise to be -for a brief season without his faithful followers. But never before had -the conditions of his going to Boston been the same. - -Thus, on a fine day in April, Adam found himself landed in the old town, -of which he had no pleasant memories. He would have confined his -inspection of and visit to Plymouth to the docks, had not a hurried tour -of inquiry elicited the information that no vessels were due to sail to -Boston for two or three days. To remain in the place for such a time as -that was not to be thought of on any account. - -Providing himself with a small parcel of food, at one of the taverns, -Adam was soon striding through a street of the town, which he remembered -vividly as one wherein he had walked on a former occasion, as a captive -boy, in a procession of fanatical Puritans. The memory was far from -being pleasant. - -He would have avoided the place, had he known his way sufficiently well, -but before he knew it was so very near, he had come to that square in -which the stake with King Philip’s head upon it had once been set. - -He looked at the plain surroundings of the locality with a reminiscence -of melancholy stealing upon him. He fancied he saw the precise spot -where the stake had stood. It brought back a flood of memories, of his -days spent with the Wampanoags, his companionship with King Philip, the -war and then the end. The sequent thought was of his first glimpse of -Garde, held in her grandfather’s arms and looking across the bank of -merciless faces with a never-to-be-forgotten sympathy in her sweet, -brown eyes. Dwelling then in fondness upon the recollection of his first -meeting with William Phipps, the rover felt that, as his last sadness -here had been an augury of better times to come, so this present moment -might presage a happiness even greater. With this comforting thought to -spur him on to Boston, he quitted the square and was soon leaving the -outskirts of Plymouth behind him. - -Spring seemed to be getting ready for some great event. She was trimming -herself with blossoms and virgin grass, and she was warm with all her -eagerness to make herself lovely. Adam opened his mouth to breathe in -the fragrance exhaled by flirt Nature. He walked swiftly, for there was -resilience under foot as well as in his being. - -“If Garde were somewhere near, the day could hardly be lovelier,” he -said, half aloud. “She must be breathing in this direction.” - -His glance was invited here and attracted there. Wherever it rested, -Nature met it with a smile. Adam felt like hugging a tree, yet no single -tree was that elusive spirit of Nature which he so longed to clasp and -to hold in his arms. But if he was mocked by the ethereal presence of -beauty too diffuse to be held, by a redolence too subtle to be defined, -and by bird notes too fleeting to be retained, yet he was charmed, -caressed, sublimated by the omnipresence of Nature’s loveliness. - -At noon he was ten good miles from Plymouth and trailing his sword -through a wood, where one could feel that some goddess of intangible and -exquisite entity had just escaped being seen, by fleeing into the aisles -of the trees, leaving an aroma of warmth, pine-breath and incense to -baffle bees behind her. Where a little brook tinkled upon pebbles, for -cymbals, he got down on his knees and had a long drink. Hearing voices, -where some party seemed approaching, he arose and went forward, -presently coming to a cross-road in the forest, where he beheld a scene -that aroused his momentary indignation. - -It amounted to little. Three young country clods had evidently been -pursuing a fourth young fellow, who was scarcely more than a boy, and -shorter than any in the group, and now, having come up to him, at the -cross-roads, had “cornered” him up against a tree and were executing -something like an Indian war-dance about him, as he stood attempting to -face all three at once. - -They began to yell and to run in at their captive, who was striking at -them awkwardly and not more than half-heartedly with a stick, in order, -apparently, to prevent them from snatching away his hat. It was entirely -too unequal, this sham combat, to accord with Adam’s notions of fair -play. He started to run toward the group. - -“Here!” he shouted. “Here, wait a bit,—I’ll take a hand, to make it -even.” - -The youth against the tree saw him coming before the others were aware -of his presence. When Adam shouted, however, they turned about quickly -enough, and yelling in added delight at being chased, they made off -briskly, running back on the cross-road, the way they had come. - -Adam strode more leisurely toward the boy who remained leaning, in -obvious confusion of emotions, against the tree. He saw a remarkably -handsome, brown-complexioned youth, with delicate features, large eyes, -that gazed upon him in wonder, and exquisitely rounded legs, one of -which was nervously bent inward at the knee. - -It was Garde. - -Fortunately she had seen him before he came close. Therefore the little -involuntary cry of gladness which had risen to her lips, had been too -faint for him to catch, at a distance. Then in the moment when her -persecutors had been scampering away, she had grasped at the opportunity -to control her emotions to the extent of deciding, in one second of -timid and maidenly thoughts, that never, never would she reveal herself -to Adam, if she could help it, while dressed in these awful garments. -She must act the boy now, or she would perish with mortification. -Luckily the blush that leaped to her cheeks was masked by Goody’s brown -stain. Nevertheless she panted with excitement and her bosom would not -be quiescent. - -“Good morning,” said Adam, coming forward and doffing his hat, which he -felt that he must do to a youth so gentle and so handsome. “You were -making a very pretty fight, but it lacked somewhat of vigor. The next -time, slash this way, and that way; guard against assault with your -other arm, so, and do your cutting at their heads.” He had drawn his -sword with which to illustrate, and flourished it lustily at the -imaginary enemy, after which he added: “Now then, who are you any way, -and where are you bound?” - -“Good—good morning,” faltered Garde, in a voice scarcely more than -audible. “I am—I am not used to fighting.” - -“No, I should say not,” said Adam, trying to make his voice delicate and -sweet, in imitation of hers. “You must speak up, boy, the same as you -would fight, roaring thus: ‘What ho, varlets!’ on your right, and ‘Have -at you, knaves!’ on your left. Shatter my hilt! I haven’t seen so -girlish a boy since Will Shakspeare’s play. Stand out here and let us -get acquainted, for I think I shall like you, though you do fight and -roar so ill.” - -Immensely relieved to find that he did not suspect her identity, Garde -summoned all the courage which ten days away from home had sprouted in -her being. Moreover, she knew that if the deception was to be made -successful, she must act her part with all her ability. She therefore -left the tree, against which she had continued to lean and stood forth, -with what bravery she could muster. - -“And who may you be?” she managed to inquire. - -“Ha, that’s better,” said Adam. “Don’t be afraid to speak up. A dog that -barks at once seldom has need to bite. And you have the making of a man -in you yet. You could be taller, but let that pass. You have fine, -sturdy legs; your eye is clear. Why, you have nothing to blush for. What -ails the lad?” - -The red beneath the brown stain was too ardent to be hidden. Garde’s -gaze fell before his admiring look. - -“You—haven’t told me your name,” she faltered, heroically striving to -stand stiffly and to conjure a voice to change the subject withal. - -“So I haven’t,” Adam agreed. “I asked you for yours first, but no -matter. I am a mad lover, on my way to Boston. My name is Rust, with a -spice of the old Adam thrown in. If you are going in the same direction, -I shall be glad of your company.” - -Garde was going in the same direction. She had never reached so far as -Plymouth. Footsore and weary, she had trudged along, going less than ten -miles a day, stopping at night with the farming people, the wives of -whom she had found most kind, and so at last had arrived at a farm near -by these cross-roads, unable to go any further. She had therefore rested -several days, and only this very morning she had learned, by word from -another traveler, that David Donner, suddenly afflicted by the double -woe of finding her gone and himself cursed by Randolph, who had -immediately set in motion his machinery for depriving Massachusetts of -its charter, was on his back, delirious and ill, perhaps unto death. - -She was going back, all contritely, yearning over the old man, who had -taken the place of her parents for so many years, and weighted down with -a sense of the wretchedness attending life. It was not that her -resolution to escape Randolph had abated one particle of its stiffness, -that she was turning about to retrace her steps, it was merely that her -womanly love, her budding mother-instinct, her loyalty and gratitude for -her grandfather’s many years of kindness and patience,—that all these -made no other thought possible. - -And now to learn that Adam was traveling to Boston also, that she should -have him for her strong protector and comrade, this filled her with such -a gush of delight that she with difficulty restrained herself from -crying, in joy, and the tendency to give up and lean upon his supporting -arm. - -At sight of him, indeed, before her mortification had come upon her, for -the costume, in which it seemed to her she would rather be seen by any -other person in the world than Adam, she had nearly run to his arms and -sobbed out her gladness. It would have been so wholly sweet to obey this -impulse. Her love for the big, handsome fellow had leaped so exultantly -in her breast, again to see him and to hear his voice, when she had been -so beset with troubles. But she had denied herself splendidly, and now -every moment strengthened her determination to play her part to the end. -Yet what joy it would be to travel back to Boston, through the -greenwood, by his side. - -And being not without her sense of humor, Garde conceived many -entertaining possibilities which might be elicited from the situation, -the standpoint of man to man being so wholly different from anything -heretofore presented to her ken. - -“Yes,” she said, in answer to Adam’s last remark, “I am going to -Boston—or near there,—but you may find that I cannot walk fast, nor very -far, in a day. My walking will doubtless prove to be like my fighting. -So that if you are so mad with—with love, and so eager to hasten, -perhaps——” and she left the sentence unfinished. - -“Well,” said Adam, pulling his mustache smartly, “I confess I am a bit -hot on foot, and so you would be, young man, if by any good fortune you -knew my sweetheart, yet I like you well enough, and my lady has such a -heart that she would counsel me to go slower, if need be, to lend any -comfort or companionship to a youth so gentle as yourself.” - -“I am sure she would,” said Garde, readily enough. - -“Are you, though? One would think you knew her,” said Adam. “Don’t plume -yourself on this matter so prematurely. Come, let us start.” - -“One moment, please, till I can tie my shoe,” said Garde, who felt such -merriment bubbling up in her heart that she was constrained to bend -downward to the ground quickly, to hide her smiles. - -Adam stood waiting, glancing around at the woods, wondering which way -his heart had flown, on its lightsome wings, in that temple of beauty. -Garde looked up at him slyly. He was dressed in great brown boots, that -came above his knees, brown velvet trousers, a wine-colored velvet coat, -with a leather jerkin over it, sleeveless and long enough to reach to -the tops of his boots, almost, and on his head he wore a large slouch -hat, becoming and finishing to his striking figure. - -Garde was looking at the back of his head rapturously when he started to -turn, to see why she made the tying process so deliberate. - -“I am ready,” she said, cheerily, springing to her feet. “Is this the -road?” - -“By all the promptings of my heart, it is,” said Adam. “But, by the way, -you have not yet told me your name, my boy.” - -“Oh,—why—why my name is—John Rosella.” She had thought of her aunt’s -first name, on the spur of the moment, and John had been the simplest -and first thing which had popped into her head. - -“John Rosella,” repeated Adam. “It sounds like Spanish. That would -account for your dark complexion.” He looked at her critically. “Yes, -you are a nice, gentle boy. Have you ever been in love?” - -“With—with a girl? never!” said Garde, trembling with delight and fear -of being detected, especially if she answered too many questions. “Do -tell me all about your lady—lady love.” - -“That’s a bit too precious to tell to any man,” Adam assured her, -gravely. “And yet, you are so nearly like a girl that I can almost tell -you about her.” - -“What is her name?” asked Garde, catching her breath in little quick -gasps. - -“Her name? Ah, I hardly tell it to myself, often. But her name would -sound sweet in these woods. Her name is—now, mark you, don’t you ask me -to repeat it again. Never mind her name, anyway.... Well, it’s Garde. -You will have to be contented with that. Ah, but she is the sweetest, -most beautiful little woman in the world. Her loveliness goes all -through, the same as beauty is everywhere in these woods. It’s her -nature to be lovely.” - -His voice became an utterance of melody. It seemed a part of the forest -tones. He had taken off his hat, for in his mind Garde stood before him, -a smiling dream, even as Garde actually walked beside him, a smiling -reality. - -“Is she tall?” said Mistress Merrill. - -“Yes, somewhat taller than you,” said Adam, “Being gentle and likeable -you might make one think upon her, but her voice is sweeter than yours, -and, well—she is a girl, and you are merely girlish.” - -“Have you loved her long?” said Garde, again casting her gaze upon the -ground, as she walked. - -“Years!” said Rust. “I have loved her all my life, for I never began to -live till I saw her first, and I loved her the moment I saw her.” - -“And does she love you?” - -“Ah, now you approach forbidden ground. It would be a sacrilege for me -to prate—even here in these woods—of her sweet thoughts. I have told you -too much already. You are a very devil of a boy, to have gotten so much -from me, touching on this subject. I’ll be sworn, I don’t know why I -have let you draw me out like this. But I stop you here. It is no -concern of yours whether she likes me or not.” - -“Oh,” said Garde. Then she added slyly, “I should think she would.” - -“I thank you and warn you, in a breath, young man,” Adam replied. “You -have gotten the best of me already. Let good enough alone.” - -Garde loved him the more for the sacredness in which he held her name -and the inclination of her heart. She loved him for the modesty which -crept into his speech and deportment when least expected. Loving him -thus, so fully, and in this realm, so made for the growth of tender -passions, she found it difficult to cease her questions. It was so -wholly delightful to hear him repeat, again and again, how he loved her. -She was, however, obedient by nature, and now cautious by circumstance. - -“Perhaps you will tell me of your travels,” she said, this subject being -next in importance to hearing of his great affection. “I am sure you -could relate much of interest, if you are so minded.” - -“And how shall you know I have traveled?” said the man. - -“Why—” Garde found herself confused, having thoughtlessly spoken on a -matter of which she did actually know, yet of which she must seem to be -in ignorance. “Why—I would know this from your appearance—your dress, to -which the young men here are not accustomed. Have you not recently come -from over sea?” - -“I have,” said the rover, satisfied with her answer. “I went away -seeking my fortune—which still remains to be sought.” - -“Oh, well, never mind,” said Garde, who for the moment was his partner, -to share all his disappointments. “I mean—I mean you don’t seem to -mind,” she added. “I should like to hear you tell about your -adventures.” - -Adam, who felt that he could talk to this boy by the hour, was nothing -loath to narrate his wanderings, the more especially as he had always -found it difficult sufficiently to praise his friend William Phipps. -Therefore, as they walked onward together, Garde thrilling with her -love, and turning her eyes fondly upon him, whensoever he was unaware, -Adam told and retold of the fights, the hopes, the storms, the success -in England, and the illness which had finally given him his leave to go -home to his sweetheart. - -No lover of Nature ever lingered more fondly over the sighs of trees, -the fanning by of fragrant zephyrs, or the love-tales sung by the birds, -than did Garde on his every word. And, inasmuch as she could not cling -to his arm, when he recited the perils through which he had come, she -artfully coaxed him back to declarations of love for his sweetheart, -from time to time, to give some satisfaction to her yearning. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - - LOVE’S TRAPS FOR CONFESSIONS. - - -SOME time before nightfall, the two having shared their luncheons -together and wandered on, through the delightful patches of sunlight, -slanting through the trees, they came upon one of the farms where Garde -had already tested the hospitality of the good people residing by the -highway. - -Here, by a little dexterity, and through Adam’s generosity toward the -delicate boy, to whom he had taken such a fancy, Garde occupied the -spare apartment she had made her own when headed in the other direction, -and Adam contented himself in the hay-loft of the barn. - -In the morning they were up betimes, to greet another smiling sun, and -so resumed their leisurely journey toward the north. At noon they halted -as before, and made a meal of the stock of bread and other provisions -they had been able to secure at the farm-house. - -Garde sat upon a mossy bank, while Adam reclined on a stone, somewhat -below her woodland throne. Adam looked at her so long and so steadfastly -that she grew most uneasy, lest he were about to pierce her disguise. - -“What are you looking at?” she said, with an attempt to be boyishly -pert. - -“I was looking at your legs,” said Adam, frankly. “They are uncommonly -symmetrical, but a shade too pretty for a boy.” - -Garde immediately bent the plump objects of interest underneath her and -sat on her heels. - -“You find a great deal of fault with me,” she said, a little vexed. - -“It’s because you have faults, as a boy,” Adam told her, honestly. “You -know, my lad, you could be a bit sturdier and none the worse. And yet, I -like you immensely as you are. Perhaps if you were changed, you would -lose some charm and spoil it all. I shall have to let you be, and -content myself with you as you are.” - -“Oh, thank you,” said Garde, already smiling at him again, to herself. -“Then please make no more remarks about me.” - -“About your legs? Well, I won’t, since you appear so sensitive about -them. Mind you, they will do well enough, after all.” - -“Shall we go on?” Garde asked him. She was a little weary and would have -been glad of further rest, but she found she was much more comfortable -when they were walking side by side. - -Adam was up at once, for walk they never so fast, he felt he could by no -means come up with his thoughts and desires, which had run so far ahead -of them always. - -“Never mind what I say,” said he, as they resumed the onward march. “I -have to have my say out, when I think it. And you know you do puzzle me -constantly.” - -“I don’t see why, or how,” said Garde. - -“It’s because I seem to think I have seen you somewhere before. And yet -I know that is impossible, hence I am driven to think of your -girlishness, for an explanation.” - -Garde said: “I think this is very much in your imagination, Adam Rust.” - -“Not a bit of it,” corrected her comrade. “You were patterned for a -girl, my boy, depend upon it. There was some mistake, or some bit of -trickery, when you became one of us. Why, a man couldn’t even think a -little oath, in your presence.” - -“Then is it not better that I was raised somewhat after the manner of -girls?” said Garde, complimented as much by the reverent tone in his -voice as by what he had said. “Does not the rearing I have known serve -some good purpose, if what you say is so?” - -“By my faith, yes. But then you do admit that you were treated in your -younger days, somewhat as a girl?” - -“I hope it is no shame to confess this is so,” she answered, looking -down on the ground to hide the dancing of her eyes. “I was treated -somewhat in this manner and I was even dressed as a girl, at times.” - -“Ah, that accounts for your bashfulness and so forth. But you need not -blush for this. Bless your heart, a man’s the better for it, if he has -something of the woman in his heart—and even in his hand.” - -“I am glad to hear you say so,” murmured the girl. - -“Oh, yes, it’s all right,” said Adam magnanimously. He looked at her -with frank admiration. “Only it is something of a pity you were not a -girl, you know.” - -“Oh. But why?” - -“Because you would be such an one as a man could love.” - -“But not you, Adam Rust. You have said you love a sweetheart already.” - -“I do—mightily! But if you were a girl I would enjoy finding a man -worthy to love you.” - -“But this is unseemly. You forget that I am a boy.” - -“Yes, for some reason or other, it is easy to forget that. But I was -merely supposing. Say that a man had come along when you were dressed as -a girl—why, what then?” - -“What then indeed,” said she, with some spirit, “would you have talked -like this to me, of—of love?” - -“No, I wouldn’t,” said Rust, stoutly enough. “It would then have been -quite another matter. As it is, you play the deuce with my brain and -fancy. I start in to talk to you as man to man, and then I think you are -almost better fitted to be a girl—and you admit you were raised somewhat -in that manner, so what can one expect?” - -“Well, what if your sweetheart heard you speaking thus?” said Garde, who -was enjoying the situation the more for the very danger of it. “Should -you like to have her hear you telling me I should have made a girl that -a man could—could love?” - -“You being a boy, why not?” Adam made answer. “Ah, she is too present in -my thought and feeling for me to say anything I would be loth for her to -hear.” - -They had arrived at the edge of a brook which was somewhat swelled by -the snow, back on the hills, melting in the genial warmth of the sun. It -was nothing for Adam to stride across, stepping from rock to rock, but -Garde hesitated, her femininity uppermost in a moment, despite her -utmost efforts to be boyish. - -“Here, give us your hand,” said big Adam, turning back to help her over. -“Now, then, jump!” - -Thrilling with the delight of his warm, strong fingers closing so firmly -on her own, Garde came across the brook in safety and then reluctantly -released her grip from his. - -Adam had not escaped unscathed from this contact of love, with which she -was fairly thrilling. He looked at her oddly, when they were safe again -on the further side. Garde caught her breath, in fear that she had -betrayed herself at last, in that moment of weakness. - -“You are too much for me, John,” Adam admitted, shaking his head in -puzzlement. “You are a strange boy.” - -“I thought it was all explained,” Garde replied, anxious to get him -quieted on the subject. “How far should you say it is to Boston?” - -“I think I begin to work it out a little,” the man went on, musingly. -“It’s because you remind me of some one I have known.” - -“Do I?” said Garde, half afraid of her question. “Of whom?” - -“I don’t quite know,” he confessed, looking at her earnestly. “And yet I -ought to be able to tell. It was some one I liked, I am sure.” - -“As much as you did your sweetheart?” - -Adam seemed not to hear this question. “Your complexion,” he resumed, -“makes me think of a sweet maid I knew at Jamaica.” - -“Oh!” - -“And yet your eyes are like those of a lovely French damsel that I met, -one time.” Here he sighed. “Your hands bring back a memory of a charming -Countess at the court of Charles. Some of your ways make me think of a -nice little Indian Princess I once knew; while your ankles—but you don’t -care to hear about your ankles.” - -Garde was duly shocked. She knew not what to think of Adam, who was -revealing such astonishing epochs in his life. This was terrible. Yet -she wished, or almost wished, he had gone on, just a little further, -though she dared not encourage him to do so, right as it might be for -her to know it if his heart had strayed elsewhere, at any time during -his absence. She was alarmed, curious, piqued. She forgot that she was a -boy to whom he had spoken. - -“It seems to me,” she presently answered, “that I remind you of nothing -but the ladies and maids of these countries where you have traveled.” - -“Well, you don’t remind me of the lads, that I admit,” said Adam. - -Garde made up her mind to profit by the occasion. She piled her little -courage up to the top-most mark. - -“And who was the little maid of Jamaica?” she asked. - -“Oh, she was as sweet a little thing as ever prattled Spanish,” Rust -replied, with a reminiscent look in his eyes. “You would have liked her, -I know.” - -Garde entertained and reserved her own opinion on that point. “Well—did -she like you?” she asked, indifferently. - -“Oh yes, she said she did, and I am sure you could depend upon her to -tell the truth. She used to like to sit on my knee, dear little thing!” - -Garde gasped. It was fortunate that Adam’s mind was occupied with -memories. His perfidy was coming forth finely. She knew not whether she -wished to cry or to stamp her foot in anger. She controlled her impulses -heroically. - -“About how old was she?” was her next question. - -“Three, I should say,” said Adam. “She was a pitiful little thing, more -than pretty. In a way she made me think of Garde, so I couldn’t help but -like her.” - -Garde was flooded, all through her being, with feelings of love and -penitence. To think that she had entertained for a moment a notion that -Adam—and yet, stay, there were the others,—dames and countesses. They -could not all have been mere tots of children. Then she wondered if it -were fair, thus to try to trap the poor fellow and take advantage of -him, to make him confess these subjects as to another man. Of course for -his own good it might be better to let him tell. And she would -understand him so much more thoroughly. - -“Was the French damsel only three also?” she summoned courage to -inquire. - -“Oh dear, no. She was three and ninety, but still sprightly in the -minuet and with eyes that could easily have lighted the sun again, had -he chanced to go out. I shouldn’t have been sorry to have her for a -mother—except that I flatter myself I had a better one—once upon a -time.” - -Garde would have felt like a coward indeed, had she desired to ask him -of any of the others. Having done him a little measure of injustice, she -made it up to him by loving him the more, now that she found him so -innocent. Nevertheless she had ears to listen with when he volunteered -some information about the countess he had seen and admired at the court -of Charles. - -It turned out, however, that he had merely seen her safely married to -one of his royal friends, for whose happiness he had the most sincere of -wishes. - -Garde felt her spirit of daring and merriment return. It was so tempting -to play around the point of her identity that she could not altogether -resist the impulse of her nature, to keep him talking. - -“I seem to be happy in reminding you of many persons,” she said. “But I -think I would rather remind you of some one else. Since you claim to be -so much in love, it would compliment me more if I could remind you of -your Mistress Garde.” - -“Maybe you would,” said Adam, “only that I am getting so near to Boston -that such a reminiscence, in a boy, would be sheer impertinence.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - - A HOLIDAY ENDED. - - -HAVING the fortune to be overtaken by a good-natured farmer, who was -trotting his horses northward, along their road, from a trip to market, -the travelers got the benefit of a lift that landed them within a few -hours’ walk of Boston. However, as the farmer’s journey ended where -there were no accommodations, and there was still another hour of light, -which would suffice to bring them to a small hostelry, where Garde knew -she could make such arrangements as she desired, they tramped onward as -before. - -With every step that brought them further toward their destination Adam -waxed more and more impatient to hurry, while Garde found her courage -and her footsteps lagging. - -She had momentarily forgotten her troubles, in the joy of being with -Adam, strolling for hours through the vales of peace and loveliness, but -now her tribulations returned, with compound interest. She yearned over -her smitten grandfather, yet she feared for what he might do, when he -should see her again within his reach, for if he had been well-nigh -insane when she saw him last, how much more violent he might now have -become. - -She trembled likewise at the thought of Randolph, and the measures of -revenge which he might adopt, backed by the power which was sufficient -to uphold or to overthrow the charter. From these meditations she was -tempted to fly to Adam’s arms and implore his protection. It afforded -her infinite relief to think that he would at least be near. If the -worst came of her returning, she would manage to go to him, by some -means, she was certain, and under the stress of circumstances she would -not be deemed immodest in beseeching his protection, for which purpose -she would consent immediately to become his wife. - -Eager to justify herself in what she had done, refusing to believe that -honor had been as nothing and Randolph’s promises all important, she -framed many introductions to the subject, before she could finally begin -to question her fellow-traveler upon it. - -She then began by reciting to him somewhat of the news of Boston town. -She told of the fear for the charter, which had become a mania with the -older patriots, of the baleful power of Randolph and of the culminations -which at last he was beginning to work against the colony. Adam waxed so -wroth against Randolph, whom he remembered distinctly, that she was much -encouraged to go on with a hypothetical case which she soon invented. - -She dared not connect the name of Randolph directly with her story and -questions, lest Adam, when he arrived in Boston, should learn more, -concerning the whole wretched business, and know it was she who had -undergone the ordeal. Also it required a great concentration of her -courage, backed by repeated assurances to herself that Adam thought her -a youth, before she could approach the subject in any manner whatsoever. -Yet she knew she would have no such opportunity to speak to him again -with anything like the freedom which was now possible, and Goody Dune -had made her a sensible young woman. - -“Suppose,” she finally said, “that a man who had influence with the King -threatened to use all his power against the colony and its charter, if -some young girl should refuse to become his wife. Would it be her duty -to marry the man?” - -“That would depend on her spirit of patriotism,” said Adam. “If she -believed she could save the colony from a grave danger, it seems to me -she ought to do so.” - -“Yes—I think so too,” said Garde, honestly. “But suppose she found out -that the man had been very false.” - -“In what manner?” - -“Well,—that he had deceived another young woman.” - -“Do you mean betrayed some other young woman?” said Adam bluntly. - -Garde averted her gaze and answered: “Yes.” - -“Well, suppose this was so, then what is your question?” - -“The question is, what do you think the first young woman should do -then—after she found out that—that this was true?” - -“That would depend again on the particular young woman,” said Rust, who -believed he was speaking as man to man, and who knew that when women are -betrayed it is not always the fault wholly of the male-being in the -case. “If she wanted to save the charter, or anything of that sort, I -don’t see how this would alter the case particularly.” - -“You wouldn’t excuse the man?” said Garde, turning pale under her brown -stain. - -Adam had in mind a painful incident which had occurred in the life of a -friend of his in England. “I might,” he answered. “Possibly a great deal -could be said in defense of the poor devil, in some way or another.” - -“But,” insisted Garde, somewhat desperately, “if you were a girl you -wouldn’t marry such a man?” - -“If I were a girl and I loved him,” said Rust, still thinking of the -case of his friend, “why—I think perhaps I should.” - -“But if you hated and loathed him?” Garde almost cried. - -“Oh, that is quite a different matter. If hate entered in, I should -welcome any excuse to get away. In the actual case of which I was -thinking, it seems to me the girl ought to forgive——But I had forgotten -all about the element of the charter, which we were supposing was to -figure in the case.” - -Garde cared for nothing further about the discussion. He had justified -her, at least partially. She had always felt that Randolph would have -betrayed the colony, even had she sacrificed herself and Adam, to marry -him, as her grandfather had desired. She was now a little troubled that -Adam could think so nearly as her grandfather had done; that he could -really condone such a terrible dishonor in a fellow-man. Had it not been -that, under cover of her present disguise she had proved how true and -good her Adam was, she would have been pained and perhaps worried by his -latitude of thought. She had to finish the subject, so she said: - -“If she—this girl—not only hated the man, but felt sure he would not -keep his promise to do good for the charter, but would deceive her and -every one else, just as he had deceived the other girl—then what ought -she to do?” - -“It would be high time, under those circumstances,” replied her -companion, “to refuse absolutely, or to ship on the first departing -vessel, or to do anything else that would be quick and to the point.” - -“That is just what I think,” said Garde, now well satisfied. - -“It’s more important for us, my boy, to think of what we shall do when -we arrive in Boston, to-morrow,” Adam now remarked. “By the way, do you -know anybody there?” - -Garde hesitated before answering. She had to be clever. “Nobody there -will know me when I get there,” she said, “unless it is some one I might -once have known.” - -Rust did not analyze the ambiguity of this reply. He was engrossed with -other reflections. - -“Have you got any money?” he asked her next. “Because if you haven’t you -can have the half of mine,—not much to speak of, but enough to feed you -and put you to bed. I hope to get into some better tavern than the Crow -and Arrow.” - -“Thank you,” said Garde, looking at him slyly with a tender light of -love in her eyes, “I think I have enough for a time.” - -“If we stop at the same tavern, and have our meals served together, it -will cost you less,” Adam informed her practically, “and besides, I have -grown so fond of you, my boy, that I should be sorry to lose sight of -you, in the town.” - -“But the sooner you lose sight of me, the sooner you will see your -sweetheart,” said Garde, with difficulty restraining her lips from -curving in a smile. - -“Ah, but I shall wish her to know you,” said Adam, generously. “For to -no one else save you have I ever been able to talk of my love for her -sweet self, and this is something of a miracle. As I think upon it, you -do remind me of her often, by your voice, though it is not so sweet as -hers, as I may have said before, and by other tokens, which I am at a -loss to define. But because of these things, I would fight for you, and -with her sweet approval.” - -“I am sure of it,” said Garde. “I trust you will have great joy when you -find her again. And you may tell her for me, if you will, that——well, -that she should love you with her whole soul,——but she does already, I -am sure.” - -“You are a kind as well as a gentle boy,” said Adam to her gravely. “I -am glad it could be no matter to her for me to like you so exceedingly, -you being a boy,——but, boy, you do bedevil my brain with your girlish -ways. I shall never explain you, I’ll be sworn.” - -“Here is where we turn, for the night’s rest,” Garde replied, avoiding -the puzzled look which Rust directed to her face. “We have had a -pleasant journey of it together. I shall never forget it.” - -“Let’s wait till it’s finished before we sum it up,” said Adam. -“To-morrow we have a few more hours, ere we reach the town, and these -may be the pleasantest of all.” - -Yet when the boy said good night to him, after their supper, he felt a -strange sense of loss for which he was wholly unable to account. - -In the morning the matter was somewhat explained. The boy had arisen -before the sun and gone on her way without him. - -It was not without a little pang in his heart that the rover trudged -onward, alone. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - - IN BOSTON TOWN. - - -GARDE fairly ran, when she made her early morning start. She had not -been able to think of any other solution of the problem of getting back -to her own proper sphere without permitting Adam to become aware of the -whole situation. She had not come to her resolution to cope with the -difficulty thus without many little sighs of regret and a few little -fears of what might be the consequences. Nevertheless, she had seen the -necessity of prompt action, after which she had felt a desire only for -haste. She was, however, buoyed up by the glad thought that Adam would -not be long behind her, in his march to town, hence she would soon be -seeing him there, under circumstances which would make it possible to -accept his love and to lean upon his strong, protecting arm. - -The sun was no more than an hour up in the sky when she came to the -outskirts of Boston and ran quickly on to Goody Dune’s. Goody was not at -all surprised to see her thus returning. Indeed she had looked to see -her back at least a week earlier. The old woman, preparing against this -moment, had plaited the long locks of hair which Garde had been obliged -to leave behind, and these she helped the truant to wind upon her head, -with some semblance of natural growth, an effect which she heightened by -providing a small lace cap, which made of Mistress Merrill a very -demure-appearing little person. - -The brown stain rapidly succumbed to Goody’s treatment with vinegar. -Garde emerged from the mask as rosy and cream white as an apple, for the -open air and the days with Adam had wrought such evidence of health and -happiness upon her that not the dread of what she might discover at -home, nor any excitement of being in the land of her enemy, could make -any paleness in her face of more than a moment’s duration. She was too -excited to eat, although Goody tried to urge her to take even a cup of -tea, and so she went on to her grandfather’s house, and let herself in, -at the rear. - -As Granther Donner’s sister had passed away a number of years before, he -had been left quite to himself when Garde decamped. But when his illness -came so suddenly upon him, Mrs. Soam and Prudence, both persuaded that -Garde was almost, if not entirely, in the right, appeared dutifully at -his bedside as ministering angels. - -Thus Garde, upon entering the kitchen, found her Aunt Gertrude engaged -in preparing a breakfast. The good lady was startled. - -“Why—Garde!” she gasped. “Oh, dear me, is it really you? Child, where -have you been? Oh, David is very ill indeed. I am so glad you have come -home!” - -“I came because I heard he was ill,” said Garde, who was more calm than -might have been expected. “I didn’t know you were here. It was real good -of you to come, dear aunty. I suppose you will scold me.” - -“It was all a terrible thing,” said her aunt, “but John says he thinks -Mr. Randolph meant to take away our charter anyway.” - -“Oh, I am sure of it!” cried Garde, so glad to hear of a partisan. “If I -hadn’t believed that, I don’t think I should ever have run away. Oh, -thank you, so much, dear aunty! I am so glad. God bless Uncle John! I -knew I was right!” - -“But your uncle and all of us are very sad,” her aunt proceeded to add. -“They don’t think we will have the charter through the summer. It is a -terrible time, but they all say that Randolph must have been getting -ready, or he couldn’t have done so much so quickly. It is a sad day for -Massachusetts. But, there, run in and see David, do,—but, dearie, don’t -be surprised if he doesn’t seem to know you.” - -In the dining-room Garde and Prudence met, a moment later. - -“Good morning, Garde,” said the cousin, without the slightest sign of -emotion. - -Garde kissed her, impulsively. “Oh, I am so glad to see you, dear!” she -said. Indeed love had so wrought upon her that she felt she had never so -cared for any one before as she did for all these dear ones now. - -She hastened on to her grandfather, and Prudence was left there, looking -where her cousin had gone and solemnly wishing she also might do -something emotional and startling. - -But a few hours only sufficed to reduce the spirit of wildness and -youthful exhilaration which Garde had brought with her back from the -road in the forest. To hear the old patriot raving, childishly, and -crying and praying over the charter and over Garde as a baby, which was -the way he seemed to remember his grandchild, was a thing that rent her -heart and drove all joy from the life of care into which she came, in -her mood of penitence and quiet. - -The days slipped by and became weeks. Prudence returned to her father at -once. Goodwife Soam remained to help Garde over the crisis, and then she -too left the girl with the stricken old man, who had become a prattling -child, on whom the word “Charter” acted like a shock to make him -instantly insane against his daughter’s child. - -In the meantime Adam Rust, having come to Boston in a moment when -excitement, despair and bitter feeling, such as the town nor the colony -had ever known before, and which completely altered the Puritan people, -had heard a garbled story of Randolph’s perfidy and his attempt to marry -Garde which made his blood boil. Fortunately the fact that Garde had run -away had been kept so close a secret, that more persons had heard how -devotedly she was attending David Donner than knew any hint of her -escapade. Adam having first paid his respects to Mrs. Phipps, to whom he -delivered the Captain’s messages and letters, had found himself -apartments in a tavern quite removed from the Crow and Arrow, where he -had been able easily to avoid all his former acquaintances of Boston. He -might have desired to search out Wainsworth, but Henry was away at -Salem. Randolph, of whom Adam naturally thought, had betaken himself to -New York, there to conclude some details of snatching the charter from -the colony of Massachusetts. - -Once settled, Adam lost no time in searching for Garde. Thus he was soon -made aware of the state of the Donner household, into the affairs of -which it would have been anything but thoughtful and kind to obtrude his -presence. With a courteous patience he set himself to wait for a seemly -moment in which to apprise Garde of his reappearance. He told himself -that, as she had no intimation that he had returned to Boston, it would -be a greater kindness to keep himself in the background, until her -trials should be lessened. - -Naturally all these various matters had somewhat obliterated from his -mind the thoughts of the youth with whom he had traveled from the -environs of Plymouth. While he was curbing his spirit and his too -impatient love, a message arrived, in care of Goodwife Phipps, from -Captain William Kidd, to the effect that the beef-eaters, far from -recuperating after their voyage, had become seriously ill, and were -begging each day for the “Sachem.” - -Rust had been contemplating the acceptance of an offer from Mrs. Phipps -to assume command at the ship-yard, the foreman in charge being then -arrogating powers unto himself which were not at all quieting. Adam -reflected that if he took this place he could settle down, marry his -sweetheart presently, and become a sober citizen. - -With the advent of the message from the beef-eaters, he was completely -at a loss to know what to do. He yearned over these faithful companions, -whose affection had been repeatedly demonstrated, under circumstances -the most trying. If they should die while he remained away, selfishly -denying them so little a thing as his presence, he would never obtain -his own forgiveness. Yet he could not go to New York, or any other where -on earth, without first having at least seen Garde. Indeed he reflected -now that mayhap it had been a mistaken kindness for him to remain away -from her side so long. Should he not have gone to her long before, and -offered what service he could render in her trial? - -As a matter of fact he had been kind as it was, for Garde had hardly -enjoyed a moment in which to do so much as to think of love and her -lover. Her grandfather had occupied her attention day and night. She had -stinted him in nothing, else with her spirit of penitence upon her—for -all that she had helped to hasten upon him—she could never have had any -peace of mind nor contentment in her soul. - -But at last, when the old man was out of danger, sitting in his chair by -the hour, she had time to think of Adam again and to wonder why it was -that he had never attempted to see her. She answered herself by saying -it was better that he had not done so, but then, when she suddenly -thought that he might have heard all manner of wild stories, and might -indeed have gone away, angered and not understanding the truth, she -yearned for him feverishly. - -As if the message of her love flew unerringly to him, Adam suddenly, in -the midst of thinking of going to the beef-eaters, determined to see his -sweetheart, cost what it might. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - - LOVE’S GARDEN. - - -AFTER nearly a week of rain and dull, gray skies, the weather was again -entrancing. The warm, soporific breeze which played through the house -lulled Grandther Donner off to sleep, as he sat in his chair, staring at -vacancy and rubbing his thumb across the ends of his fingers. - -Garde, responding to the mood of coming summer, could not resist the -impulse to go out into the garden, which to her would always be -associated with her childish meeting with Adam Rust, and which therefore -now made of her yearning to see him a positive force. - -Thus it doubtless appeared to her as an answer to her longing when she -felt a presence and glanced up at the gate, to see him standing there, -as he had so many years before, with two of the pickets clasped in his -big, strong hands. - -Her heart gave a leap that almost hurt, so suddenly did it send the -ecstasy bounding through her veins. Yet so sublimated was the look on -Adam’s face, as, with parted lips and visible color rising and falling -in his face, he gazed at her, steadfastly, and as one entranced, that -she went toward him as slowly as if walking might disturb the spell. - -One of her hands, like a homing dove, came up to press on her bosom -above her heart. She was pale, for the cares of those weeks had bleached -the rose-tints from her cheeks. Nevertheless, the moment painted them -with vestal flames of love’s own lamp, as she looked into Adam’s eyes -and saw the tender passion abiding there. - -“Adam, I prithee come in,” she said, in a soft murmur, unconsciously -repeating what she had said when first he had leaned upon this gate. - -As one approaching something sacred, Adam came in and took her two hands -in his. He raised them slowly to his lips, and then pressed them -together against his breast. - -“Garde,” he said, almost whispering. “Garde. My little Garde.” - -“Oh, Adam,” she answered. - -They looked at one another and smiled, she through shining tears. Then -they laughed, for there were no words, there was nothing which could -absolutely express their overflowing joy, but their laughing, which was -wholly spontaneous, came the nearest. - -“Oh, I have been so afraid this moment would never come,” said Garde, -presently, when she could trust herself to speak. “It has been such a -long, long time to wait.” - -“I love you. Garde, dearest, I love you,” said Adam. “I love to say that -I love you. I could say it all day: ‘Garde, I love you. Garde, I love -you, dear, and love you.’ I have told every star in the heavens to tell -you how I love you, dear. But I would rather tell you myself. Let me see -you. Let me look at you, sweetheart.” He still held her hands, but at -arms’ length away, and looked at her blushing face with such an -adoration in his eyes as she had never beheld. - -Indeed, Adam’s passion had swept her from her feet. It possessed her, -enveloped her form, held her enthralled in an ecstasy so profound that -she gasped to catch her breath, while her heart leaped as if it were -pealing out her happiness. - -They were standing thus, oblivions of everything, when a sour-visaged -Puritan, passing by the gate, halted a moment to look at them -malignantly. It was none other than Isaiah Pinchbecker, the scolding -hypocrite who had danced to Adam’s fiddling, several years before. He -suddenly gave himself a nudge in the ribs. His eyes lighted up with grim -satisfaction. He had recognized the rover, and with news in his narrow -head he hastened away, prodding himself assiduously as he went. - -In the meantime, Grandther Donner, whose naps lasted hardly as long as -forty winks, had awakened. He started from his sleep as if he had -suddenly caught himself neglecting to watch the charter. Glancing -hastily about the room, he missed Garde at once. In his brain, two cells -had broken their walls so that their substance commingled, till Garde -and the charter seemed at times the same, and always so interlinked that -he dared not let her go a yard from his sight. - -He tottered to his feet, and rubbing his thumb diligently across the -ends of his fingers, went out at the open door, toward his grandchild, -guided by some sense which in an animal is often highly developed. He -came upon the scene in the garden just as Adam, after looking his heart -full, nearly to bursting, had drawn Garde close again, to kiss her hands -in uncontainable joy. - -At sight of Adam’s costume, which was not a great departure from that of -the Royalists of the day, in contradistinction from that of the -Puritans, David Donner flew into a violent rage. He raised his two -palsied hands above his head and screamed. - -“Garde!” he cried, “Garde! Kill that man—Kill him!—kill him! The -charter! The King’s devil! Kill him! He’s ripping the charter to pieces -with his teeth!” - -He came running toward them, clawing his nails down across his face till -he made his pale cheeks bleed, and tore out little waving filaments, -like gossamer, from his snow-white hair. Almost at their feet he fell -full length, where he struck at the soil and dug in his finger nails, -frantically, all the while making terrible sounds in his paroxysm, most -dreadful to hear. - -Adam and Garde had started, he merely alert in the presence of the -unexpected, she in a fear that sent the color from her face so abruptly -that it seemed she must swoon at once. She uttered one little cry, clung -galvanically to Adam’s fingers for a second, and then bent quickly down -to place her hand on the old man’s head. - -His delirious fury lasted but a moment. It then subsided as quickly as -it had come, leaving him limp, exhausted, dull-eyed and panting like -some run-down animal. A more pitiable sight than he then became, as he -began to weep, shaken by the convulsive sobs which sometimes possess the -frame of a man, Adam hoped he should never be obliged to witness. - -Well as he understood that the sight of himself had precipitated this -painful episode, Adam was also now aware that the old man, for the -moment, saw and comprehended nothing. He therefore lifted him tenderly -up in his arms and carried him into the house, placing him gently down -on a lounge which he readily saw had been recently employed for the old -man’s couch. - -Garde had followed, her hands clasped together, the look of a tired -mother in her face, making it infinitely sweet and patient. - -“Garde, dear, forgive me,” said Adam. “I came too soon to see you.” - -“Oh Adam!” she said, sadly. “In a few days, a week, dear, he is sure to -be better.” - -“Is there anything I can do?” said Adam, from the depths of his distress -and sympathy and love. - -“Oh, he is coming back to himself. Go, Adam, please,” said Garde, “don’t -wait, dear, please. Come back to the gate, this evening.” - -Adam went without so much as waiting to say good-by, for Garde had -turned to her grandfather quickly, and anything further he might have -said he abandoned, when David feebly spoke. - -Depressed by the whole affair immeasurably, Adam was still too exalted -by love’s great flight to dwell for long upon old Donner’s mania. His -worries for Garde, in her tribulations, however, were strewn like sad -flowers of thought through his reverie. He longed to help her, yet he -knew how utterly impossible such a thing would be. - -Walking aimlessly, he came before long to the harbor shore. The melted -emerald and sapphire, which the sea was rolling against the rocks, with -sparkles of captured sunlight glinting endlessly through and upon the -lazy billows, gave him the greatest possible sense of delight. He sat -down on a rock where the green velvet moss had dried like fur, after a -wetting. - -No king on a throne ever detected more evidences of the world’s gladness -than did the rover, thinking away the hours of that balmy afternoon. He -forgot all about dinner, when the sun went down, and he had nearly -forgotten old man Donner, when at length he started to his feet, in the -twilight, in love with the evening for having come so soon, although -half an hour before he had been thinking the day would never end. - -He was soon at the gate in front of Donner’s house, listening, watching -the darkened windows, holding his breath as every fragrant zephyr -trailed its perfumes by, thinking Garde was coming, preceded by the -redolence attendant on her loveliness. - -But he had many such breathless moments of suspense, in vain. Evening -glided into the arms of night. The hours winged by, on raven wings, and -still no Garde appeared. Adam paced up and down, restoring, time after -time, the picture of Garde as he had seen her, during those precious few -moments before the interruption. - -He was not conscious of the flight of time. He was well content to be -near where his lady was and to wait there, knowing that she knew he was -waiting, thinking of her, as he knew she was thinking of him. He clasped -his hands back of his head; then he folded his arms, the better to press -on his heart; then he stopped and tossed kisses to the silent house, -after which he again walked back and forth, pausing to listen, and then -going on as before. - -At length, near midnight, he stood looking up at the stars, completely -absorbed in a dream he was fashioning to suit himself. - -There was a faint flutter. - -“Adam—oh, are you there?” said a sweet voice, subdued and a bit -tremulous. “Oh, I am so glad you didn’t go away, discouraged.” - -Adam had turned about instantly, a glad sound upon his lips. In one -stride he reached the gate and caught her two trembling hands where they -rested on the pickets. - -“Dearest!” he murmured to her joyously. “At last!” - -“I can only stop a minute, Adam,” said Garde, who was quaking a little, -lest her grandfather wake and come again into the garden. “He has been -very restless, and he wouldn’t go to sleep, and he wakes up so easily! -But I couldn’t let you go away like that. And I have tried to come out -five times, but he woke up every time, and now I must say good night, -Adam, and run right back at once.” - -“Oh, but I love you so,” said Adam, illogically. “If you must go, -though, you must. I know I can never tell you how much I love you, -dearest.” - -“Oh, Adam!” she said, expressing more than he did, poor fellow, in all -his protestations. “Oh, dear! I really must go, Adam. But in about a -week I am sure he will be much better.” - -“Shan’t I see you for a week?” said he. - -“It might be better not,” she answered, “if we could wait.” - -“I could go down to see my poor old beef-eaters, I suppose,” Adam mused. - -In relating his travels, on the road, he had told Garde of the -beef-eaters, so that now, although she said nothing to betray herself, -she understood what he meant. - -“And then you’ll come back, as soon as you can, in a few days, or a -week?” she asked. “Oh, dear—it is too bad. But, Adam, I must not remain -another single minute. I must say good night, dear, and run.” - -Adam had remained on his own side of the gate, retaining her hands, -which he had kissed repeatedly, till they fairly burned with their -tingling. He now reached over the gate and took her sweet face between -his two big palms. - -“Good night, dearest little love,” he said, and slowly leaning forward, -he kissed her, once—then he kissed her three times more. - -She started slowly away, looking back at him lovingly. - -“Oh, Garde!” he whispered. - -She stopped and came fluttering back to meet him. He had let himself in -at the gate with one quick movement. He took her home to his arms and -held her in breathless joy against his throbbing heart. With love in her -eyes her face was turned upward to his own. - -“My Adam!” she said, with all the fervor of her nature. - -“My love! My darling!” he responded. - -He kissed her again. It was a warm, sweet kiss that brought their very -souls to their lips. Then he dropped down on his knee and kissed her -hands and pressed their fragrant palms against his face. - -“My love!” he said. “My own love!” - -She nestled in his arms yet once again. She gave him the one more kiss -that burned on her lips to be taken, and then she fled swiftly to the -house. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - - THE ENEMY IN POWER. - - -ADAM found his faithful beef-eaters on the verge of the grave. The -miserable old rogues had no better sense than to be pining to death like -two masterless dogs. They had been ill enough, in all conscience, and -even somewhat mentally disordered, but there had been no sufficient -grounds for the pair to believe themselves abandoned by their “Sachem,” -and there had been absolutely no excuse for them to refuse to eat. - -However, the rascals nearly “wagged” themselves to pieces when Rust was -finally beside them, and the way they laughed was most suggestively like -the glad whimpering of two dumbly loving animals expressing their joy. -Adam would have scolded the two for having brought themselves to such a -condition of weakness and bones, only that he had not the heart to do -this justice to the case. - -There was, however, no such thing as getting the old fellows back on -their pins in a week, nor yet in two, nor three. They even hesitated, -after he had come, between running backward toward their long sleep and -coming along with him to vales of renewed health. They were like -affectionate creatures divided between two masters. The grim visitor had -come so near to winning them both, with his beckoning, that they -appeared to think it their duty to die. - -Adam, however, was a persuasive force. He had won them away from -themselves before; he won them again on this occasion. Captain Kidd, a -braw Scotsman, who ordinarily dropped his native dialect, having little -affection for his country, his father having suffered tortures for -becoming a non-conformist clergyman, felt he must needs relapse into -something barbaric to express himself on the beef-eaters. - -“Of all the twas that ere twad,” said he, “you’re muckle the strangest -twa.” - -By this he meant to convey that of all the couples that ever mated, the -two old rascals were the oddest pair. - -The convalescence being a slow affair, Adam was obliged to give up all -thought of returning immediately to Boston. Yet so hopeful was he that -every day would perform some miracle of restoring the strength to the -muscles and the meat to the bones of his retinue, that it was not until -he had been away from Garde for more than three weeks that he finally -wrote to tell her of why he had failed to return. But the letter, for -some unknown reason, was never delivered. - -At length, however, what with the fulness of summer come upon them and -the hope which Adam had inspired in their breasts, the beef-eaters -became padded out to the fulness of their old-time grandeur, and once -more swaggered about and bragged of their prowess. - -Adam’s money had, by this time, dwindled down to a sum which was not at -all difficult to transport from place to place, nor even from pocket to -pocket. Having no heart to put the retinue on shipboard, to convey them -to Massachusetts, he sacrificed nearly his last bit of coin to secure -them passage, by coach and wagon, from Manhattan to Boston. This left -him either one of two expedients for himself. He could walk, or he could -make shift to secure a passage by vessel, giving work as payment for the -favor. He argued that once in Boston he would accept the position -offered by Goodwife Phipps at the ship-yard, and hither also would he -take his followers, so that by honest toil they might all be happy and -continue their time-sealed companionship, and desert the rolling-stone -business as an occupation. - -It was not without misgivings that the beef-eaters accepted this -arrangement. But being obedient things that would willingly have gone -into fire, or the sea itself, at Adam’s command or wish, they meekly -bade him a temporary adieu and saw him depart before them, a ship being -several days ahead of the coach in point of time for departing. - -In the meantime, history had been making fast in Boston. The crafty -Randolph, whose coup had long been prepared, had returned from New -Amsterdam, bearing a commission from the King of England declaring the -charter null and void and delegating upon him power to form a new -provisional government for the colony of Massachusetts. Great tracts of -territory, comprising New Hampshire, Maine and other areas, were lopped -off from the province at one fell blow. Randolph created Joseph Dudley -provisional governor, Dudley having long been seeking his favor, against -this final moment of changes. The courts fell into the hands of the -newly-elected power. The soldiers, constabulary, everything assumed an -ultra-English tone and arrogance. The people clenched their fists and -wrought their passions up to a point where rebellions are lighted in a -night. - -Yet Boston was a loyal town, obedient to its liege lord and nearly as -eager to serve him and to do him homage as it was to preserve its -liberties and the independence, which gradual development had created -and long usage had confirmed as inalienable, in the belief of all the -patriotic citizens. Stoughton and Bradstreet, beholding the -revolutionary tendency, which would have plunged the colony most -unwisely into a sea of trouble, submitted to the new order of things, -which for long they had seen coming, inevitably, out of the malignant -spirit in which the Stuart dynasty had always desired to govern these -non-conformist hard-heads. - -There were many creatures in Boston swift to join the Tory party, under -Randolph, for the plums of official recognition. Thus this party rapidly -assumed considerable dimensions, and therefore power, to add to that of -which the King himself was the fountain-head. - -Boston at that time was a prosperous town of something more than six -thousand souls. It was substantially built, if crookedly, for the most -part of wood. Yet there was a fair sprinkling of brick houses along its -cow-path streets, and a few were of stone, which, in several instances, -had been brought to this undeveloped land from England. The town was -distinctly English, both as to customs and thoughts, but the seeds which -hardihood had sown, were to grow the pillars of Americanism—synonymous -with a spirit of Democracy sufficient to inspire the world! - -Naturally Isaiah Pinchbecker became a master-jackal under the new -régime. Psalms Higgler, the lesser light of lick-spittling, became, by -the same token, a lesser carnivora, but no less hungry to be feeding on -the foe-masters of the recent past. And Pinchbecker, having found Adam -in the town, was alert to find him again. - -Yet not even Pinchbecker, with his knife-edge mind, devoted to evolving -schemes of vengeance, could have comprehended the tigerish joy with -which Randolph remembered Adam Rust, from that morning in the Crow and -Arrow, and with which he now put two and two together, to arrive at -Adam’s relationship with Garde Merrill. - -Randolph was a subtle schemer, never fathomed by the Puritans, against -whom he displayed such an implacable hatred. He was far too wise ever to -appear as the point, when a thrust of revenge was to be delivered. He -never for a moment relaxed his obsequious demeanor, nor his air of -injured guiltlessness. Like all men of power, he had much material, -self-offered, from which to choose his henchmen. He had chosen -Pinchbecker wisely, for a hypocrite, a fawner, and an arrant knave who -could work endless harm, in an underhanded fashion. But for his more -aggressive employment he attached to his service a great, burly brute, -with a face like a mastiff’s, an intelligence like a sloth’s, and a -courage like that of a badger. This masterpiece of human animalism -responded to the name of “Gallows,” for once a man had been hanged on -his back, as in early English-Irish usage, and of this he was -matchlessly proud. - -Adam arrived in the midst of that first elation of Randolph and his -following, the like of which is frequently the cause of reaction so -violent as to quite reverse the fates themselves. But although the -Puritans hated Dudley, almost more than Randolph, for traitorously -joining the party of destruction, their growlings checked nothing of the -all-importance which the creatures in power felt and made their -fellow-beings feel. A spirit of sullen brooding settled on the people. - -Unaware that Rust had been away from Boston, since he had seen him that -day in Donner’s garden with Mistress Merrill, Pinchbecker had been -seeking for him diligently, ever since Randolph’s return. But believing -that his quarry would be found eventually in the vicinity of the Crow -and Arrow, his field of investigations was narrow. - -It had naturally happened, however, that Adam had quite forgotten to -tell the beef-eaters of his change of abode in Boston. They would -therefore proceed to the old tavern immediately upon their arrival. He -thought of this before he landed. Having come ashore at twilight, he -made it his duty to stroll to the Crow and Arrow, for the purpose of -leaving a message for Pike and Halberd, when at last they should come to -the town. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - - A FIGHT AT THE TAVERN. - - -IT was a quiet time of the day, in a quiet part of the city. Adam -discerned one or two individuals only and was not concerned with noting -that he was suddenly preceded by a noiseless person, who hastened ahead -of him to the tavern. The rover was much more occupied in observing the -beauties of a horse that stood hitched to a post across the way from the -public house. - -The animal, a fine bay, imported from England, was the property of one -of Randolph’s followers, a drinking young dandy with questionable -ambitions and many extravagant tastes. Charmed by the horse’s -impatience, as evinced by his pawing at the ground, Adam was tempted to -get astride his back for a gallop. - -However, after standing for a moment on the sidewalk, while his gaze -caressed the champing animal, he turned and passed on into the tavern. -Desiring to conclude his business as speedily as possible, he was -somewhat annoyed to find the way to the bar, in front of the landlord, -completely blocked by a great hulk of a creature, with a sword loosely -girt about his loins, and two or three others, of whom the rover took -less notice. - -“By your leave,” he said, politely, not yet suspicious of the odd -silence which had fallen on the company at his entrance, “I would like -to get to the——” - -“What!” roared the big lout, whom he had slightly touched upon the arm. -“Who the devil are you? Keep your hands off of me, you fool!” - -The person on whom Adam looked was Gallows, whose face, florid almost to -being purple, was so savagely contorted as to comprise an insult in -itself. - -“My cross-eyed friend,” retorted Adam, whose temper had risen without -delay, “have done looking at yourself, if you would see no fool. If you -will tell me which hand I put on you, I’ll cut it off, else I may live -to see it rot!” - -The company had turned about at once. Pinchbecker was there, with his -satellite, Psalms Higgler, the little white-eyed scamp that Adam had -once dropped from the near-by window. The foppish young Englishman, who -owned the horse outside, was likewise in the party. They all saw the -burly Gallows turn to them hopelessly, befuddled by Adam’s answer. - -“You be a fool!” he roared again, his eyes bulging out of their sockets -in his wrath, “and I be the fool-killer!” - -The company guffawed at this, the monster’s solitary sally of wit. - -“You are a liar by the fact that you live,” said Rust. “Bah, you disgust -me with the thought of having the duties, which you have so patently and -outrageously neglected, thrust upon me. Begone. There’s no fire to roast -a barbecue, if I should be minded to spit you!” - -The creature looked again at his fellows, who had obviously egged him -on. - -“He insults you right prettily, good Gallows,” said the dandy, who was -himself a rascal banished from his own country. “But he dare not fight -you, we can see it plainly.” - -“With you thrown in, I dare say there might be a moment’s sport in a -most unsavory blood-letting,” said Rust, whose hand went to his -sword-hilt calmly. “I should want some fresh air if I stuck either one -of you carrion-fed buzzards.” - -Gallows knew by this that it was time to draw his blade. “You be a fool -and I be the fool-killer,” he roared as before, this being his best hold -on language to suit the occasion. Only now he came for Adam like a -butcher. - -“Outside—go outside, gentlemen!” cried the landlord excitedly. - -“Go outside!” said the voice of some one who was not visible. It was -Randolph, concealed in the adjoining room and watching the proceedings -through a narrow crack, where he had opened the door. - -“Go on out, and I’ll fight you!” bellowed Gallows. - -“After you,” said Rust, whose blade was out and being swiftly passed -under his exacting eye. “Go out first. You will need one more breath -than I.” - -The brute obeyed, as if he had to do so and knew it, receiving Adam’s -order like the clod he was. - -The other creatures made such a scrambling to see the show, and -otherwise evinced such an abnormal interest in the coming fight, that -Adam had no trouble in divining that the whole affair had been -prearranged, and that if he did not get killed, he would be arrested, -should he slay his opponent. He concluded he was something of a match -for the whole outfit. - -“Have at you, mountain of foul meat,” he said, as he tossed down his -hat. “What a mess you will make, done in slices!” - -The young dandy laughed, despite himself, from his place by the door. - -Gallows needed no further exasperations. He came marching up to Rust and -made a hack at him, mighty enough and vicious enough to break down the -stoutest guard and cleave through a man’s whole body as well. - -Rust had expected no less than such a stroke. He spared his steel the -task of parrying the Gallows’ slash. Nimbly leaping aside, he made a -motion that had something debonair in its execution, and cut a ghastly -big flap, like a steak, from the monster’s cheek. - -The fellow let out an awful bellow and ran at his opponent, striking at -him like a mad Hercules. - -“Spare yourself, fool-killer,” said Adam. He dared to bow, as he dodged -a mighty onslaught, in which Gallows used his sword like a hatchet, and -then he flicked the giant’s ear away, bodily, taking something also of -his jowl, for good measure. - -The great hulk stamped about there like an ox, the blood hastening down -from his face and being flung in spatters about him. Adam next cut him -deeply in the muscle of his great left arm. - -“I warm to my work,” he said, as he darted actively away and back. -“Gentlemen, is your choice for a wing or a leg of the ill-smelling -bird?” - -The dandy, fresh from England, guffawed and cried “Bravo!” He had been -born a gentleman, in spite of himself. - -The fight was a travesty on equality. The monster was absolutely -helpless. He was simply a vast machine for butchery, but he must needs -first catch his victim before he could perform his offices. He was a -terrible sight, with his great sword raised on high, or ripping downward -through the air, as he ran, half blinded by his own gore, to catch the -rover, who played with him, slicing him handily, determined not to kill -the beast and so to incur a penalty for murder. - -The creatures inside the tavern, appalled by the exhibition they had -brought about, saw that their monster was soon to be a staggering tower -of blood and wounds. - -“Don’t let him get away! Kill him! Kill him!” said the voice of -Randolph, from behind the others. - -Adam heard him. He saw Pinchbecker shrink back at once. Psalms Higgler, -however, glad of an excuse and ready to take advantage of a man already -sufficiently beset, came scrambling out. The foppish gentleman was too -much of a sport to take a hand against such a single swordsman as he -found in Rust. - -Aware that he was to have no chance, and convinced abruptly that these -wretches had plotted to kill him, Adam deftly avoided Gallows, as the -dreadful brute came again upon him, and slashing the fellow’s leg behind -the knee, ham-strung him instantly. - -Roaring like a wounded bull, the creature dropped down on his side, and -then got upon his hands and knees and commenced to crawl, wiping out his -eyes with his reddened hands. - -Unable to restrain his rage, and fearing his intended victim would yet -avoid him, Higgler being already at bay and disarmed, Randolph came -abruptly out from the tavern himself, pistol in hand, to perform the -task which otherwise was doomed to failure. - -“Call the guard!” he cried. “Call the guard!” - -Adam had been waiting for some such treachery. He cut at the pistol the -second it rose, knocking it endways and slicing Randolph’s arm, -superficially, from near the wrist to the elbow. He waited then for -nothing more. - -Across the road, before any one guessed his intention, he was up on the -back of the horse, before the yelled protest of the English gentleman -came to his ears. - -“Gentlemen all,” he called to the group, “good evening.” - -Clapping his heels to the ribs of the restive animal, he rode madly -away, just as Isaiah Pinchbecker, with half a dozen constables came -running frantically upon the scene. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - - A REFUGEE. - - -IRRESPONSIBLY joyous, thus to be in a saddle, on a spirited horse, Rust -was soon dashing across the common and turning about like a centaur, for -ease and grace, glanced back to see who might be joining in the race. -His naked sword was still in his hand. It was red from point to hilt. He -wiped it on the horse, thereby causing the animal to plunge and to run -in a frenzy of nervousness. - -Adam chortled. The affair from beginning to end, from his present -standpoint, appealed to his sense of humor. The consequences of his -adventure would be presented to his mind soon enough. He merely knew now -that he had won out of a tight corner, as a gentleman should, that a -glorious animal was bounding beneath him and, that sweet night air came -rushing upon him as if it opened its arms to receive him. - -Aware that he would soon be pursued, and mentally acknowledging that the -horse was not his own, he rode to a farm-house about a mile or so out -from the town, and there dismounted. Reluctantly he said farewell to the -charger, bidding the farmer have the animal returned to Boston in the -morning, with his thanks and compliments. For the service he presented -the wondering man with a piece of silver, the last he had of the small -amount left him after paying the fares of the beef-eaters up to -Massachusetts. - -Coolly inviting himself to have a bite of the farmer’s scanty supper, he -bade the man good night, about five minutes before the mounted -constables came riding hotly to the place. He even heard them, when they -left the farm and began to scour the woods to jump him up. At this he -smiled with rare good humor, confident of the powers of superior -wood-craft to baffle anybody or anything in all Massachusetts, save -alone an Indian. - -Understanding all the delighted chucklings of the forest as he did, he -felt at once secure among the trees, as one of the family. Moreover he -loved to be wandering in the woods at night. He continued to walk, on -and on, beginning to wonder at last what he really intended to do. Then, -at the thought of Garde, who might be expecting to see him, and whom he -very much desired again to see, he waxed somewhat impatient with this -enforced flight from the town where she was. - -The more he thought upon it, then, the more impossible it seemed for him -to return. Against Randolph, enthroned in power, and against all his -wretched disciples, he could not expect to breathe a word which would -avail to get him justice. It would be sheer madness to make the attempt. -The creatures would charge him with all the crimes on the calendar, and, -swearing all to one statement, would convict him of anything they chose. -The whole affair had been planned to beat him, or worse, and to a -galling extent it had quite succeeded. He was balked, completely and -absolutely, in whatsoever direction his meditations turned. To try to -see Garde would be fairly suicidal. Not to see her, especially after his -promises, would be, to a man so much in love as he, a living death. - -And again, the beef-eaters. What was to become of his faithful retinue? -They would arrive there, only to find that he had again deserted them, -leaving them wholly at the mercy of Randolph and his jackals. These -demons would not be slow at recognizing who and what Pike and Halberd -were, from episodes of the past. The two would go straight into the -lion’s mouth, at the Crow and Arrow. - -He thought at first of going to Plymouth. He could write to Garde from -there, he reflected, and also to Halberd and Pike. But he soon concluded -that this would be to walk merely into the other end of the enemy’s -trap, for no good or comforting purpose. New York presented itself as a -jurisdiction where Randolph’s arm would have no power to do him harm. -But New York was a long way off. If he went there, not only would he -miss seeing Garde, but he could not warn his retinue in time to keep -them out of Randolph’s clutches. - -The business was maddening. He began to think, as a consequence of -dwelling on the hopelessness of his own situation, that Randolph would -be aiming next at Garde herself, in wreaking his dastardly vengeance for -his past defeats. This was intolerable. He halted, there in the dark -woods, swaying between the good sense of hiding and the nonsense of -going straight back to the town, to carry Garde away from the harpies, -bodily. - -A picture of old David Donner, stricken, helpless, a child, arose in his -mind, to confront him and to mock his Quixotic scheme. He could not -carry both Garde and her grandfather away to New York, nor even to the -woods. He was penniless. This was not the only obstacle, even supposing -Donner would consent so to flee, which was not at all likely. - -It was also certain that Garde would not permit him to carry her off and -leave the old man behind. But at least, he finally thought, he could go -back to the town and be near, to protect her, if occasion should require -a sword and a ready wit. Could he but manage to do this—to go there -secretly and remain there unknown—he could gather his beef-eaters about -him and together they could and would combat an army! - -But how to go back and be undetected, that was the question. In the -first place he despised the idea of doing anything that did not smack of -absolute boldness and fearlessness. Yet Boston was a seething whirlpool -of Randolph’s power, at this time. Simply to be caught like a rat and -killed like a pest would add nothing of glory to his name, nor could it -materially add to Garde’s happiness and safety. - -Driven into a corner of his brain, as it were, by all these moves and -counter-moves on the chess-board of the situation, he presently -conceived a plan which made him hug himself in sheer delight. - -He would simply disguise himself as an Indian and go to town to make a -treaty with Randolph, the Big-man-afraid-to-be-chief. - -This so tickled his fancy that, had an Indian settlement been near at -hand, he would have been inside his buckskins and war-paint and back to -Boston ahead of the constables themselves. In such a guise, he told -himself, he could manage to see his sweetheart, he could get his -beef-eaters clear of danger, baffle his foes, and arrange to carry both -Garde and her grandfather away to safety. - -But the first consideration was, where should he find an Indian? He was -aware that the Red men had been pushed backward and westward miles from -the towns of the whites. It was years since he had roamed through the -forests and mountains——years since he had known where his old-time, red -brothers built their lodges. There could be but one means of finding a -camp, namely: to walk onward, to penetrate fairly to the edge of the -wilderness beyond. - -Nothing daunted by the thought of distance, he struck out for the west. -Like the Indians themselves, he could smell the points of the sunrise -and sunset, unerringly. With boyish joy in his thoughts, and in the -dreams he fashioned of the hair-breadth events that would happen when he -arrived in the town in his toggery, he plodded along all night, happy -once more and contented. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - - A FOSTER PARENT. - - -ADAM covered many a mile before the morning. Mindless of his hunger, -spurred by the thought that he must soon be back in Boston, he felt that -the further he went the more he must hasten. Thus he marched straight on -till noon. - -He rested briefly at this time, filled his craving stomach with water, -and again made a start. In fifteen minutes he came upon a clearing, at -the edge of a little valley where up-jutting rocks were as plentiful as -houses in a city. Pausing for a moment, to ascertain the nature of the -place, and to prepare himself against possible surprise, he presently -approached a small log hut, of more than usually rude construction. - -There appeared to be no signs whatsoever of life about the place. No -smoke ascended from the chimney; there was no animal in sight, not even -so much as a dog. - -Adam glanced hurriedly about the acre or so of land, beholding evidences -of recent work. A tree had been felled, not far away, within the week. -In a neat little patch of tilled soil, green corn stood two feet high -and growing promisingly. - -Going to the cabin-door he knocked first and gave it a push afterward, -for it was not latched, although it was nearly closed. There being no -response from the inside, he entered. The light entered with him. It -revealed a strange and dreadful scene. - -On the floor lay a man, dressed, half raised on his elbow, looking up at -the visitor with staring eyes, while he moved his lips without making a -sound. A few feet away sat a little brown baby-boy, clothed only in a -tiny shirt. He looked up at big Adam wistfully. Strewn about were a few -utensils for cooking, a bag which had once contained flour, the dust of -which was in patches everywhere, and an empty water-bucket and dipper, -with all the bedding and blankets from a rude wooden bunk, built against -the wall. - -In amazement Adam stood looking at the man. In the haggard face, with -its unkempt beard and glassy eyes he fancied he saw something familiar. -Memory knocked to enter his brain. Then, with a suddenness that gave him -a shock, he recognized a man he had known in England—an elder brother of -Henry Wainsworth, supposed to have died years before—drowned while -attempting to escape from an unjust sentence of imprisonment for -treason. - -“Wainsworth!” he said, “good faith! what is the meaning of this?” - -The man sank back on the floor, a ghost of a smile passing across his -face. He moved his lips again, but Adam heard not a word. - -Bending quickly down, he became aware that the man was begging for -water. He caught up the bucket and hastened forth, presently finding the -spring, to which a little path had been worn in the grass. - -Back at once, he placed the dipper to the dried-out lips and saw this -fellow-being drink with an evidence of joy such as can only come to the -dying. Wainsworth shivered a little, as the dipper left his teeth, and -jerked his hand toward the silent child, sitting so near, on the floor. -Adam comprehended. He gave more of the water to the small, brown baby. -It patted the dipper with its tiny hands and looked up at him dumbly. - -“What in the world has happened here?” said Rust. - -Making a mighty effort, the man on the floor partially raised his head -and arms. He looked at Adam with a hungering light in his eyes. -“I’m—done—for,” he said, thickly and feebly. - -Adam hustled together the blankets on the floor and made a pillow, which -he placed for Wainsworth to lie on. “Shall I put you into the bed?” he -asked. - -The man shook his head. “I’m crushed,” he said, winking from his eyes -the already gathering film that tells of the coming end. -“Tree—fell—killed the—wife. I—crawled—here.” - -Adam looked at him helplessly. He knew the man was dying. He felt what -agonies the man must have suffered. “Man!” he said, “can’t I get you -something to eat?” - -Wainsworth waved his hand toward the wreckage strewed on the floor. -“Nothing—here,” he said. Then he made a great effort, the obvious rally -of his strength. “Save the—boy,” he implored. “Give him a—chance.... -Don’t—tell—about me. I married—his mother—Narragansett—God bless—her.... -Give—him—a—chance.... Thanks.” - -As he mentioned the child’s mother, his eyes gave up two tears—crystals, -which might have represented his soul, for it had quietly escaped from -his broken body. - -Adam, kneeling above him, looked for a moment at his still face, on -which the shadow of a smile rested. Then he looked at the little, brown -youngster, half Narragansett Indian, gazing up in his countenance with a -timid, questioning look, winking his big black eyes slowly, and quite as -deliberately moving his tiny toes. - -It was not a situation to be thought out nor coped with easily. To have -found any human being in this terrible plight would have been enough, -but to have found Henry Wainsworth’s brother thus, and to have him tell -such a brief, shocking story, and make of his visitor all the things -which Adam would have to become at once, was enough to make him stand -there wondering and wondering upon it all. - -“You poor little rascal,” he said to the child, at last. - -He selected a shovel and a pick, from some tools which he noted, in a -corner, and laying aside his sword, he went to work, on the preface to -his duties, out by the patch of corn where he found the pretty, young -Indian mother, clasped and held down to earth in an all too ardent -embrace, by an arm of the fallen tree. - -When he had padded up the mound over the two closed human volumes, he -was faint with hunger. He carried the tools again to the house, and -stood as before, looking at the baby-boy, who still sat where he had -left him, on the floor. - -“Well, I suppose you are hungry, you little brown man,” he said. “I must -see what there is to be had.” - -There was little opportunity for extended explorations. The one room had -contained the all of Wainsworth and his Narragansett partner. Rust soon -found himself wondering what the two had lived upon. What flour and meal -there had been, the man, despite his two crushed legs, had pulled down, -from a box-like cupboard, on the wall, together with a bit of dried -meat. Of the latter only a dry fragment remained, still tied to a -string, while of the meal and flour, only the empty bags gave evidence -that they once had existed. - -There was no way possible for Adam to know that in the forest, not far -away, the lone woodsman had set his traps, for squirrels and rabbits, -nor that fifteen minutes’ walk from the door a trout stream had -furnished its quota to the daily fare. He only knew that there was -nothing edible to be found here now. There was salt, a bit of grease, on -a clean white chip of pine, and a half gourd, filled with broken-up -leaves, which had doubtless been steeped for some manner of tea or -drink. - -“Partner,” he said, to the child, “someone has been enforcing sumptuary -laws upon us. I hesitate in deciding whether we shall take our water -salted or fresh.” - -With his hand on the hilt of his sword he regarded the youngster -earnestly. Nothing prettier than the little naked fellow could have been -imagined, howbeit he was not so plump as a child of his age should be, -for the lack of nourishment had already told upon him markedly. Adam -felt convinced, from various indications, that the tree which had done -its deadly work had fallen about a week before, and that Wainsworth had -not been able to do anything more than to crawl to the cabin, to die, -neither for himself or the child. - -For a time the rover wondered what he must do. His own plans had nearly -disappeared from his mind. He reflected that a child so brown as this, -so obviously half a little Narragansett, would be ill received by the -whites. The Indians would be far more likely to cherish the small man, -according to his worth. He therefore believed the best thing he could do -would be to push onward, in the hope of finding an Indian settlement -soon. There were several reasons, still remaining unaltered, why it -would be wiser not to take the child to Boston. - -“Well, our faces are dirty, partner,” he said, at the end of a long -cogitation, in which the baby had never ceased to look up in his -countenance and wink his big eyes, wistfully. “Let’s go out and have a -bath.” - -He took the tiny chap up in his arms and carried him forth to the -spring. Here, in the warm sunlight, he got down on his knees in the -grass, bathed his protégé, over and over again, for the pleasure it -seemed to give the child and the joy it was to himself, to feel the -little wet, naked fellow in his hands. - -The sun performed the offices of a towel. Without putting his tiny shirt -back upon him, Adam rolled the small bronze bit of humanity about his -back, patting his velvety arms and thighs and laughing like the grown-up -boy he was, till the little chap gurgled and crowed in tremendous -delight. But it having been only the freshness of the water, air and -sunlight which had somewhat invigorated the baby, he presently appeared -to grow a little dull and weary. Adam became aware that it was time to -be moving. He washed out the child’s wee shirt and hung it through his -belt to dry as they went. Then taking a light blanket from the cabin, -for the child’s use at night, he left the cabin behind and proceeded -onward as before. - -He walked till late in the afternoon without discovering so much as a -sign of the Indian settlement he was seeking. By this time his own pangs -of hunger had become excruciating. It was still too early in the summer -for berries or nuts to be ripe, and the half green things which he found -where the sun shone the warmest were in no manner fit to be offered to -the child, as food. - -Arriving at another small valley, as the sun was dipping into the -western tree-tops, the rover sat down for a rest, and to plan something -better than this random wandering toward the sunset. He had chuckled -encouragement to the child from time to time, laughing in the little -fellow’s face, but hardly had he caught at the subtle signs on the small -face, at which a mother-parent would have stared wild-eyed in agony. - -Now, however, as he sat the tiny man on the grass before him, he saw in -the baby’s eyes such a look as pierced him to the quick. For a moment -the infinite wistfulness, the dumb questioning, the uncomplaining -silence of it, made him think, or hope, the child was only sad. He got -down on all fours at once. - -“Partner,” said he, jovially, “you are disappointed in me. I make poor -shift as a mother. Do you want to be cuddled, or would you rather be -tickled?” - -He laid the little chap gently on his back and tried to repeat the -frolic of the earlier hours. He rolled the small bronze body in the -grass, as before, and petted him fondly. But the baby merely winked his -eyes. He seemed about to cry, but he made no sound. Adam’s fingers -ceased their play, for the joy departed from them swiftly. - -“Maybe you’re tired and sleepy,” he crooned. “Shall I put on your shirt -and sing you a little Indian lullaby? Yes? That’s what he wants, little -tired scamp.” - -He adjusted the abbreviated shirt, awkwardly, but tenderly, after which -he held his partner in his arms and hummed and sang the words of a -Wampanoag song, which he had heard in his boyhood, times without number. -The song started with addresses to some of the elements, thus: - - “Little Brook, it is night, - Be quiet, and let my baby sleep. - - “Little wind, it is night, - Go away, and let my baby sleep. - - “Little storm, it is night, - Be still, and let my baby sleep. - - “Little wolf, it is night, - Howl not, and let my baby sleep.” - -and after many verses monotonously soothing, came an incantation: - - “Great Spirit, I place my babe - Upon the soft fur of thy breast, - Knowing Thou wilt protect, - As I cannot protect; - And therefore, oh Great Spirit, - Guard my child in slumber.” - -Adam sang this song like a pleading. But his little partner could not -sleep, or feared to sleep. Then the rover looked at the tiny face and -realized that the child would soon be dying of starvation. At this he -started to his feet, abruptly. - -He had undergone the pains of hunger often, himself; he was not -impatient now with the pangs in his stomach, nor the weakness in his -muscles. But he could not bear the thought of the child so perishing, -here in the wilderness. - -He saw poor Wainsworth again, and heard him beg that the child be given -a chance. He thought of the man’s shattered life, his escape from -persecution, his isolation, in which he had preferred the society of his -Indian wife and child to association with his kind. Then he blamed -himself for coming further into this deserted region, when he knew that -by going back, at least he could find something for the child to -eat—something that would save its life! - -But he could not forget that he himself was a refugee. Wrongly or -rightly, Randolph was still on his track. Nothing in his own case had -been altered, but the case was no longer one concerning himself alone. -He took the child on his arm, where he had carried him already many -miles, and faced about. - -“Partner, let them take me,” he said. “I wish them joy of it.” - -He started back for Boston, for in the child’s present extremity, the -nearest place where he could be sure of finding food was the only one -worthy a thought. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - - REPUDIATED SILVER. - - -SOMETIME, along toward the middle of the night, Adam tripped, on a root -which lay in his path, and in catching himself so that his small partner -should not be injured, he sprained his foot. He proceeded onward without -sparing the member, however, for he had begun to feel a fever of -impatience. - -His foot swelled. It finally pained him excessively, so that he limped. -He wore away the night, but when the morning came, he was obliged to -snatch an hour of sleep, so great was the sense of exhaustion come upon -him. - -His face had become pale. With his hair unkempt, his eyes expressive of -the fever in his veins and his mouth somewhat drawn, he was not a little -haggard, as he resumed his lame, onward march. The child in his arms was -no burden to his enduring strength, but as a load on his heart the -little chap was heavy indeed. Sleeping, the miniature man appeared to be -sinking in a final rest, so wan had his tiny face become. Waking, he -gazed at Adam with such a dumb inquiry ever present in his great, -wistful eyes, that Rust began to wish he would complain—would cry, would -make some little sound to break his baby silence. - -They were obliged to rest frequently, throughout the day. Try as he -might, Adam could not cover the ground rapidly. Whenever he resumed -walking, after sitting for a moment on a log, or a rock, he found his -foot had become so bad that, in the late afternoon, he gave up halting -thus altogether. - -The twilight came upon him, then the night-fall. At last, with a -smothered cry of delight on his lips, he saw the gleam of a light. He -had come to the farm-house where he had stopped to return the English -dandy’s horse and to eat his last supper. Thinking thereby to disguise -himself, even if only slightly, he halted, threw off his leather jerkin, -sword and coat, turned the latter inside out and concealed his weapon -and outside garment in the brush. Thus altered in appearance, he dragged -his aching foot across the space between the woods and the house, where -he knocked upon the door and entered. - -“Who’s there?” cried the farmer, in a fright which recent events had -instilled in his being. He was a shaking old bachelor, suspected by many -who knew him of being a miser with a great horde of gold on his -premises. - -Adam was confronted by the man, as soon as he stepped across the -threshold. - -“Food, man,” he said, hoarsely. “Food, or this child will die!” - -The man recognized him instantly. He fairly quaked with dread. - -“Go out! Go out!” he cried. “I’ve no food here—I’ve nothing here!” - -“Peace!” commanded Adam. “Bring me forth something to eat for the child, -you knave, or I shall find it for myself.” - -He looked terrible enough to execute a much more dreadful threat. The -farmer retreated before him, cringing and whining. - -“I have nothing, or you should have it,” he said, with a whimper. “My -neighbors—ten minutes’ walk up the clearing—go to them. They have -plenty, and I have nothing.” - -Adam remembered the scantiness of the fare he had tasted here before. -Nevertheless it had been food, and anything now might save his little -partner’s life. - -“Then you go, friend,” he ordered. “Make haste and bring me what you -can, from your neighbors’!” - -The man seemed about to refuse. He changed his mind abruptly. - -“I’ll go. I’ll go!” he hastened to say, and without his hat, or waiting -for anything further, he hobbled out at the door and was gone. - -Rust lost no time in ransacking the cupboard. To his unspeakable -disappointment he found that the man had not spoken wide of the truth. -There was as little here, in the way of a few gnawed crusts of bread and -a rind of cheese, as might well stand between nothing and something to -eat and to feed to a starving child. His heart sank within him. But then -he thought that inasmuch as the farmer had told the truth about his -larder, he would be the more likely to have spoken correctly about the -neighbors. He would soon be back with something fit for the wee -Narragansett. - -Adam looked at the baby-boy compassionately. The little fellow was -awake, looking up, winking slowly, asking his dumb, wistful question -with his eyes. - -Adam patted him softly while he waited. “I’m a wretched mother, little -partner,” he said. “But we’ll soon have you banqueting, now. Can’t you -speak up a little bit? Don’t you want to give old Adam just one little -smile? No? Well, never mind. Little man is tired.” - -He had placed his charge in a chair. Soon growing impatient, he limped -about the room, crunching a crust of bread in his teeth, abstractedly. -Unable to endure the suspense, he went again to the cupboard and threw -everything down, in his search for something fit for the child. There -was nothing more than he had seen before. He went to the water pail and -drank, for his mouth had found the crust a poor substitute for food. - -Yet no sooner had he sipped the water than a sense of the deliciousness -of the dry bread pervaded his being. He ran to gather up the other -crusts at once and limped to the child in a frenzy of gladness. - -“Here, little man,” he said, kneeling down on the floor. “If you can -only chew that up and then take a sip of water, you will think the -King’s kitchen has opened.” - -He gently thrust a small piece of the rock-hard bread between the little -chap’s lips, where, to his intense disappointment, it remained. - -“Can’t you chew it?” he said. “Just try, for old Adam.” - -The child was too weak to do anything but wink. Its appealing gaze was -more than Adam could stand. - -“What can Adam do for the little man?” he said. - -He limped painfully back and forth again. The farmer should have -returned before this. What could be keeping the wretch? The rover saw -that the little life was fluttering, uncertainly, not yet sure of its -wings on which to fly away. - -“I have it!” he cried, in sudden exultation. “Bread and water!” - -He hobbled across the room, snatched up a cup, crunched a fistful of -crusts in his hand, put them in his cup and filled it half to the top -with water. Then he stirred the hard pieces with his finger and crushed -them smaller and padded them up against the side of the vessel, working -the mass softer in feverish haste. Impatient to get results, he put the -cup to the baby’s lips. - -“Drink,” he coaxed. “Take a little, like a good partner. Can’t you take -a little weeny bit?” - -Groaning, thus to find the small Narragansett so weak, he hobbled about -to find a spoon, with which he came hastily limping back. To his joy -then, he saw a little of the slightly nutritious water disappear between -the silent lips. He crooned with delight, hitched himself closer and -plied his spoon clumsily, but with all the patience of a woman. - -The child began to take the nourishment with interest. - -Adam was happy in the midst of this new-found expedient, when the door -behind him was suddenly thrown open, violently, and in burst half a -dozen constables, armed to the teeth and panting wildly. - -“Give up! I arrest you in the name of the King!” cried the foremost of -the men. He presented a pistol at the head of the kneeling man. “Take -him!” he screamed to his following, and before Rust could so much as -rise, on his wounded foot, he was suddenly struggling in a mass of men -who had fallen upon him. - -He got to his feet. He knocked three of the constables endways. But his -strength was gone quickly, so long had he been famished, and so far had -he taxed his endurance. They overpowered him, making a noise of mad -confusion. They threw him toward a chair. He made one cry of anguish and -protest. Three of the scrambling clods fell together upon the little -partner, and when they arose, his little heart had ceased to beat. - -The farmer-miser now came worming his way through the door. He was -laughing like a wolf. - -“You’ve got him!” he cried. “I told you! I told you! Heh, heh, heh. I’m -not in league with thieves and murderers. Here, here, take your silver! -I’ll none of your silver!” - -He took from his pocket the coin which the rover had paid him to take -back the Englishman’s horse and threw it hysterically down at Adam’s -feet. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - - LODGINGS FOR THE RETINUE. - - -THE beef-eaters arrived in the afternoon of the same day that Adam was -arrested. Alighting from the coach, they did exactly what he had feared -they would. They wended their way promptly to the Crow and Arrow. - -Randolph and his henchmen, having missed their intended prey, at their -first attempt, were engaged elsewhere in the town, attempting to make -good their failure. Believing Rust would return and attempt to see -Mistress Merrill, Randolph kept one or two of his creatures in the -vicinity of David Donner’s house day and night. But Gallows, being for -the time totally disabled, had been domiciled at the tavern, in a small -apartment off the tap-room, where he spent many hours of the day roaring -out his exceeding displeasure at the turn of events and the consequences -thereof, into which his friends had brought him. - -Pike and Halberd appeared at the inn when the place was all but -deserted. Naturally the tavern had become popular with the Royalists, -but it had been gradually falling into disfavor with sailors and dock -hands for several years. - -Striding haughtily into the place, the beef-eaters accosted the landlord -familiarly. - -“My good fellow,” said little Pike, “be kind enough to let the Sachem -know that we have arrived and wait upon his pleasure.” - -“And assure him of the excellence of our health,” said Halberd. - -“I don’t know what you mean,” said the landlord, eying the pair -suspiciously and cudgeling his brains to remember where and when he had -seen them before. “I have no Mr. Sachem in the house.” - -“He has no Mr. Sachem in the house,” said the beef-eaters, in chorus, -turning to one another with raised eyebrows and indulgent smiles. - -“This surpasses belief,” said Halberd. - -“My good friend, you mistook what we said,” added Pike. “We are -inquiring for The Sachem—not Mr. Sachem, but The Sachem.” - -“I don’t know the Sachem,” said the landlord, frowning upon the guests. -“What do you want?” - -“He don’t know the Sachem!” said the comrades, again in chorus. They -looked perfectly incredulous. - -“Then I pity you for your loss,” Pike remarked. - -“But if he is not at this house, where is he?” asked Halberd. - -“Tell us where to find him and we will burden you with wealth,” Pike -added, grandly. - -The landlord began to be certain they were crazy. “How should I know who -it is you seek?” he asked. - -“Water! fetch me water!” roared Gallows, from the adjoining room. - -“What disturbance is this?” Halberd wanted to know. He strode to the -door and looked in at the mountain of meat, propped up in bed, poulticed -and patched past all semblance to himself. “Friend,” Halberd said to -him, boldly, “your voice needs bleeding.” - -“Ha!” bellowed Gallows, “you be a fool and I be the fool-killer! Let me -get——Howtch!” He made this latter exclamation on attempting to rise from -his lair. - -Halberd and Pike both fell to the rear a step, at the awful voice of the -brute, but no sooner did they see him sink helplessly down on the couch -than they laughed in eloquent scorn. - -“I should enjoy nothing better than to slay something large, before -dinner,” little Pike remarked. - -“Tut. This is my recreation,” said Halberd. “Come forth, friend, till I -warm some cold steel in your belly.” - -“Leave be!” commanded the landlord, coming forward to shut the door -between the rooms, and flapping his apron at the belligerent -beef-eaters. “Let me know your wants, if you have them, and if not, be -off about your business.” - -“Sensibly spoken,” said Halberd. “All we desire of you is that you let -the Sachem know we are come.” - -“But I said I didn’t know this Sachem!” cried the exasperated boniface. - -“True, true,” said Pike. “But it seems too monstrous to be so.” - -“But,” put in Halberd, “you must remember that wealthy young nobleman, -who paved our way with gold, when we were with you a number of years -ago. Surely you cannot yet have spent what we scattered in your house?” - -“And you will certainly remember the drubbing we gave those varlets, -with the flat of our swords, here in this very room—some dozen of the -fellows there were in all,” added the other of the pair. “They dared to -insinuate that we were beggars—aye, beggars, forsooth!” - -The landlord remembered them now, clearly enough. He restrained himself -from calling them vile names, by making an effort truly heroic. - -“Oh, to be sure, I do recall it now,” he said, cunningly. “I believe -your Sachem did even call here, to ask if you had come. Yes, yes. I -think he said he meant to return here this afternoon again. Was he not a -tall, noble-looking gentleman?” - -“Like a king,” said Pike. - -“With a manner like this,” added Halberd, strutting and swaggering -across the room. “He should have walked in over several prostrate forms, -in the manner of a prince and our associate.” - -“The same, the very same,” agreed the landlord. “He is certain to be -here within the hour. Sit down, gentlemen, and let me serve you, and -then I shall be honored to have a look about, myself, to see if I may -not find him.” - -“Said like a scholar,” Halberd assured him. - -“We do this honor to your house for his sake,” Pike added. - -The two sat them down and the landlord hustled them out the vilest drink -he could draw, tampered with, as it was, to add some crude substance, -the effect of which on the brain was overpowering. The fellow saw the -beef-eaters drinking and waited for nothing more. He scampered away from -the rear of his place, as fast as his limbs could convey him. - -Fifteen minutes later a small army of constables arrived, captured the -two brain-fuddled beef-eaters without the slightest resistance and -carried them off to the sumptuous apartments of the city jail. There, -with aching heads and crestfallen countenances, they discovered -themselves to be, when the baleful effects of their drink had somewhat -abated. - -“By my fighting hand!” said Halberd, “I’d not be sworn that we have not -been tricked.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - - GARDE OBTAINS THE JAIL KEYS. - - -UNBEKNOWN to his retinue, Adam was accommodated in the same jail where -Pike and Halberd had been landed while the evening was still -comparatively young. The body of the little Narragansett, brutally -snatched from Adam’s arms, had likewise been brought into Boston. - -Randolph had lost no time in having Rust examined and declared a -prisoner of the state, charged with a whole category of crimes against -the peace and dignity of the King. To all of this, and to nearly all of -their questions, Rust had made no reply whatsoever. He realized the -uselessness of pitting his one voice against those of half a dozen -perjured rascals, who came about him the moment it was known he had -finally been taken, ready to swear to anything which would be likeliest -to jeopardize his life. - -Thus, before half-past eight that night, the whole of Boston was wagging -its tongue over an astonishing story, instigated at once by Edward -Randolph. This dangerous, blood-thirsty rascal, Rust, had been taken in -the forest, whither he had fled to join his Indian wife, and in his -struggles to avoid arrest he had slain his half-Indian child. - -This was the indictment, mildly expressed, that reached the ears of -Garde Merrill concerning her lover. She was simply appalled. It was -unbelievable, it was monstrous. She scorned to think it could possibly -be true. And yet, if he had been in Boston several days before, as the -story had it, why had she known nothing about it? The whole thing had -been a gross fabrication. He could not have been in the town and going -to a tavern to mix in a horrid brawl. He would certainly have come to -see her immediately on his arrival. He had promised to return in about a -week from a visit to the beef-eaters. - -When she got as far as that, she suddenly tried to stop thinking. He had -been gone many weeks instead of the one; the beef-eaters had not been -with him when he had the alleged fight, nor when he was captured, and he -had mentioned to her, on their walk from Plymouth, that he had once -stopped at the Crow and Arrow, where the brawl was reported to have -taken place. - -Nearly frantic with the terrible thoughts in her head, Garde hastened to -John Soam’s to get what she could of sober truth, which John would have -as no one else might in the town. - -She was mentally distraught when she came to her uncle’s. She had -carried a dish belonging to her aunt Gertrude, to make an excuse for her -late evening visit. She was more glad than she could have said that -Prudence was away, for her cousin knew something of her feeling for -Adam. - -Garde, having been made welcome, had no need to ask questions. John Soam -was telling the story of the night with countless repetitions. His wife -cross-examined him in every direction which her womanly ingenuity could -suggest. - -Thus Garde discovered that it was undeniably true that Adam had been in -town several days before; that he had been engaged in a terrible fight, -in which he had inflicted grave injuries on Randolph and one of his -“peaceable officers”; that he had then escaped back to the woods, from -which, it was alleged, he had emerged solely for this fighting, and -that, when captured, he had a half-Indian child in his possession. - -John Soam had seen the body of the child himself. He had heard the -examination, in his capacity of clerk to the court and magistrates. Rust -was lame, he said, and he was a sullen man, who had returned no answers -but such as cut wittily. He had not denied that the child was his own. -He had absolutely refused to say whose it was and how he came to have -it. He had come to the farmer’s house, at the edge of the woods, for -purposes of robbery. There was every reason to believe that he had -consorted with the Indians, and that the child was his. It was a pretty -child, but many thought it looked as if it had been shockingly abused. -There could be no doubt that, when he had found himself being taken, he -had profited by the confusion to slay the little half-Indian boy. - -Garde’s horror grew as she listened. She remembered terrible things that -Adam had told her when he believed her a youth. He had excused -Randolph’s conduct with Hester Hodder, hinting broadly that, in a case -he had in mind, he thought another young woman—in this instance Garde -herself—ought to forgive such a treachery to honor. He had even -mentioned that she, when dressed as a boy and browned, reminded him of a -young Indian woman whom he had known and liked. He had lived with the -Indians as a boy; he had gone back to them as a man. - -All those other dreadful half-confessions, in this new light, looked no -longer innocent—the French damsel, the Countess, and the others. He had -deceived her about going to New York to see the beef-eaters, she told -herself, in agony. He had gone to the forest instead. And God only knew -what things he had done in those silent woods! Had he abandoned the -mother of his child, as Randolph had done——or had he committed something -worse? for Hester, in the similar instance, had died so strangely. - -At least it was plain that before Adam could marry again he would be -obliged to abandon that Indian woman. And what if she were Indian? Was -she less a woman? Would she suffer less agony? Garde thought of Hester, -and of how the wild young thing had begged her not to take away the man -who had so cruelly wronged her. The picture was almost more than she -could bear. The whole affair fell upon her heart with a weight that -crushed her happiness into a shapeless, dying thing. In whatsoever -direction she turned, Adam’s own actions and words confronted her with -the blank wall of hideous truth. - -She knew now why, after he had walked all the way to Boston at her side, -he had failed to appear at Grandther Donner’s, for days and days. She -saw it all, plainly—horribly plainly. It was so absolutely unescapable. -And yet, he had seemed so honest; he had spoken so of love; he had so -convinced her heart and her soul of his purity, nobility and worth! She -loved him still. She could not avoid this. It had grown up with her; it -had become a part of her very being. She would love him always, but—she -could not become his wife—not after this—never! The thought of such a -thing made her shiver. His perfidy was almost greater than Randolph’s—as -an Indian woman would have been so much more innocent and trustful than -even Hester. - -Her heart cried. “Oh!” and yet again, “Oh!” in its anguish. If he had -only left some little loophole for doubt—if he had only denied their -accusations—if only he had not said those terrible things to her, upon -the highway, perhaps——“No, no, no, no,” she cried, in her soul; this was -compromising with loathsome dishonor. Far better it was that the awful -truth was so indisputably established! It left her no ground for -excusing his deeds, at the dictates of her unreasoning love! Yet, oh, it -had been so sweet to believe in him, to love him without reserve, to -trust her very soul in his keeping! She wrung her hands under the table, -as she listened, with ears that seemed traitors to her love, to all that -her uncle could add to the story. - -She soon learned that Adam was Randolph’s particular prisoner; that -there had been some old-time grudge between them, and that the crafty -man of power would undoubtedly make an effort to hang his captive. - -At this her womanly inconsequence was suddenly aroused. He might be -guilty, but she had always thought him noble and good. She would never -marry him, after this, but she would love him forever. He had been her -idol, her king. He must live, for at least she had a right to keep -enshrined in her heart the thought of him, pulsating heart to heart with -her, as once he had. No! He must not be permitted to die—not like -this—not in infamy—not at the hands of this monster of iniquity—this -Randolph! - -It was not that she had the slightest hope that he could ever be the -same to her again, or that she should ever wish to see him again, but at -least he had a right to live, to redeem himself, partially, perhaps to -suffer and to sorrow for his deeds. Indeed he must so live—he must so -redeem himself for her sake—to justify the love and the trust she had -given him out of her heart! - -She felt that she should choke if she did not soon get out in the air. -She wanted to run to the prison, hammer with her fist on the gate, -demand admittance and set him free—free from Randolph’s clutches. But -she knew this was madness. Her mouth grew parched and dry with her -excitement, so tremendously held in control. How could she manage to get -him free? Oh, if only she dared to tell her uncle John and get him to -help her! - -He had the duplicate keys to every door in the jail. He brought them -home night after night and hung them up on—There they were, now! They -hung there within reach of her hand! Her heart knocked and beat in her -bosom, as if it were hammering down the barriers to Adam’s cell. She -weaved dizzily, with the possibilities of the moment. Just to take those -keys and run—that was all, and the trick would be done. He could go—and -their love would be a thing of living death! - -She meant to take those keys. The impulse swayed her whole being. She -felt she would die rather than miss her opportunity. With clenched hands -and with set jaws she arose to her feet. - -“I must be going home,” she said, with apparent calm. “Oh, what was -that?” - -“What was what?” said her aunt and uncle together. - -“Why—some noise, in the other room,” she said with a tremor easily -simulated, in her excited state. “I am sure I heard something in there, -moving!” - -“Hum—let’s see,” said John. - -“It might be that I left the window open,” said Goodwife Soam. - -The man took the lamp, opened the door to the adjoining apartment, and -went in, followed by his wife. Garde, with a gasp, and a clutching at -her heart, lifted the keys from their nail and dropped them into her -pocket with a barely audible jingle. She followed her aunt a second -later. - -“Why, it was—nothing, after all,” she said, weaving a trifle in her -stress of emotion and nervousness. “But the window was up, as you said. -I’m glad that was all. Good night.” - -“Good night,” said John Soam and his wife, from the window which John -was pushing down, and without waiting another minute, Garde let herself -out and sped away in the darkness. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - - GARDE’S ORDEAL. - - -HOW to get the keys into Adam’s possession, now that she had them in her -own, was the first question that presented itself to the mind of Garde. -Her ruse at her uncle’s had been so quickly and easily planned and -executed that she had almost fancied Adam freed already. Yet as she -hastened homeward, filled with conflicting emotions of excitement, grief -and despair, she soon comprehended that her task had not as yet really -begun. - -Could she only ascertain in what portion of the prison the rover was -incarcerated, she thought it might be possible to convey him the keys -through the window, provided he had one in his cell. Thinking of this, -she naturally remembered the jailer’s wife, a poor ailing creature, who -lived in the building, with her husband, and to whom Goody Dune had -ministered, times without number, frequently sending Garde with simples -to relieve her of multitudinous aches and pains. This was her cue. She -could take her some of the herbs of which a plentiful stock had been -collected in the Donner household, for the use of her grandfather. - -Fortunately David Donner had so far progressed, if not toward recovery, -then at least toward change, that he slept for hours, like a weary -child, waking after dreamless slumber all pink and prattling. He was -thus asleep when she came to the house. She was therefore soon on her -way to the prison, her simples in a small basket, hung on her arm. - -The hour was unusual for any one thus to be visiting the jailer’s wife, -so that the good woman, when Garde came in, after knocking, was -obviously surprised at the honor. - -“Oh, Mrs. Weaver,” said the girl, hurriedly, “I heard you had been -having trouble here to-day, and I knew how it always upsets you, and -Goody had given me all these simples to bring, three days ago, so I -thought I had better bring them to you the moment I knew you were being -so worried.” - -It was a fact that the jailer’s wife was invariably very much distressed -when guests were thrust upon their hospitality. She always feared at -first that they would get away, and afterward that they would not, as -her abhorrence and then her sympathy came respectively into play. She -also conjectured all manner of terrible things that might at any moment -happen to Blessedness Weaver, her worthy husband. To-night she was -particularly nervous, owing to the sudden increase in the jail’s -population and the blood-freezing details and rumors afloat as to the -nature of the company assembled under the roof of the building. - -“Dear me, lassie,” she said, in answer to Garde’s well-chosen speech, -“do come in directly. I am that fidgety and poorly, the night! Lauk, -lassie, but you are a dear, thoughtful heart, and I shall never forget -you for this. And we have such terrible gentlemen, the night!” - -She always called the guests gentlemen, till she found out which way lay -the sympathies of a given visitor, when they all became rogues, -forthwith, if she found herself encouraged to this violent language. -Later on, again, when her sympathies for their plight were aroused, they -were restored to their former social appellations. - -“Oh, I am so sorry for you!” said Garde. “I had heard of one prisoner; -but could you have had more than one?” - -“Lauk, yes,” said the woman rolling her eyes heavenward. “They took the -principal rogue in the woods, I believe, but they captured his two -brutal companions at the Crow and Arrow in the afternoon.” - -This was news to Garde. She recognized the beef-eaters from this vivid -description. If Adam had his friends at his side, he must be much more -contented, and they would all be planning to escape. - -“And so all three are under lock and key, safely together?” she said, -innocently. “How fortunate!” - -“Oh dear me, no,” corrected Mrs. Weaver. “The two taken by daylight are -together in the southern exposure, while the last one was thrust in the -dungeon. Oh Lauk, Mistress, but he is a terrible man!” - -Garde felt her heart sink, even though it never ceased for a moment to -beat so hard that it pained her. Adam in a dungeon! How in the world -could she ever manage to get the keys to him now? Dungeons, she knew, -were under the ground; they were dank, death-dealing places, with moldy -straw in one corner and with slimy rocks for walls. She could have cried -in her sudden wretchedness of spirit, although it could never mean -anything to her, whether Adam lived or died, in prison or out. However, -she mastered herself splendidly. - -“A dungeon?” she said. “Oh, I didn’t know you had a dungeon here. It -must be very deep down in the earth.” - -“It’s a creepy place; oh lauk, it’s that creepy!” said the woman. “But -it’s not so deep, dearie. It’s nine steps down. I’ve counted the steps -many’s the time. But it is where we puts the monstrously wicked rogues, -such as this bloodthirsty man! And it’s that dark, my dear—oh lauk, what -a place to spend the night!” - -“Of course it must be dark,” said Garde, suppressing her eagerness. -“They couldn’t have a window in such a place as that.” - -“Indeed we have, though; we’ve a window in every room in the place,” -corrected the jailer’s wife, with commendable pride in the architectural -arrangements. “Oh yes, it has its window, no bigger than my hand, -lassie, and slanting up through the rock, but it’s a rare little light -it lets in to the poor gentlemen down below!” - -“I’m glad he—the prisoners here have some light,” said Garde, honestly, -“but I don’t see where such a window could be.” - -“It’s on the dark side of the house, night and day the same,” explained -Mrs. Weaver. “It’s around on the dark side, where no one would find it -in a month of Sundays, just about the length of my foot above the -ground. Such a small thing it is, and the light it lets in is that -little! Oh lauk, I’m feeling worse to be thinking upon it!” - -“Then you mustn’t talk about it any more,” Garde assured her, -sympathetically. “And I must be going home. I do hope the simples will -make you better, and I’m so glad I came. I must say good night, for I -suppose you will all be going to bed very soon.” - -“I shall be there directly,” Mrs. Weaver informed her, “but dear me, -Blessedness won’t be touching a pillow for an hour, and then he’ll sleep -with his stockings on. He always does the first night with new rogues in -the house. Good night, dearie, and God bless you for a sweet child.” - -Garde went out and walked slowly toward Grandther Donner’s. She had an -hour to wear away, for she would not dare to be searching about the jail -before the jailer at least retired to his couch. - -The time was one of dread and chills. Her teeth chattered, not from any -suggestion of cold in the night air, but from the nervous strain of this -time of suspense. She had never been so frightened of any action in her -life, as she was when at length she crept back to the prison, through -the dark, deserted streets, and began to search about to find the tiny -window of which Mrs. Weaver had spoken. - -There were two dark sides to the building. One was constantly in the -shadow of a tavern, which almost abutted against it, while the other was -on the northern face of the building, in a narrow street. Garde went -first to the northern exposure, for in order to get at the other shaded -side, she would have been obliged to climb a low, brick wall. - -Scarcely had she more than come to her destination, and begun her -feverish search, before she heard the sound of distant footsteps, which -rapidly approached. She crouched in a black little niche, in fear, with -a violent commotion in her breast which threatened to drop her down in a -swoon. Almost stepping on her toes, some pedestrian passed, leaving the -girl so horribly weak that she shut her eyes and leaned against the -wall, laboring to get her breath. - -Nerved again by the things Mrs. Weaver had told her, she came out of her -hiding-place, after several minutes, and feeling the cold rock-wall she -passed eagerly along, shaking with her chill and fearing to breathe too -loud, in the silence. - -She was doomed here to bitter disappointment. The window was not to be -found. She searched again and again, unwilling to give it up, but it was -not there. She realized that she must climb the brick barrier, and try -on the other side of the building. - -She found the wall not difficult to surmount, but when she jumped down, -on the further side, she struck on a heap of broken crockery, thrown out -from the tavern. - -She crouched down instantly, for the noise she had made attracted the -notice of some one in the public house. A door at the rear of the -hostelry was thrown open and a man looked out. He appeared to be looking -straight at her and listening. - -“Must have been a cat,” he said, to somebody back in the house, and he -disappeared and closed the door. - -Garde could not have been any more wrought upon than the whole affair -had made her already. She could not become calm. She could merely wait -for moments of partial relief from overwhelming emotions. - -Thus in time she was creeping along again, feeling the dark stone as -before and peering vainly and desperately into the shadows which lay so -densely upon the whole enclosure. Hastily she traversed the whole length -of the wall. She arrived at the far end, ready to sink down and cry in -anguish. She had not discovered the window. - -Back again she went, choking back hysterical sobs and bruising her -delicate hands on the rough rocks, as she played with her fingers along -that grim, dark pile. She failed again. - -Sitting where she was, in the grass, which was growing rank in the -place, she clasped her hands in despair. She would have to give it up. -There was some mistake. There was no window. - -Yet once more she would try. She could not give it up. The dungeon’s -horrors and the terrible character of Edward Randolph made her fear that -if the morning came before Adam was free, he would no longer have need -for freedom, nor light. - -Slowly, this time, and digging at the base of the stone-wall that rose -above her, she felt down to the very roots of the grass, for the -aperture which represented a window. To her unspeakable joy, her fingers -suddenly ran into an absolute hole in the solid rock, in a matted growth -of roots and grass, which had grown up about it! - -She sank down, momentarily overcome with this discovery. It was too much -to believe. She felt she was almost dying, so insupportable was the -agitation of her heart. But she presently clutched at the grass and tore -it away in a mad fever of haste. She dug, with her fingers and her -finger nails. She could smell the odor of the bruised grass, and then -the wholesome fragrance of earth. She had soon uncovered a small square -opening, no larger, as the jailer’s wife had said, than a good-sized -hand. - -On her knees as she was, she bent her head down to a level with the hole -and put her lips close to the opening. She tried to speak, but such a -faintness came upon her that she could not utter a sound. She had worked -with a tremendous resolution toward this end, and now the flood of -thoughts of everything said and done that evening, came upon her and -rendered her dumb, with emotion and dread. - -Making a great effort she essayed to speak again. Once more she failed. -But she waited doggedly, for the power she knew would not desert her in -the end. Thus for the third time she mustered all her strength and -leaned down to the window. - -“Adam,” she said, faintly, and then she waited, breathlessly. - -There was no response. There was not a sound from that tomb, the -dankness of which she now began to detect in her nostrils. - -“Adam!” she repeated, this time more strongly. - -Some subterranean rustling then came to her ears. - -“Adam! Oh, Adam!” she said, in a voice that trembled uncontrollably. - -“Who’s that? Who’s speaking? Is it you, John Rosella?” came in a rumble -from the dungeon. - -She failed to recognize his voice, so altered did the passage from his -place of imprisonment make it. - -“Oh, is that you, Adam—Mr. Rust?” she asked, trembling violently. - -“Garde!” he said, joyously. “Garde! Oh, my darling! Yes, it’s I. Where -are you? What have you done?” - -Garde felt her strength leave her treacherously. Thus to hear the -endearing names leap upward to her from that terrible place was too much -to bear, after all she had learned. - -“Here—here are the keys,” she whispered down to him, haltingly. “And -your friends—your two companions—they are also in the prison. I hope—I -hope you can find your way out. I am dropping them down—the keys. Here -they come.” She tossed the bunch, which she had taken from her pocket -with nerveless fingers, and now she heard the metallic clink, as they -struck the floor, come faintly up through the aperture. - -Adam was starting to say something. She dared not wait to listen. Now -that her task was done, she knew she would absolutely collapse, if she -did not at once bestir herself to flee. - -“I mustn’t stop!” she said to him, a little wildly. “Be careful. -Good-by,” and without even waiting to hear him answer, she arose, thrust -a bunch of grass back into place over the opening, and hastened away. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII. - - RATS IN THE ARMORY. - - -ADAM’S disappointment, when he got no more responses to the eager -questions and blessings he breathed upward to his unseen sweetheart, was -keener than all the anguish he had felt at being so foully imprisoned. -He had caught up the keys, quickly enough, but when he failed to catch -any more of her trembling words he felt more deserted and surrounded by -the blackness than he had been in all this new experience. However, his -heart was soon tripping with gladness. - -At least it was Garde who had come to save him. Love was his guardian -angel. He could face the world full of foes, after this. He grew -impatient, abruptly, to get out of the dungeon at once and go to -Garde—his brave, darling Garde! - -Then he thought of the beef-eaters. He had fancied he heard their -voices, as Randolph’s men had been taking him into the prison corridor. -It had seemed impossible that they had already arrived and been -apprehended till he remembered how many days it had been since last he -had seen them. - -Having been asleep when Garde first called down to him, through the tiny -air-passage, the rover was a little refreshed. But he was still nearly -famished for something to eat, having been provided only with a dry -chunk of bread, as large as his fist, and a jug of water. He was also -quite lame, for he had not been able to do anything for his wounded -foot. - -Nevertheless he was alert, now, for his slumber of an hour had been -profoundly deep and his constitution was one of great elasticity, -rapidly responding to the most inconsiderable restorative influence. He -hobbled about in his small den, finding the door without difficulty, -after which he tried the lock with key after key, on the bunch, until he -thought he had rejected all, when his high hopes came swiftly tumbling -down. - -The key to the dungeon had not been found among the lot on the ring! - -In his weakened condition this apparent discovery was prostrating in its -dire effect. He suffered more than he would have done had there been no -attempt made to free him at all. He felt cold beads of perspiration -break out on his brow. Hope for himself and the beef-eaters, snatched -away almost as soon as given, unnerved him. Nevertheless he pulled -himself together, to try every key in the bunch again. - -The first one he handled entered the lock and threw back the bolt. - -Cautiously swinging the door open, he suddenly started, at the sound of -some one approaching in the corridor. In a second he was back in the -dark hole and had locked the door again upon himself. Weaver, the -jailer, making an unusual round of the premises, came down the -dungeon-steps and tried the door. Satisfied that all was well, he -proceeded onward to his bed. - -Adam lost little time in again starting forth. This time he locked the -dungeon and took his bunch of keys with him. He climbed the nine steps, -which the jailer’s wife had so frequently counted, and found himself in -the corridor, which was lighted by a single lamp, which was small and -odorous. Noting his bearings, he limped along toward the cell where he -thought he had heard the beef-eaters talking. - -There was no sound to give him guidance now, and there were several -doors confronting him, behind any one of which his retinue might be -locked. It was a matter presenting necessities for nicety in judgment. -If he were to open the door on some wrong prisoner, the ensuing -disturbance would be most unfortunate. Moreover, he did not know but -what there might be guards galore in some of the jail-apartments. It -would not do to call, or to whisper, for the sake of attracting the -beef-eaters’ attention, for obvious reasons. - -There was nothing for it but to open door after door till he found the -faithful pair. Luckily the doors were numbered, and he found there were -corresponding numbers on the keys. There being no choice, he unlocked -the first door he saw. Shifting the bolt cautiously, he was presently -able to listen for anything like a sound inside the cell. - -He could hear nothing. The room was empty. To the next door he went, and -repeated his simple experiment. This apartment proved to be, not a cell, -but a place in which all manner of rubbish had been thrown. It also -contained swords, pistols, some blunderbusses and other arms. The room, -indeed, was the prison armory. Adam nodded at this discovery as being -good, but it left him as far as before from his friends. Leaving this -door unlocked, he went back in the other direction and tried again. - -Listening now, as before, upon opening a second cell, he heard snoring. -Better than this, it was snoring that he knew. He went in and nudged the -retinue with his foot. - -“What, ho! Who knocks?” said Halberd, in a sleepy growl. - -“Be quiet,” said Adam. “Get up, the two of you, quickly. We are about to -seek more commodious apartments.” - -“The Sachem!” said Pike. - -“Who else,” answered Halberd. “Sire, I have been expecting this kindness -these three hours.” - -“You may expect to be hanged, in the morning, if you do not shut your -mouth and come with me instantly,” said Rust. - -“I was dreaming of my wedding with a fair princess,” said Pike. “These -are no days of chivalry, when a man will leave so sweet a damsel in so -vile a place.” - -“What have you done with your swords and side arms?” the Sachem -demanded, in a whisper. “Did they take them from you?” - -“They did. Else we had slain the whole score of rascals that took us,” -said Halberd. - -“Make haste, then, till we arm anew,” instructed the rover. - -He locked the door behind them and led the way to the armory at once. -They had gone half the distance to the place when there came a clanking -of opening doors, a rattle of scabbards, a rumble of muffled voices and -the tramp of many feet, around in the angle of the corridor, leading to -the outside world. - -“Quick! Quick!” commanded Adam, and darting forward, lame foot and all, -to the armory-door, he opened it, thrust in the beef-eaters, with a word -of admonition to beware of making a noise, and closed the barrier, only -as Randolph and six of his creatures came tiptoeing down the passage and -stopped fairly opposite where Adam was standing. - -The rover reached out in the dark of the room they were in, as he braced -silently against the door, and felt his hand come in contact with a -sword, which he had noted when first he peered into the room. He could -hear the men outside, whispering. - -Weaver was with them, pale and frightened at what he knew these midnight -visitors contemplated doing. He dared not make the slightest protest; -his master stood before him. - -“Here, is this the room above the dungeon?” said Randolph. He laid his -hand on the knob, the inside mate of which Adam was holding. - -“No, sir, this is the room, here upon the other side,” said Weaver. -“It’s a few steps further along.” - -The private executioners, with their chief, were moving away, when one -of the beef-eaters stepped upon something on the floor of the armory, -making a sound that seemed terrific. - -“What was that?” demanded Randolph, quickly. - -“We have rats in the property chamber,” said Weaver, honestly. - -“It sounded too big for rats,” said the voice of Psalms Higgler, whom -Adam readily identified. - -“We may look there if you like,” said the jailer. - -“Never mind the rats at present,” dictated Randolph. “Show us the room -above the cellar.” - -The other door could then be heard to open and to close behind the -visitors. Adam snatched up swords for three on the instant. - -“Here, take it—and not a word,” he breathed, thrusting a weapon upon -each of his trembling companions. “If they come for us—fight!” - -Silently and slowly he reopened the door, having buckled a sword upon -him. There came a light patter of footsteps on the corridor floor. Just -as the rover was stepping forth, Psalms Higgler, who had not been -satisfied with the theory of the rats, came gliding to the spot. He and -Adam suddenly faced one another, a foot apart. The startled little -monster stared wildly for the briefest part of a second and then would -have fallen back, yelling like a demon to raise the alarm. - -Pouncing upon him, without a sound, yet with the terrible strength and -nimbleness of a tiger, Adam clutched him fiercely by the neck, with both -his powerful hands, and choking back the yell already starting to the -creature’s lips, lifted him bodily off the floor, to prevent him from -kicking upon it, to raise a disturbance, and carried him, squirming and -writhing, to the door by which the visitors had so recently entered. - -“Open the door! Open the door and get out!” ordered Rust of his -followers, sternly, never for a moment relaxing his grip or his lift on -Higgler. “Lift the bar! Lift it! There!” - -The door swung open. The beef-eaters sprang outside, trying both to go -at once. The commotion they made rang through the building. Adam was -after them swiftly, forgetting to limp, as he felt the outside air in -his face. - -Higgler by this was becoming absolutely limp. Adam dropped him on the -ground, where he lay, barely left alive and unable to move or to speak. - -Adam had the keys in his pocket, the largest one uppermost. This was the -one to this outside door. He could hear the men inside running toward -the spot and already shouting the alarm. He dared to lock the door, -deliberately, and to pull out the key and put it again in his pocket. -Then he calmly drew the borrowed sword from its scabbard, rammed its end -smartly home, in the key-hole and snapped it off short, spiking the -aperture completely. - -Already the beef-eaters were running up the street. Psalms Higgler was -drawing his breath in awful gasps, where he lay. - -“Good friend, farewell,” said Rust to him, cheerfully. “I shall be -pleased to report you an excellent rat-catcher, at the earliest -opportunity afforded.” - -He disappeared from Higgler’s ken in a twinkling and soon overtook his -retinue, making good time for the country. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - LOVE’S LONG GOOD-BY. - - -AWARE that his ruse in locking the jail upon his jailers would hold them -only till they could think of taking off the lock and knocking out the -sword-end, Adam was nevertheless determined upon going to David Donner’s -residence, for the purpose of seeing Mistress Garde. - -With this purpose in view, and expecting his pursuers to be soon on a -keen race for the open flats, which he had been known to cross before, -in his successful escape to the woods, he led his retinue straight off -at right angles from such a course, and brought them in fifteen minutes -to the silent ship-yard of William Phipps. - -Here, with small ado, they climbed the fence and struck across the -enclosure, past the gaunt skeleton of a ship, growing on the ways, and -so came to a quiet bit of water, at the private landing, where three -small boats were moored in safety. - -The trio were soon aboard the lightest skiff and rowing her westward, -with silent, effectual strokes. Guided by the rover, the beef-eaters -steered for the shore, and after a ten-minute pull Adam landed near the -spot where he had sat upon a rock, waiting for night, on the occasion of -his last meeting with his sweetheart. - -“Wait for me here,” he said. “I shall not be long.” - -He was soon at the gate and then in the garden. There was not a sound to -be heard. The house was dark. He raised a little whistle, as he slowly -walked about the place, watching the windows intently. - -Garde heard him. She was up. She had not had a moment of peace or -freedom from dreadful suspense since arriving at the house, while -waiting, listening, starting at all those uncanny sounds of stretching, -in which a building will indulge itself at night. Greater unhappiness or -despair she had never known, nor greater worry, fearing that Adam would -come, and then fearing more that he would not. - -When she heard him whistle, her heart seemed suddenly dislodged in her -bosom. Her breath came laboredly. She opened the window in the kitchen, -this room being furthest from her grandfather’s apartment, and saw Adam -limp eagerly toward her. - -“Garde!—Sweetheart!” he said. - -“Oh—oh, you—you got away,” she faltered, faintly. “Here, I have—tied you -up—a luncheon. Take it, please, and—and you had better go—at once.” - -“God bless you!” said Adam, stuffing the parcel she gave him inside his -coat. “I have brought you back the keys. My Garde! My own blessed -sweetheart. Oh, Garde, dearest, come out to me, just for a moment—just -for one little good-by.” - -“I—I cannot,” Garde said, fighting heroically against the greatest -temptation she had ever known. “We must say——good-by, now, and I must——” - -“Yes, I know, dear,” he broke in impetuously, “but just for a moment, -just——” - -He was at the window. He tried to take her hands, to draw her toward -him. She shrank away with an action so strange that his sentence died on -his lips. “Why, Garde,” he said, “can’t I even touch your hands?” - -She shook her head. He could barely see her, in the pale light which the -stars diffused. - -“I—I must never see—never see you—again,” she stammered, painfully, “we -must say—say good-by.” - -“You must never——Garde—why—we must say—But, Garde, dear,—I don’t -understand you. What does all this mean?” - -“Oh, please go—now,” she said. “That is all—all I can say. It must be -good-by.” - -Adam was made dumb for a moment. He stared at her unbelievingly. He -passed his hand across his brow, as if he feared his fasting and -long-endured labors had weakened his mind. - -“What in heaven’s name has happened?” he said, as if partially to -himself. “Am I Adam Rust? Are you Garde? Say good-by?——Dearest, has -anything happened?” - -She nodded to him, forcing back the sob that arose in her throat. -“Something—something has happened,” she repeated. For maidenly shame she -could not broach the subject of the Indian child. - -He was silent for a moment before replying. - -“But you came to-night and gave me the keys, an hour or so ago,” he -said, in wonderment and confusion. “You did that?” - -“I—couldn’t—do less,” she answered, mastering her love and anguish by a -mighty resolution. - -“Do you mean—you would have done the same for anybody?” he asked. And -seeing her nod an affirmative he gave a little laugh. “I am crazy now, -or I have been crazy before,” he told himself. “Something has happened. -Something—Of course—it couldn’t help happening, in time. Some one has -told you——I might have known it would happen.... And yet—you once said -you could wait for me fifty years. And I believed it.... Well, I thank -you. I have been amused.” - -His broken sentences seemed to Garde to fill in the possible gaps of the -story—to make his confession complete. But Adam had, in reality, stopped -himself on the verge of accusing her of listening to the love-making of -some one other than himself, in his absence. - -She made no reply to what he had said. She felt there was absolutely -nothing she could say. Her heart would have cried out to him wildly. -When he spoke so lightly of the fifty years which she could have waited, -she swayed where she stood, ready to drop. Almost one atom more of -impulse and she would have thrown herself in his arms, crying out her -love passionately, in defiance of the story of his perfidy. But her -honor, her maidenly resolution, steeled her in the nick of time. Though -her heart should break, she could not accept the gilded offer of such a -love. - -“Oh, Garde—sweetheart, forgive me,” said Adam, after a moment of -terrible silence. “I have wronged you. Forgive me and tell me it is all -some nightmare—some dreadful——” - -The night stillness was broken by the sound of men running swiftly up -the street. Randolph had thought of the possibility of Adam’s visit to -Mistress Merrill. - -Garde heard and comprehended. Rust heard and was careless. - -“Oh, go, Ad—Mr. Rust, please go at once,” pleaded the girl already -closing down the window. - -“Garde! Garde!—not forever?” cried the man in a last despair. - -“Forever,” she answered, so faintly that he barely heard, and then the -window came down to its place. - -Limping back into the shadow, at the rear of the garden, Adam lay out -full length on the ground, as two tiptoeing figures entered the gate and -came sneaking silently about the somber house. He saw them make a -circuit of the garden. One of them walked to within a rod of where he -lay—therefore within a rod of death,—and then turned uncertainly away -and retired from the place with his fellow-hound. - -The rover heard them go on up the street, hurriedly making toward the -woods. He came back to the place by the window, at last, and whistled -softly once again, unable to believe that what he had heard could be so. -There must be some explanation, if only he could get it. - -There was no response, partially for the reason that Garde had sunk down -upon the floor, on the other side of the window, in a dead faint. - -His lameness fully upon him again, Adam hobbled a few steps away, halted -to look back, yearningly, and then once more dragged himself off, to -join the faithful beef-eaters, waiting in patience with the boat. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX. - - MUTATIONS. - - -WHILE Garde, heart-broken, pale and ill, was restoring her uncle’s keys -to their accustomed hook, in the morning, Adam and his retinue were -taking a much-needed sleep in the woods. - -Having recovered his own good sword and his leather jerkin, from the -place where he had concealed them, on the evening of his capture, he had -led the beef-eaters into a maze of trees where no one in Boston could -have found them, and here he was doing his best to prove himself a -cheerful and worthy companion, to share their natural distresses. - -Refusing at first to eat of the luncheon provided by Garde, the rover -finally yielded to the importunities of his companions, and thereby got -much-needed refreshment. By noon they were far on their way toward New -Amsterdam, their only safe destination. They kept close to the edge of -the woods, as they went, remaining thereby in touch with the farms, on -which they depended, in their penniless condition, for something to eat. - -By sheer perversity, Adam wore away his lameness. He bathed his foot -often and he also wrapped it in leaves, the beneficent qualities of -which he had learned from the Indians, years before, and this did as -much, or more, than his doggedness to make repairs in the injured -tendons. - -They were many days on this wearisome march which contrasted, for Adam, -so harshly with that other stroll, to Boston, from Plymouth. On many -occasions they went hungry for a day and a night together. But what with -cheer and good water, they lost nothing of their health. - -With boots beginning to gape at the toes, and with raiment dusty and -faded, they arrived, at last, at the modest house, at the corner of -Cedar and William streets, in New Amsterdam, where Captain William Kidd -resided with his wife. Here they were made welcome. On behalf of himself -and his comrades, Adam presently secured a working passage to -Hispaniola, where he meant to rejoin William Phipps, in the search for -the sunken treasure. He could think of nothing else to do, and he had no -longer the slightest desire to remain on American soil. - -Prior to sailing, however, he wrote a long, detailed account of his -finding the man and his Indian child, with all the incidents related -thereto, which he forwarded straight to Henry Wainsworth. This concluded -his duties. He only regretted, he said in his letter to Henry, that he -could not apprise him of what disposition had been made of the body of -the little man, Henry’s nephew, when the minions of Randolph took it in -their charge. - -This letter came duly into Henry Wainsworth’s possession. Having been -aware, as no other man in Massachusetts was, that his refugee brother -was living his isolated life in the woods, Henry was much overcome by -this sad intelligence. He made what cautious inquiries he dared, with -the purpose of ascertaining what had become of the little body. He then -made a pilgrimage into the woods, stood above the grave which Adam had -made, and then, taking a few worthless trinkets, as mementoes, from the -deserted cabin, he came sadly away. - -But not Henry’s sadness, nor yet that of Garde, served to do more than -to signalize the sense of affliction which the citizens of the colony -felt had come upon them. They had been a joyless people, with their -minds and their bodies dressed in the somber hues suggested by a morbid -condition of religious meditation, but at least they had enjoyed the -freedom for which they had come so far and fought so persistently. With -their charter gone, and the swift descent upon them of the many things -which they had found intolerable in England, they were a melancholy, -hopeless people indeed. - -But even as Garde’s sorrow typified that of her fellow-beings, so did -the fortitude and uncomplaining courage, with which she endured her -burden, typify the stolid suffering of the citizens of Massachusetts, in -this hour of their first great “national” woe. - -The summer ripened and passed. The autumn heralded the ermine-robed King -Winter, with glorious pageantry. The trees put on their cloth of gold -and crimson, and when the hoary monarch came, the millions of leaves -strewed his path, and, prostrate before his march, laid their matchless -tapestry beneath his merciless feet. - -During all this time Randolph had made no sign toward his revenge upon -Garde, for the scorn with which she had cast him from her side. No petty -vengeance would gratify his malignant spirit. The whole colony must -suffer for this indignity, and Garde and her grandfather should feel his -hand mightily, when all was ready. He prepared his way with extreme -caution. He was never hurried. He laid wires to perform his mischief far -ahead. Indeed he lingered almost too long, in his greed to prolong his -own anticipation of what was to be. - -Thus in December of that year, 1686, the frigate “Kingfisher,” from -England, brought to the colony their newly-appointed Governor, Sir -Edmund Andros, who assumed the reins of power with an absolute -thoroughness which left Randolph somewhat shorn of his capacity for -working evil. - -Andros, who had formerly been Governor for New York, for a matter of -three years, was a person of commendable character, in many respects, -but the policy which he had come to put into being and force was stupid, -oppressive and offensive to the people he had to govern. Being the -thorough Tory that he was, he enforced the policy with a vigor which -brought upon him the detestation of the Puritans, who visited the errors -he was ordered to commit upon his own less guilty head. - -The Puritans, in the extremes to which they had fled, in their -separation from the English forms of worship, had adopted a rigid -simplicity in which the whole fabric of ceremonials had been swept away -bodily. They rang no bells for their divine service; they regarded -marriage as a civil contract, purely; they observed no festivals nor -holidays of the church; they buried their dead in stolid silence. They -abhorred the English rites. - -Governor Andros inaugurated countless ceremonies. That very Christmas -the English party of Boston held high revel in the city. The Puritans -refused to close their shops, or to join either in rites or merriment. -They brought in their fire-wood and went about their business, -grim-faced and scowling darkly upon the innovations come among them, -with their fascinations for the young and their enchantment of the -frivolous. - -The offenses against their rigid notions increased rapidly. In February -they beheld, with horror, the introduction of a new invention of the -devil. One Joseph Mayhem paraded in the main street of Boston with a -rooster fastened on his back,—where it flapped its wings -frantically,—while in his hand the fellow carried a bell, on which he -made a dreadful din as he walked. Behind him came a number of ruffians, -blindfolded and armed with cart-whips. Under pretense of striking at -Mayhem and the chanticleer, they cut at the passers-by, roaring with -laughter and otherwise increasing the attention which their conduct -attracted. This exhibition was thought to smack of Papacy and the hated -days of Laud. - -The church itself was invaded. There was as yet no Church of England in -the town. Governor Andros therefore attended with the Puritans, at their -own house of meeting, but to their unnameable horror, he compelled -Goodman Needham, the sexton, to ring the bell, according to English -usage. - -Rebellion being impossible, the Puritans nursed their grievances in -sullen stolidity. They were powerless, but never hopeless of their -opportunity still to come. - -Taxation came as a consequence of the pomp in which the new Governor -conceived it to be his right to exist, as well as the natural result of -his glowing reports to England that the people could be made to disgorge -and would not resist. - -To crown their heritage of woe, Edward Randolph, profiting by their -already established fanaticism and ripeness for the folly, subtly -introduced and finally fastened upon them that curse of superstitious -ignorance, which was doomed to become such a blot upon their page of -history—the “detection” of and persecutions for witchcraft. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XL. - - GOLDEN OYSTERS. - - -CAPTAIN WILLIAM PHIPPS, when Adam left him at Jamaica, had returned, as -he had said he intended, to the waters wherein the old Spanish galleon, -with her golden treasure, was supposed to have sunk. He had met with a -small measure of luck, for an old sailor had pointed out what he alleged -to be the exact reef of rocks on which the galleon had split, half a -century before. This spot was a few leagues to the north of Port de la -Plata. - -Having examined the place without success, Phipps had then discovered -that his crew was not reliable and the ship not much better, in point of -soundness. He had therefore headed for England, coming in due season to -anchor in the Thames. - -Undaunted by the failure which his enterprise had been, he sought out -the King, reported what he had done, and requested the use of another -ship and a better lot of men. - -James was amused and entertained. He commended the bold skipper on his -courage and his tenacity of purpose; he believed his story. But he shook -his head at the thought of furnishing funds and a new ship and crew for -further adventures with pirates and mutineers in the Spanish Main. - -However, at the Court, Captain Phipps had made influential friends. He -was admired for his manly qualities; he was trusted as a man of -exceptional integrity. The Duke of Albemarle, with several friends, -agreed again to back the doughty Captain for the venture. They secured a -new charter for the business from the King; they found a good staunch -ship. Away went Phipps, with a hope so high that nothing could have -served to suppress it. - -It was when the captain arrived once more at Port de la Plata that Adam -Rust and the beef-eaters joined him. The meeting was one in which the -demonstration of a great and enduring affection between the two big men -was the more affecting because of its utter simplicity and quietness. -Adam was welcomed to his share in the new promise with that great spirit -of generosity and justice which characterized everything that Phipps was -ever known to do. - -The preparations for a careful search were pushed ahead rapidly. A -small, stout boat was built and launched, near the fatal reef, while the -ship was anchored at some distance away, in less treacherous water. - -Daily the small boat put forth and the reef was examined, but to no -avail. It was found that the shelf of rock, which had broken the old -galleon, ended so abruptly as to form a sheer drop of many fathoms, -whereas a few feet away it was only a ship’s-hold distance from the -surface. It was conjectured then that the galleon had struck, had filled -with water and so had fallen over the edge of the submerged precipice, -where she would lay forever, undisturbed by prodding man. - -The search was at length abandoned as being futile. The small boat, -being slowly rowed away, Adam beheld a plant, of many colors and rare -beauty, growing on the reef below them, in the clear, emerald water. He -requested a diver to fetch it up. The boat was halted and overboard went -the man. He was soon seen spraddling like some singular creature, back -up through the brine. He had fetched the plant and he told of having -seen on the bottom the encrusted gun of some sunken vessel. - -At Adam’s eager command he returned again to the spot and presently -arose to the surface with an ingot of silver, slimy and dark, clutched -firmly in his hands. The treasure was found! - -Putting for the ship at once, where Captain Phipps was somewhat -laboriously writing a long report of the second failure, the rover gave -the almost incredible news, that set the whole ship afire with amazement -and joy. - -The entire crew were speedily pressed into service. The work was -prosecuted with vigor. Adam looked upon this treasure, coming so late -into his sight and life, with a grim smile upon his lips and with scorn -in his eyes. He saw the divers fetch up masses of bullion, first, then -golden oysters, encrusted with calcareous matter, then broken bags -bursting with their largess of Spanish doubloons, and finally precious -stones, shimmering, untarnished, in the sunlight. - -It was a feverish time. Day after day went by and the boats were filled -with fortunes. It seemed as if the more they took, the more they found. -The gold on top hid gold underneath. - -An old shipmate of Captain Phipps’ whose imagination the ship-builder -had fired, months before, arrived from Providence. He was able so easily -to fill his boat with gold that he went raving crazy and died in a -lunatic asylum at Bermuda. - -The provisions on the ship began to run low, before the examination of -the sunken wreck was complete. Moreover the sailors, their -avariciousness aroused by the sight of all these riches, which daily -they were snatching from the sea, for other men to enjoy, grew restive -and threatened to take a contagion of mutiny. - -Treasure to the value of three hundred thousand pounds had been -recovered, and much still remained untouched. Phipps determined to sail -with what he had, planning to return to the field in the future. He -enjoined silence and secrecy on all the sailors, but the word leaked out -and adventurers gathering from far and near, the rotting galleon was -despoiled of everything she had hoarded so jealously and successfully -throughout the years. - -Phipps brought his vessel in safety to England. The enormous success -which had attended his efforts so aroused the cupidity of certain of the -King’s retainers that they advised James to confiscate the entire -treasure, on the ground that Phipps had withheld such information, on -his former return, as would have induced the crown to finance the second -enterprise, had the truth been told. - -King James, however, was too honorable a monarch to resort to trickery -so infamous. Instead he commended the captain in the highest terms, made -him an intimate of his court, knighted him Sir William Phipps and -invited him to become an Englishman and reside with them there for the -remainder of his life. - -Phipps received his honors modestly. He was too patriotic to desert -America and bluntly said so to his King. He and Adam received, as their -share of the treasure, the one tenth agreed upon, amounting to thirty -thousand pounds, of which sum all that the Captain could prevail upon -Rust to accept was a third, a sum, the rover said, far in excess of the -needs of his retinue and himself. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XLI. - - FATE’S DEVIOUS WAYS. - - -AT Boston it was not a matter of many months before Henry Wainsworth and -piety Tootbaker, having been made aware that Garde was no longer -provisionally betrothed to Randolph, resumed their former hopes and -attentions, as to attending Meeting and paying sundry little visits to -the Soams, when Garde could be expected to be seen. - -Garde had become a subdued little person, wishing only that she might -not be seen by any one as she came and went on her simple rounds of -daily life. Her grandfather had recovered so that once more he pothered -about in his garden and read in his Bible and busied himself with -prattle, more childish than wise. - -The old man saw little of his compatriots. He lived as one only -partially awake from a recent dread. He never discussed the colony’s -politics, for his friends, when they came to see him, spared him the -ordeal which invariably resulted from a mention of the word charter. On -this topic he was quite mad. Almost galvanically, the word produced in -his brain a mania, half fear, half fury, in which he seemed to conceive -that Garde was the author of woes to which nothing could ever give -expression. In such a mood, he was savagery itself, toward the patient -girl. - -Gradually, so gradually that she could not have said when the impression -commenced to grow upon her, Garde discovered that Henry Wainsworth was -exceedingly kind, thoughtful and soothing, in her joyless existence. -There was something kindred in his own isolation, and in his very -bashfulness, or timidity, for it kept him so often silent, when he was -with her alone. She had always respected Henry. His patient devotion -could not but touch her at length. It was not so much a flattery as it -was a faithfulness, through all the discouragements she had given him -always. - -This line of thought having been awakened in her breast, she noted more -of the little, insignificant signs which go to make up the sum of a -man’s real regard—the regard on which a woman can safely rely as one to -endure and to grow. - -In the soreness of her heart, it was almost sweet to think of Henry’s -quiet attentions. It was calming. It lent a little spot of warmth and -color to her otherwise cheerless life. She could never love him, as she -had loved Adam—nay, as she loved him still,—but the dreariness of her -present days might find relief in a new sort of life. Out of the duties, -which as a housewife she would experience daily, surely a trust, an -esteem for Henry, great enough almost to be called a love, would come, -with the years. - -She yearned to bury her sorrow. It was not a healthy, wholesome thing -for any young woman to foster. She had enjoyed her day of love, yes—her -years of love. She had felt like a widowed bride. To her, Adam’s kisses -had been like the first sacred emblems of their marriage. She had not -been able to conceive of permitting such caresses until she should feel -that their souls were mated and their hearts already wedded. But it -could never be the duty of a woman to mourn such a loss till she died. -And then—this newly contemplated union would make her forget. - -But, if she could encourage Henry toward this possibility of a union -such as she thought upon, it would be her duty to be more cheerful, more -living in the every-day hours that were, instead of dreaming sadly and -morbidly upon her heart-break of the past. - -It was not with a sense of gratifying her own longing for happiness that -she finally thought a marriage with Henry possible; there was a sense of -combating her own selfishness in it. It was a selfishness, it was -pampering the morbid in her nature, she felt, to continue indefinitely -in a “widowhood” of Adam’s love. It must also be admitted that Garde was -human, wherefore the element of pique was not absolutely lacking in her -being. No woman would ever wish a man she had rejected to believe that -she could not, or would not, marry elsewhere. She would wish to show -that other opportunities were not lacking, as well as she would desire -to have him know that her heart was not broken beyond repair. - -Having spent at least a month upon these introspective and other -meditations, Garde appeared to Wainsworth so much more bright and -beautiful that there was no containing his emotions. The poor fellow -nearly broke his neck, metaphorically speaking, in a vain attempt to ask -her to become his wife, on the first occasion afforded, after he made -his discovery of her alteration in moods and appearance. - -It was of no use to screw up his courage. It would not stick. He -determined to write what he could not utter, and then, when a moment -should be propitious, to deliver his written declaration into her hand, -to be read when he had fled the scene. To this end he composed an -elegant and eloquent epistle. - -To avoid any possibility of making mistakes, Henry carefully deposited -his letter in the pocket of the coat he always wore to Meeting. This -pocket had been heretofore employed as a receptacle for things precious -over which he desired to exercise particular care. - -Having without difficulty obtained permission from Garde to walk at her -side to church and back, poor Wainsworth lost appetite and sleep, while -waiting for the fateful day. When it came, he was in a nervous plight -which revealed to Garde the whole state of his mind. She felt her -sympathy for him expand in her bosom till she hoped it would burgeon -into love. Had he gone with her into her aunt Gertrude’s home, after the -service, Garde would doubtless have helped to simplify what she was well -aware he wished to say, but, alas for the timid lover, he dared not, on -this occasion, so jeopardize his courage. - -He knew that if ever he got inside the house and faced her, alone, he -would not be able even to deliver his letter. But out of doors his nerve -was steadier. Therefore, at the gate having fortified himself against -the moment, he nervously drew from his pocket a good-sized packet of -paper and put it shakingly into her hand. - -“I wish—I wish you would read—this letter,” he stammered. “Good-by. I—I -hope you will read it quite through.” - -Garde looked at him compassionately. He was only made the more confused. -He bowed himself away with a nervousness painful to see. - -“Poor Henry!” said Garde, with a little smile to herself. She knew what -to expect in the document and vaguely she wondered if she would not feel -more at peace when she had consented to become his wife. Her memory of -words and looks, behind which the figure of Adam, the sad boy-captive, -the love-irradiated champion of her cat, and then the melancholy -violinist in the woods—this had all, of late, been more than usually -strong upon her. - -Garde’s cat had died within the week just passed. This event had served -to open up old tombs, containing her dead dreams. She had almost caught -herself wishing she had taken less to heart the story of Adam’s perfidy, -or at least that she might never have heard the story at all. But when -she had shaken off the spell which this past would persist in weaving -about her, she was resolved to accept Henry Wainsworth, so that her duty -might compel her to forget. - -With a half melancholy sense of sealing her own sentence of banishment -from her land of bitter-sweet memories, she delayed the moment of -unfolding Henry’s letter. When she found herself alone, she laid it down -before her, on the table, and looked at it with lackluster eyes. But -presently, then, having tossed off the reverie which was stealing upon -her, she sighed once, heavily, and took up the papers with a resolute -hand. - -She opened the stiff sheets and bent them straight. She read “Dear -friend,” and thought Henry’s writing had altered. Her eyes then sped -along a number of lines and she started with a new, tense interest in -the document. - -The letter she held in her hands was the one which Adam Rust had penned -to Wainsworth, concerning his brother. - -“Why!” she presently said, aloud, “why—he couldn’t have meant—” yet -Henry, she recalled, had asked her particularly to read all the pages -through. - -She had only made a start into Adam’s narrative, yet her heart had begun -to leap till she could barely endure its commotion. She spread the -sheets out before her on the table, with nervous fingers. She read -swiftly, greedily. Her bosom heaved with the tumult of suddenly stirred -emotions. She made a glad little noise, as she read, for the -undercurrent of her thought was of a wild exultation to find that Adam -was innocent, that she was justified in loving him now, as she had been -justified always—that her instinct had guided her rightly when she had -helped him to break from the prison. - -Her eyes were widely dilated. Her pent-up emotions swayed her till she -suddenly clutched up the sheets and crumpled them in joy against her -bounding heart. - -“Adam!” she said, half aloud. “Oh, Adam! My Adam!” - -She bent above the letter again, crooning involuntarily, in the -revelation of Adam made again his noble self by the lines he had written -so simply and innocently here upon the paper. She was reading, but -having, almost in the first few lines, discovered so much that her -intuition had far out-raced her eyes, she was hardly comprehending the -sentences that ran so swiftly beneath her gaze, so abandoned were her -senses to the sudden hope and the overwhelming joy which the revelation -compelled. She kissed the papers. She laid her cheek upon them, she -surrounded them warmly with her arms. - -She felt so glad that she had loved him in spite of that horrible story! -Her soul leaped with exultation. She would not be obliged to marry -Wainsworth, to forget. She would never forget! She would wait for Adam -now—if need be till Judgment Day itself! - -She kissed Adam’s writing again. She fondled it lovingly. It restored -him. It gave her back her right to love him. It was too much to think -upon or to try to express. - -She had only half read it; the sense of the story had escaped her grasp. -It had been enough that Adam was guiltless. Her breath came fast; the -color had flamed to her cheeks. Her eyes were glowing with the love -which she had welcomed home to her throbbing heart. - -She had risen, unable to control herself, so abruptly and unexpectedly -had the discovery come upon her. Now she sat down again at the table and -read the letter more carefully. It was such a sad little story. - -“Unfortunately I sprained my ankle, and this delayed me,” she read, -where Adam had written. She pictured him now, limping through the -forest, with the little brown child, and her heart yearned over his -suffering, his patience and his self-sacrifice in coming back to the -cruel fate in store for him, there in Boston. - -She thought of him then in the prison. She blessed the instinct of love -which had made her go to his aid. He was not an outlaw. He was not a -renegade. He was her own Adam. - -Then she thought of the moment in which she had sent him away. After all -the heart-breaking trials he had already endured, she had added the -final cruelty. She remembered how he had limped, when she saw him -starting off, just before she had fainted at the window, that terrible -night. Longing to call him back, now, and to cry out her love,—that had -never died,—her trust, which should now endure for ever, and her plea to -be forgiven, she fancied she heard him again saying: “Garde! Garde!—not -forever?” and she felt a great sob rising in her throat. - -“Oh, Adam!” she said, as if from the depths of her heart. - -The hot tears, of joy and sadness blended, suddenly gave vent to the -pent-up emotions within her. They rolled swiftly down across her face -and splashed in great blots on the writing. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XLII. - - LITTLE RUSES, AND WAITING. - - -WHEN she had recovered somewhat of her calm again, Garde found herself -confronted by several difficulties with which she would be obliged to -cope. In the first place she had ruined Adam’s letter to Henry -Wainsworth, crumpling the sheets and permitting her tears to fall upon -their surfaces, till no one save herself, aided by love, could have -deciphered some of the sentences at all. - -In the second place, if Henry had really intended to ask her hand in -marriage, as she could not avoid believing, there might be complications -in that direction at an early date. She could only resolve, upon this -point, that she must not, under any circumstances, permit Henry to make -his proposal, either orally or through the medium of another letter. - -As to this letter, from Adam to Henry, it was certainly of a private -character, but Henry had asked her to read it, and now she could not -have disguised the fact that she had done so. She could not see how she -could possibly return it to Henry at all, under the circumstances. She -could not bear to think of letting him see the evidence of her emotions, -wrought upon it. Moreover, it was precious to her. She felt entitled to -own it. To her it meant far more than it possibly could to any other -person in the world. She resolved to make a fair copy of it, for Henry, -while she herself would retain the original—in Adam’s own writing. - -Her third proposition was the most vital of them all. She could not -think of what she should do to repair the harm which she alone, after -all, had done, when she sent Adam away with that little word “Forever!” -How should she let him know of the infamous story which she had been -made to believe? How should she convince him, even supposing she could -reach him with a word, that the story had left no room in her mind for -doubt of its truth? How could she manage to persuade him that she had -loved him always; that she knew at last of the wrong she had done him; -that she begged his forgiveness; that she should wait for him even -longer than the fifty years of which he had spoken on that last -agonizing night? - -He might not forgive her, she told herself. It might be too late -already. She knew not where he had gone, or what he had done. He too -might have thought of marriage with somebody else—to try to forget. - -As a result of her brain cudgeling, to know what she would do to make -Adam aware that she had made a great mistake and desired his -forgiveness, she determined to write him a letter. Having decided, she -wrote at once. Had she waited a little longer, her letter might have -been more quiet in its reserve, but it could not then have been so -utterly spontaneous, nor expressive of the great love she bore him, kept -alive during all those months of doubt and agony. - -As it was, the little outburst was sufficiently dignified; and it was -sweet, and frank. She told him that she had read his letter to Henry, -and that suddenly she had known of the great wrong she had done him. She -mentioned that a dreadful story had been fastened upon him, with all too -terrible semblances of truth and justice. She begged his forgiveness in -a hundred runes. Finally, when she had finished, she signed it -“Garde—John Rosella,” in memory of her walk with him through the woods, -from near Plymouth to Boston. - -Not without blushes and little involuntary thrills of delight did she -add the name which confessed the tale of that wonderful walk, but she -felt that Adam would know, by this very confession, how deep for him -must be her love and trust and how contrite was the spirit in which she -desired his forgiveness. - -This epistle having at length been disposed of to her satisfaction, she -made the fair copy of Adam’s letter to Henry and sent it to Wainsworth -at once, with a short note of explanation that some moisture having -fallen upon the original, making it quite illegible and indeed -destroying it utterly, for his use, she felt she could do no less than -to make this reparation. She likewise expressed the compliment she felt -it was to herself that Henry had desired her to know of this sad affair -in the life of his brother, but that she had been so affected by the -tale that she must beg him not to permit her to read any further letters -for some time to come. - -This was a masterly composition, for poor Wainsworth destroyed the -proposing epistle he had written at such infinite pains, and for a time, -wholly abandoned any thought of speaking of marriage. He was exceedingly -mortified to think he had made such a blunder as to give her the letter -which he had guarded so cautiously. Timidity settled upon him, -especially as he noted another, altogether incomprehensible change in -Garde’s demeanor, when next they met. - -Having despatched her letter to Adam, Garde felt a happiness grow and -expand in her bosom daily. She expected the wait to be a long one, till -a letter, or some other manner of a reply, could come from Adam. -Goodwife Phipps, of whom she had artfully contrived to get the rover’s -address, had assured her of the very great number of weeks that elapsed -between communications from William, in answer to the fond little flock -of letters which she was constantly launching forth to the distant -island across the sea. But when weeks became months, and time fled -onward inexorably, with never a sign or a word in return for what she -had written, she had many moments in which sad, vain regrets and -confirmed despair took possession of her thoughts. - -She was a resigned, patient girl, however, with her impulses curbed, for -the sadness of the times, aside from her own little affairs, cast a -gloom upon the colony which seemed to deepen rather than to promise ever -to dissolve. - -Her heart felt that the fifty years had passed many times over her head, -when, after a longer time than Mrs. Phipps had mentioned as sufficient -to bring even a delayed reply had passed, and nothing had come from Adam -Rust. Garde watched for the ships to come, one by one, her hopes rising -always as the white sails appeared, and then falling invariably, when no -small messenger came to her hand. She lived from ship to ship, and sent -her own little argosies of thought traveling wistfully across the seas, -hoping they might come to harbor in Adam’s heart at last and so convey -to him her yearning to hear just a word, or to see him just once again. - -In the meantime, she could not endure the thought that either Henry -Wainsworth or Piety Tootbaker should even so much as think of her as if -they stood in Adam’s place. She therefore went to work with all her -maidenly arts, to render such a situation impossible, in the case of -either of the would-be suitors. - -Thus she contrived to tell the faithful Henry that Prudence Soam was -very fond of him indeed. For this she had a ground work of fact. She -then conveyed to Prudence the intelligence that Henry was thinking upon -her most fondly. This also began soon to be true enough, for Henry had -been flattered, not a little, by the news he heard and did look at -Prudence with a new and wondering interest. He likewise underwent a -process of added intelligence in which he realized that Garde was not -for him, howsoever much he might have dreamed, or would be able to dream -in the future. It was remarkable, then, how soon the timid Henry and the -diffident Prudence began to understand one another. Prudence, who had -never had a sweetheart before, blossomed out with pretty little ways and -with catching blushes and looks of brightness in her eyes that made her -a revelation, not only to Henry but to Garde herself. And Henry became -really happy and almost bold. - -For Piety, alas, there was no Prudence available. Garde racked her -brains for a plan to fit the case of Tootbaker’s state of mind. At -length, when John Soam began to talk to his wife about the colony -patriots again desiring that money which had never been used to send -David Donner abroad, for the purpose of sending somebody else, in the -spring, Garde knew exactly what to do. - -She would manage to send Piety Tootbaker away to England. She went to -work in this direction without delay. Her success was not a thing of -sudden growth. It took no little time and persuasion to fire Piety with -an ambition to serve his country by going so far from his comfortable -home and his equally comfortable wooing, in which he believed he was -making actual progress. - -For their agent extraordinary, to plead their cause at the Court of King -James, the colonists selected Increase Mather, a man at once astute, -agreeable and afflicted with religious convictions which had every -barnacle of superstition that ever lived, attached upon them. Piety -Tootbaker was to go as his clerk and secretary. - -The preparations for sending Mather abroad were conducted with no small -degree of secrecy. Nevertheless Edward Randolph became aware of what was -being contemplated, for his hypocritical Puritan agents were everywhere -and in all affairs of state, or even of private business. - -Permitting the scheme to ripen, Randolph waited until almost the moment -for Mather’s sailing. He then swooped down upon the enterprise and -attempted to arrest Mather, on the process of some sham prosecution. The -patriots, incensed almost to the point of rebellion, played cunning for -cunning. They delayed the departure of the ship, the captain of which -was a staunch “American,” and then hustled Mather aboard under cover of -darkness, and so sent him off on his mission. - -For a week after Piety had gone, Garde felt such a sense of relief that -she almost persuaded herself she was happy in her long wait for Adam, or -for a word which might finally come. But the months again began their -dreary procession, and her fear that Adam was lost to her forever -deepened and laid its burden more and more upon her heart. - -Yet there came a day when, a ship having arrived in the harbor, and her -hope having greeted it wistfully, only to flutter back to her own -patient bosom again, a letter did actually come to her hand. - -It was not particularly neat; it looked as if it might have been opened -before it came to her possession, but her heart bounded wildly when she -saw it, and her fingers trembled as she broke it open to read its -contents. - -Then her joy vanished. The letter was from Piety Tootbaker. He -announced, as if to break the intelligence to her frankly, that the -voyage had made him so exceedingly ill that he had determined never to -trust himself upon the billows again. He would therefore reside -hereafter in England, which was “a pleasing countrie and much more -merrie than Boston.” - -“I shall never, never get an answer to my letter,” said Garde to -herself, made sadder by the arrival of Piety’s letter, which proved that -letters could actually come from over the sea. “He will never, never -reply, I know.” - -She was not far mistaken, for Adam had never received her letter. It had -fallen into the hands of Edward Randolph, who had constituted himself -censor of communications sent abroad from Massachusetts. Malignantly he -was keeping those love-scented sheets, against the day of his vengeance. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - PART III. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - A TOPIC AT COURT. - - -IN the midst of a gay throng, in the production of which the Court of -King James lagged little, if any, behind that of his brother, Charles, -Adam Rust and Captain Phipps were prime favorites. Sir William, who had -adopted a cane, gave no promise that he would ever be at home with the -disciples of the minuet and the hunt, while Adam seemed a very part of -the social mechanism. - -Richly dressed, ready with his wit and his sword, handsome, wealthy -enough to attract the soft glances of dames of all ages and degrees, he -was a puzzle to the blunt captain, who had marked a change that had come -upon him between going home from Jamaica and coming back again to help -in recovering the treasure. - -Whitehall was ablaze with light and warmth, which were reflected from -myriad sparkling jewels and from rosy cheeks. The King had disappointed -his guests, nevertheless they were not at a loss to find amusement. -Ready as ever to entertain, either with a song for the ladies or a duel -with the men, Adam was pressed for a roundel to fit the merry hour. He -had found a glass which responded with a particularly musical tinkle to -the tap of his finger. He held it up before the admiring company and -rang it crisply. Catching the key from its mellifluous tintinnabulation -he began his song: - - “Oh your jolliest girl is your cup of sack, - Your Mistress Sack, with her warm, brown eyes; - She’ll love you, and never she’ll turn her back, - Nor leave you a thought - In her meshes uncaught, - And never you’ll know if she lies. - - “Then it’s drink, drink, drink, - And you’ll never have need to think; - And it’s fol de rol, - And who has use for a brain? - With your cup that loves your lip, - You need fear no faithless slip, - And your heart will never know the stabs of pain. - - “Oh your languorous maid is your glass of wine, - Your Lady Amour, with her ruby kiss. - She suffers no rivals, or thinking—in fine, - She owns all your soul - And she takes for her toll - A payment in dull-witted bliss. - - “Then drink, drink, drink, etc. - - “Oh, your mistress for faith is your poison cup. - Your poison cup, with its juice of death. - She’ll hold you, ha! ha! till the Doomsday’s up, - In her passion’s embrace, - And so close to her face - That you’ll never get time for a breath. - - “Then it’s drink, drink, drink, - And you never of love need think; - And it’s fol de rol, - For who has use for a heart? - With a cup that loves your lip, - You need fear no faithless slip, - Nor feel the pangs of any pains that dart.” - -Not being at all certain that they knew what he meant, the company -applauded with great enthusiasm. - -“But, my dear sir,” said a nobleman, with a head on him hardly bigger -nor less wrinkled than a last winter’s apple, and a stomach as big as a -tun, “you have not tasted a drink to-night. Demme, look at me, sir. I -love my sack and my wine. I know nothing of your poison cup, and I have -no wish to, demme. But, sir, I think you have no bowels for drinking.” - -“My lord, you furnish the bowels and I will furnish the brains to know -about drinking,” said Adam. “By my faith, no drink ever yet went to your -head.” - -“No, sir! I’m proud of it, demme,” said his lordship. “I have drunk up a -fortune, and where is it?—It’s gone.” - -“Distill your breath and get it back,” suggested Rust. - -“What’s that? Demme, you are laughing at me, sir.” - -“Never!” said Adam, decisively. “Above all persons you make me sober. -Breathe toward our friend the Viscount. He has ever wished fortune to -wing in his direction.” - -“The Viscount? Where? Demme, yes. My dear old chap, how are you?” and -turning, inconsequently, to a friend whose little eyes seemed to swim -around in the florid sea of his face, his lordship was deserted by the -rover. Sauntering through a cluster of friends who would have detained -him, Adam approached a window, where he sat himself down on a miniature -divan. - -Here he had but a second to himself, for while somebody else was -preparing to sing to the company, a beautiful little lady, with eyes -that were fairly purple in their depths of blue, came and took the seat -beside him. - -“Oh, Mr. Rust,” she said, “what a strange song that was. Why, but you -know nothing of wine and sack, and poison. Oh, why did you say poison? -That was dreadful. And why should you wish never to think of love? What -has poor little love ever done to you?” - -“You must remember, Lady Violet,” said Adam, “that before I sang I had -not seen you, to speak a word, during the entire evening.” - -Lady Violet blushed. “That hasn’t anything to do with anything,” she -said. - -Adam replied: “That makes me equivalent to nothing.” - -“It doesn’t,” the lady protested. “You mix me all up. I don’t believe -you know anything more about love than you do about drinking.” - -“Do you counsel me to learn of these arts?” - -“No, not of drinking—certainly not, Mr. Rust.” - -“If we eliminate the drinking, that only leaves the love.” - -“Oh, but I—I didn’t say that I—I don’t wish to counsel you at all. You -twist about everything I say.” - -“And you twist about every man you meet,” retorted Adam. - -“Oh, I do not!” she objected. “How rude you are to say so. I don’t even -like all the men I meet, and if I did——” - -“You mean, then, that you twist only the ones like myself, that you -like.” - -“I don’t! I——You make me say things I don’t want to say.” - -“Then I shall make you say that you love me desperately,” said Adam, -complacently. - -“Mr. Rust!” she gasped. “I—I—I——” - -“If you are going to say it now, let me know,” Adam interrupted. - -She was blushing furiously. She did love him, just about as Rust had -described, but he had never guessed it and was merely toying with the -one absorbing and universal topic of the court. - -“I—I am not going to say anything of the kind!” she stammered. - -“Then that proves my case,” Adam announced, judicially. “I cannot compel -you to say anything at all that is not already at the point of your -tongue.” - -“You—you are very rude,” she said, helplessly. - -“So I have been told by Lady Margaret,” Adam confessed. “Here she is -herself. Lady Margaret, we are having quite a discussion. Tell us, if a -man tries to make a lady say she loves him desperately, is he -necessarily rude?” - -A superb young widow, who was gradually emerging from her mourning -black, and who had come to the gathering with her father, halted in -front of the two on the small divan and looked them over. - -“Dear Lady Violet,” said the new comer, “your brother and Lord -Kilkrankie are looking for you everywhere.” - -“Oh, thank you, so much,” said the confused little lady, and without -waiting for anything further she jumped up and fled from the scene. She -was vexed at and distrustful of Lady Margaret; but she could not remain -and give her battle. - -The second lady took Violet’s seat, calmly. “What have you been saying -of love to that little, brainless child?” she said. “You haven’t been -making love to her, surely?” - -“Oh no,” said Adam, “I was occupying my time till you should come along -and make love to me.” - -“You wretch,” she said, with perfect calm. “You wouldn’t know love if -you saw it.” - -“Is it so rare at Court?” he inquired. “Perhaps I should spend my time -better in looking at you.” - -“Don’t be silly,” she said. “But tell me, what is your opinion, really, -of love.” - -“It makes a poor fare for dinner, a poor coat in the winter, and a poor -comfort when you are dead,” said Rust. “It tricks the clever; it’s the -wandering Jew of emotions. If you wish me to do you an injury, bid me to -love you forthwith.” - -“Where have you learned, that you speak with such wisdom?” said Lady -Margaret. “Surely not such a child as Violet——” - -“You do yourself an injustice,” Adam interrupted. - -“Adam,” she said, “this is the sort of thing you say to all the women.” - -“And which of your friends would you ask me to neglect?” he asked. “A -woman’s judgment is the one thing I lack.” - -“You are a heartless wretch!” she announced. - -“On the contrary, I am a wretch of a thousand hearts,” he corrected. -“How long would you continue to love me if I had any less?” - -“Adam! I don’t love you, and you know it.” - -“That leaves a vacancy in my life which I shall fill at once,” he told -her. “Wait—perhaps I can catch the eye of the Countess.” - -The Countess had one of the most catchable eyes imaginable. She came up -immediately. - -“Margaret says she no longer loves me,” said the incorrigible Rust, “I -shall give her place to you.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - ILLNESS IN THE FAMILY. - - -SICK of the women, to all of whom he made love, openly, to avoid being -thought serious by any; weary of the specious show, which failed to -bring him the forgetfulness he craved, Adam left the assemblage early -and went to search out the beef-eaters, at their humble quarters. - -Improvidents that they were, Pike and Halberd had soon dispersed the not -inconsiderable sum of money which Adam had divided between them, since -which time he had provided the pair with their lodgings, keep, clothing -and amusements. - -The night being fine and the air soon reviving the rover’s livelier -moods of delight in sheer existence, he found himself loitering along, -stopping to look in the windows of the scattered shops still open for -the tag-ends of the day’s trading. It was only the little knick-knack -shops, old curio dens and lesser establishments that still had their -lights aglow, but it happened that these were the particular ones in -which Adam took an interest. - -He stopped before one of the dingiest for fifteen minutes, carefully -scanning a considerable collection of violins which the window -contained. At length his eye lighted, he muttered something half -exclamatory and went into the shop at once. The dealer knew him and -nodded delightedly, glad to have him again in his place, as he had fully -expected when he placed the rare old fiddle which Rust had seen, in his -window. - -Adam bought the instrument with all the eagerness of the confirmed -connoisseur and went his way contented. - -When he came to the tavern where the beef-eaters made their abode, he -found little Pike dangerously ill with pleurisy and thinking of -shuffling off forlornly into his next existence. - -The one thing which alone could transform Adam Rust into the cheerful -fellow he had been before his veneer of cynicism came upon him, was -illness in his family. He refused to let his beef-eaters think of dying. -They were his tie to everything he still held dear. - -He pulled off his coat and went to work on Pike, whose spirits he raised -with songs, raillery and cheer, and whose fever he lowered with teas and -bitter drinks, which he steeped himself, from various herbs and roots, -the specific qualities of which he had known from the Indians. - -The Court saw no more of the reckless Adam for a week. At the end of -this time he had coaxed the faithful Pike to something like his former -health again, when he announced his intention of going to Spain, to add -to his growing collection of violins. He therefore said good-by to Sir -William Phipps and went off with his beef-eaters both in charge. - -Having learned that the Pyrenees afforded splendid possibilities for -building up depleted health and strength, the rover domiciled himself -and companions in a spot that was charmingly lonely. And William Phipps, -when Adam’s first letter arrived, wondered vaguely what manner of -violins his comrade was finding in the mountains. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - FOILED PURPOSES. - - -INCREASE MATHER met with a dignified and polite reception at the Court -of the King, for Sir William Phipps, with all his influence and -persuasiveness, prepared the way for the envoy extraordinary to approach -the master of the colonies. - -Sir William even constituted himself another champion of downtrodden -Massachusetts, and added his importunities to those of Mather, to induce -James to re-establish the rights and territory of the colony and to give -it back its beloved charter. - -“We love you much, Sir William,” said the King, with a firmness which -was never to be shaken, “but we cannot accede to your wishes. Anything -but this that you will ask shall be granted.” - -Disappointed, but never disconcerted, Sir William conferred with Mather, -whom he was obliged to assure that nothing that either of them could say -to him now would beget an alteration of King James’s decision. Mather, -persistent, suave and convinced of the justice of his cause, determined -to remain in touch with the Court and the King’s retainers, until sheer -patience and persistence should win what persuasion could not. - -Phipps, knowing only too well the disposition of the King, when once his -word was passed, determined that he could do more for his country if -present in the colony than he could by remaining in London. Reminding -the King that he had already granted him any other favor than the -restoration of the colony’s charter, he announced his desire to be -appointed Sheriff of New England. - -Regretting to lose the hearty Captain from his company, James -nevertheless kept his word by complying with Sir William’s request. The -appointment was duly made and confirmed. Leaving Mather behind him, -Phipps returned to Boston and set about the administration of his -new-made duties, with more ardor than cunning, with more honesty than -diplomacy. - -It is doubtful if William Phipps ever had a more aggravating experience, -in all his adventures, with mutineers and pirates, than he underwent at -the hands of Randolph and Governor Andros. He was not a man of finished -education. Born in Maine, in a family of twenty-one children, he had -been obliged to commence the round of shifting for himself at an early -age. He had apprenticed himself to a ship-carpenter at eighteen and then -had come to Boston four years later, when he went to work and taught -himself to read and to write. - -Hampered now, by this lack of early opportunities, insulted, and finding -his most sincere efforts nullified and his plans constantly frustrated, -by the delays and artifices of the council under Andros, he was made -heartily sick of the whole situation. - -His return to Boston, however, was not marked entirely by chagrin and -discouragement. He had his wife with him, and herein lay the greatest -happiness which ever came into his eventful life. He built her the “fair -brick house, in the Green Lane,” which he had promised, years before, -and he endeared many of the staunch patriots, who beheld his efforts to -help them, sadly, though with admiration. - -Although Garde had never known how very intimate indeed had been the -relations of Captain Phipps and Adam, yet she was aware that they had -been much together. She had naturally learned, in common with all the -inhabitants of Boston, that Sir William had found the treasure he had -spent so many years in seeking, but she had never known that when she -sent Adam away he had gone to Hispaniola to join the searching -expedition. Therefore she was in ignorance of the fact that Adam was -wealthy. - -But, after all, she was only concerned with Adam’s present whereabouts, -and the reasons why, after all these months and months of waiting—it -being now two full years since that last tragic meeting—he had never -relented sufficiently to write, or to send her a word. - -As time had gone on, she had become more and more convinced, either that -Adam intended never to forgive her, or that he had married some one else -and therefore could not, in honor, think longer upon her. Her belief -inclined toward the first explanation. She confessed that she had done -him a great wrong, especially as she had never even so much as permitted -him to deny the story of the Indian child, but she argued that had she -been in his place and forgiveness had been so earnestly implored, she -could not have had the heart to refuse. - -It was the one little sad privilege left her, to make up her mind she -would wait, till death, if need be, patiently, lovingly, till Adam -should one day know she loved him and that she was keeping herself -sacred for his claiming. And if he never did come to claim her, still -she would love him. If death came to take her, she would go to death as -a bride would go to church, to wait the coming of her love. - -In the frame of mind which her vigil had begotten, fortified by her -sense of maidenly pride and diffidence, it was utterly impossible for -her to think of going either to Sir William Phipps, or to his wife, to -ask for information concerning Adam. She was aware that the Captain -doubtless knew of Adam’s whereabouts, his position in life and whether -or not he was married, but if Adam chose to remain silent, disdainful -and unforgiving, she would rather die than go to a stranger to ask about -him, or to send him anything further, in the way of a word or a letter. - -As a matter of fact, Garde had attempted to send another little letter, -a year after the first one had gone, but it too had fallen into the -clutches of Randolph. The creature had destroyed it, as containing -nothing of importance to any of his machinations, for it merely asked -the rover if he had received the first epistle. - -Thus Garde’s golden opportunity slipped away unused, and her life -narrowed down, more and more, to the simple duties of taking what care -she could of the white-haired old man, her grandfather, who rubbed his -thumb across the ends of his fingers endlessly, although he was slowly -being restored to his old-time activity of mind and body. - -Utterly disheartened, by the futility of his desires and efforts to -serve his country in his capacity of Sheriff, Sir William Phipps was -glad to receive a letter that came from Increase Mather, informing him -that the time was drawing near for renewed labors to be attempted in -England. Responding to this, he deserted his useless office and sailed -for London in the midst of the winter season. - -The opportunity of which Garde might have availed herself, to learn -something of Adam, was gone. She knew not what she had done, or what she -had lost. - -Phipps came to England at a moment when epochs were fairly in the -process of crystalization. - -King James, the last of Britain’s Roman Catholic monarchs, had been -obliged to abdicate his throne and to flee to Ireland for his life. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - MAKING HISTORY. - - -UNTHRONED and uncrowned as he was, James, for some inexplicable reason, -still entertained a wild idea that the colonies, the patriots of which -he had taken no pains to endear to his cause or himself, would still -remain loyal and contented to acquiesce in his dominion. He made all -haste to communicate with Sir William Phipps, as a representative of New -England whom he had always honored and esteemed. He offered to appoint -the Captain his Governor of all New England, with plenary powers, in -almost any direction, concerning the old charter and all. - -Promptly and with the blunt wisdom which marked his course through life, -Phipps refused the honor. Catholicism had never appealed to his sense of -good government, and loyalty to the English throne, from which the -colonies had their being, was deeply ingrained in his nature. Gratitude -to James for past favors, to which he felt he was somewhat entitled, was -a large quality in Sir William, but between gratitude and folly he drew -a sturdy line. - -With Increase Mather, Phipps went to work at once at the Court of -William of Orange, who with Mary ascended the British throne early in -1689. Intelligence as to the sinister machinations of Randolph and -Andros leaked through the censorship, and came to Mather and the -Captain. Their case was strengthened. The Prince of Orange was bound, by -all the faith of his Protestant principles, to grant what release he -might to the American colonies from the oppressors placed in power by -the Stuarts. - -The new King’s declaration of his sway was conveyed in haste to the -American shores. It was taken overland from Virginia to Massachusetts. -The spirit of the Puritans, which had simmered so long, began to make -the sounds of boiling. - -Andros, mighty in his sovereignty, arrested the messenger who had -fetched the news, but the news had leaped from lip to lip, and the torch -had been applied to combustible thought. - -In March, John Winslow confirmed the declaration of the new monarchs. -The people now gathered together their all-but-forgotten muskets and -pikes. Against the flood-tide coming toward him, Governor Andros reared -a barricade of threats. The frigate “Rose” was lying in the harbor, -bristling with guns that showed like so many sinister, black fangs. Her -decks were alive with soldiers. The Governor demanded the submission and -disarmament of the people, on pain of death. He declared his intention -of employing the cannon and arsenal of the frigate forthwith, if the -angry disturbances did not immediately cease. - -On the 18th of April the patriots were prepared with their answer. The -captain of the frigate, with nearly all of his officers, had come -ashore, to hold a conference with Andros and Randolph. The Puritans -suddenly swooped down upon them and captured every Jack of the lot. The -frigate was thus put out of action at one clever stroke. - -Now rolled the alarm of beaten drums through the martial city of Boston. -In their old Indian-fighting regalia, the citizens swarmed from their -houses into the streets. They set up their ensign on Beacon Hill, at the -edge of the Common, they fired a signal gun for action, and falling upon -Randolph and many of the council, which Andros had collected about him, -they rushed them to jail and took possession of the town. - -The proclamation of King William was read, with loud acclaim. The -excited populace surged in the narrow, crooked highways. The leaders -demanded of Andros that he surrender both his office and himself. The -man refused and fled to his stronghold, whence he defied the patriots -and continued to the last to declare his power, though like water now -fast escaping from his grasp. - -Surrounding their ex-master they made him a prisoner, not a refugee, and -at length he gave in and was captured and sent to confinement, along -with the others of his recent government. - -With an instinct for conventions, the citizens were soon assembled. -Howsoever great had been their heat in their moment of rebellion and -triumph, they were calm enough to be wise when the time arrived to -declare for themselves. They reinstated Bradstreet and the Council of -’86. They declared the old Government in force and their former charter -_ipso facto_ restored, unimpaired by the interim of nearly three years -of maladministration. - -William and Mary received the report of all these swiftly terminated -proceedings with a favor which was not unblended with astonishment. -Admiring the Protestant spirit, which it had become their own special -province to uphold, they lost no time in confirming the entire course of -actions, even to the temporary resumption of their old charter -privileges and powers, by the patriots across the sea. And there, for a -time, they were contented to permit the matter to rest. The affairs of -England they had found so completely engrossing that they had no time to -spare toward regranting a specific charter to Massachusetts. - -Increase Mather, suspicions of privileges and liberties not absolutely -signed, sealed and delivered, remained at his post, working continuously -and sedulously to obtain that monarchical support and confirmation of -the colony’s prerogatives which his many compatriots had sent him to -secure. - -Sir William Phipps, on the other hand, realized the busy state of mind -in which William and Mary had been so abruptly plunged, and he therefore -deferred further work with Mather for a time more suitable. Then, when -he learned that the French Catholics in America had formed alliances -with the Indians and were already overrunning the Protestant territory -and committing daily depredations, he made up his mind once more to -return to the field of action, in which he might be able to render more -effective service than he could by remaining in England. - -He arrived in the summer of that fateful year, ’89, and offered himself -to Bradstreet at once. The period of warfare in which he thereupon -engaged was one of great length and of much bitterness. - -Alternating defeat and victory left the advantages with the French and -Indians, so far as hopes of ultimate success were concerned. The -colonists had to make such long, tedious marches that decisive victories -for their arms were almost impossible. The enemy gained in confidence, -audacity and numbers. - -In despair the General Court finally offered two sloops of war, free, -together with all the profits of plunder which might result from the -enterprise, to any man who would undertake to reduce to ashes Penobscot, -St. John’s and Port Royal, the seats of the French and Indian power. The -offer attracted Phipps, who foresaw, in the execution of the task, an -infinite amount of adventure and action. - -He enlisted men for the undertaking. Yet matters grew worse with such -alarming rapidity that before the enterprise could be placed in -readiness for work, it became necessary to raise a small fleet of -vessels prepared for war-like operations. Thus seven sloops and seven -hundred men, under command of Sir William, sailed away to the North on -their sinister errand. - -Port Royal, secure and arrogant, in her fancied isolation from attack, -was surprised and taken. The French were routed with great loss. The -town was looted until hardly so much as a sauce-pan was left by the -thorough-going warriors of New England. The plunder, while not -enormously valuable, nevertheless was sufficient to help materially in -meeting the expenses of the venture. But its indirect effect on the -colonists was not so happy. Cupidity is so often the jackal that follows -righteous indignation. - -The Puritans foresaw opportunities to punish the enemy, at the enemy’s -own expense. A second expedition, to go against Quebec, was planned, the -patriots expecting in confidence that, like the first, it would surely -succeed, if Phipps were at its head, and that the plunder would more -than repay the initial expenses of the expedition. - -Sir William, having expressed his doubts of the wisdom of this -over-ambitious scheme, nevertheless commanded the fleet once more as it -sailed away, eager for further conquest. - -The enterprise was doomed to failure from the first. It dragged out -interminably, it developed jealousies, it was ill-planned. Such a -bedraggled, failure-smitten lot of lame-duck sloops returned to Boston -that the council were simply appalled. They had expended so much of -their meager hoard of funds on the venture, that the treasury was -practically bankrupted. - -Blame rained upon the head of Phipps, for not having succeeded against -impossible conditions. Driven to extremities, by the woeful lack of -plunder, the colony-fathers were obliged, for the first time in their -history, to issue paper currency. The notes ranged in value from -denominations of two shillings up to ten pounds. - -Still an undimmed patriot, ready to serve his country in whatsoever -direction an opportunity was afforded, Williams Phipps gave his gold for -the colony’s bills, absorbing thus a very considerable sum. His example -induced investments in the paper from all directions. Nevertheless the -currency soon came tumbling down in value, till a pound in paper was -worth less than three-fourths of its face. - -The sailors, and other working people, lost heavily, in these times of -trouble and weakened confidence. Yet eventually the money was all -redeemed at par by the Massachusetts government. - -Sir William, weary of being reviled for his pains, returned to England -once again and resumed his labors with Increase Mather, to secure to the -colony a definite charter. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - OLD ACQUAINTANCES. - - -ADAM RUST failed, even in the intricacies of collecting violins and the -pursuit of health for the old beef-eaters, to find the depths of -forgetfulness she sought, but which could not come to a nature such as -his had always been. Indeed seclusion, away from the gaiety of Court and -his fellow-beings seemed rather to develop the old, half-forgotten -memories in his brain, whereon had once been shadowed the sufferings of -King Philip, his Indian foster-father, and all his race of hunted -people. - -The beef-eaters, also, were not absolutely contented, away from their -own country and the haunts wherein they were wont to brag, to drink and -to swagger. Yielding at last to their importunities, Adam returned with -the pair to London. - -Once in the foggy capital again, he was soon pounced upon, by old -associates, with whom he found it exhilarating once again to consort. A -treatise on rare violins and their makers, over which he had labored and -pondered for months, or even years, was now neglected. - -He sharpened his wits, had a look at his sword and brightened up his -disused tinsel of conversation. He soon began to believe the greatest -forgetfulness, after all, is where the Babel of tongues is loudest, and -that the most absolute solitude is to be found in the midst of the -largest throng. - -The social functions of the new King were fewer, less brilliant and not -to be compared, in point of popularity, with those of James. The Dukes, -the Marchionesses and lesser lights were therefore constrained to make -the more of their private parties. There was, in consequence, no stint -of hunting, drinking and dancing—all as condiments poured about the -omniprevalent piece de resistance—making love. - -At the Duchess of Kindlen’s, Adam found the set he had known -particularly well. He was welcomed back to their circle as a long-lost -fixture without whose presence no one was at all able to explain how -they had managed to go on existing. They fitted him back in his niche -with a promptness which might have been flattering, had he not been -aware that they wished merely to feed upon him as a new entertainer, or -an old one refurbished. - -He was not surprised to learn that Lady Violet had been married in his -absence. He was duly informed of this event, which he described as an -irreparable calamity in his life, by Lady Margaret, who was more of a -brilliant blossom of feminine charm and enticements than even before. - -“But you, my dear Lady Margaret,” he said, “you have been true to my -memory? You have never learned to love another?” - -“I never learned to love you, Adam,” she said. - -“Then it must have been a matter of spontaneous combustion,” he -concluded. “You always did manage your compliments adroitly.” - -“Confirmed villain,” she answered, “a woman would be mad who loved such -a bubble of flattering reflections as you have always been.” - -“I was not accusing you of sanity,” he told her frankly. “I was merely -inquiring whether or not you have learned to love somebody else, in my -absence.” - -“And if I had, what then?” - -“I should wish to pause for reflection, before determining whether I -should be more sorry for the other fellow or for myself.” - -“Fiend!” she said, mildly, “you shall never know.” - -“Know what?—know where to place my sympathy?” - -“You shall never know whether I have learned to love another, or not.” - -“Well, neither will you—that one’s consolation.” - -“But at least I shall know how I feel toward you, Adam Rust.” - -“So shall I,” said the cheerful Adam. “I have always known. If you -should say you were dying, I should know you were dying to run away with -me, forthwith. It’s not your fault, you can’t help it.” - -“I never dreamed of such a thing in my life!” she said. - -“Then you ought at once to consult a physician for a bad case of -insomnia. I thought your eyes looked a bit weary.” - -“You vile thing!” she answered. “Ted never said such a thing as that in -his life.” - -“Then you have been trying to learn to love Ted? I thought you had a -faithless look about you—all except about your eyes. Alas, from the way -you talk I know you must be married already to this Ted.” - -“I’m not!” she said, unguardedly. “I refused only to-night to set the -day.” - -“This was a thoughtfulness toward me I had not expected,” said Rust, -complacently. “But you are betrothed, and this was unkind.” - -“Unkind to whom?” she demanded. - -“To Ted—and to me.” - -“You will like Ted,” she told him, more artfully. - -“At the other end of a duel, yes—immensely.” - -“He’s a terrible swordsman,” she said, to urge him on. - -“Yet how poorly he fenced with you.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“You won. You got him—poor devil.” - -“Wretch! Ted at least would never pick on a woman.” - -“If it’s Ted Suffle,” said Rust, “I saw him pick on his teeth, to-night, -and that is worse——in company.” - -“His tooth aches terribly!” said Lady Margaret, defending poor Suffle -gallantly. - -“He indulges in too much sweets,” Adam remarked, unmoved. “Treat him the -way you do me and he’ll soon be better.” - -“I wish Ted could hear the way you talk to me,” she said. - -“If he could hear the things you say to me, he would demand that duel -quicker,” Rust responded. “Tell me something outrageous to say to the -fellow, so that he will be obliged to challenge.” - -“Nonsense,” she said, looking at him slyly, “don’t be silly. You -wouldn’t fight a duel over me.” - -“Ah, but think what a lot of ladies would think me a hero,” he replied -with enthusiasm. “And I might also be banished from the country. You can -never tell where luck and lightning will strike next.” - -“Go away, Adam,” she said. “You are perfectly monstrous.” - -“I’ll go and have a look at Ted,” he answered, calmly. “If he is a -gentleman he will probably insult me without delay.” - -To Lady Margaret’s utter dismay and astonishment, he sauntered off at -once and actually went to where Suffle was standing, and had himself -presented. - -“I have asked for this honor,” he said, “the sooner to offer my best -congratulations on your betrothal. Lady Margaret has told me a little -about it. She is the happiest girl I have ever seen in all my life.” - -“You are a good chap to say so,” said Suffle. “Do you know, I fancied I -should like you, Mr. Rust, the moment I saw you.” - -“I should like to give you my friendship as a wedding present,” Adam -told him, honestly, knowing at once that Suffle was a fellow he could -really somewhat like. Then he added, more equivocally: “I have known -Lady Margaret so long that I shall take great happiness in seeing the -consummation of this happy event.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - JUGGLING WITH FIRE. - - -LADY MARGARET was a beautiful woman. The next time he met her, Adam -realized that this was true. He stood looking down upon her, where she -sat on a low divan which was made to throw two persons very close -together, and into which he had avoided squeezing. The young woman -looked up at him winningly, a slumberous passion in her garnet-brown -eyes. Her creamy white bosom rose and fell in a calm voluptuousness, the -twin beauties of which were more than suggested. - -Rust could not recall that he had ever seen shoulders more superb, nor a -throat more delightfully round and built upward in curves to the perfect -chin at the top. In contrast with her lustrously dark eyes and her -almost black eyebrows, spanning her forehead with their dainty arches, -her old-gold hair was an amazing crown of loveliness. - -She had led him away from the company, “to look for Ted,” with an art -which had for once deceived the crafty rover completely. Now, as he -looked upon her, assuming a coldness it was utterly impossible to feel, -and be a man, he noted a beauty in her bare arms which made him think of -the perfect lines of a tiger’s paw. He could have suggested nothing to -make them more splendid. - -Indeed she was well-nigh matchless as a creation of nature and polite -society. Her shimmering satin gown clung to her form as if ardently. Her -pretty gold-slippered feet and her slender ankles, in red silk, -open-work stockings, defied a glance to ignore them. - -“Adam,” she said, smiling up at him archly, “I wish you were a girl—just -for a few moments, you know.” - -“You would suffer by the contrast between us,” said Rust. - -“You would know what a—what a bore he is,” she went on, regardless of -his comment. “And it would serve you right.” - -“You doubtless mean the King,” he replied. “Your expedients are cruel. -Make anything out of me—a camel, if you like,—but not a girl.” - -“I mean Ted,” she said, a little desperately. “You know I mean Ted. You -know what a bore he is.” - -“Then you have spoiled him since morning.” - -“You have no right to be the only man who isn’t a bore,” she went on. - -“You’ll be telling me I am the only man you ever loved, in a moment,” he -answered. “I can feel it coming.” - -“And if I did,” she said with a passionate glance, “what then?” - -Adam was frightened, as he had never been before in his life. He took -out his handkerchief and flecked a bit of dust from his boot, -nonchalantly. - -“I should advise you to be bled for fever,” he said. “And I should know -the old affection you had for me once had departed forever. Couldn’t you -break my heart in some simpler way, dear Lady Margaret?” - -“It was all your fault for going away,” she told him. “You knew I liked -you before you went away.” - -“Oh yes,” he responded gaily, “but I saw that your passionate love for -me was waning, so I went away to kindle it over again.” - -“Do be serious for a moment,” she murmured, vexed with his calmness and -his raillery. “You know Ted is a dreadful bore.” - -“Then since you have given him the love that once was mine, my cue is to -become a bore instanter.” - -“You would never know it, if I loved you madly,” she said, looking up -into his face with her declaration centered in her eyes. - -“Yes, I would,” he corrected, placidly. “If you loved me madly you would -tell me about it; you know you would.” - -Her breath came fast. Her bosom rose and fell rapidly. “You wouldn’t -believe me if I did,” she said. - -“If you told me you loved me madly,” said Adam, “I should know you -didn’t. So please let me go on with my fond delusions.” - -She was silent a moment. He could feel her burning gaze on his face. -“Adam,” she said presently, “do sit down.” She moved to make half room -enough for him on the divan. - -“What, and make you stand?” he replied. “Never!” - -She placed her hand on the arm of the seat, where she knew his fingers -would return when he had finished scratching at a tiny white speck on -his coat-lappel. He observed her motion and thrust his fist in his -pocket. - -“Oh, I am dying,” she presently whispered, after another silence. - -“How interesting,” Adam cheerfully commented. “What are you dying for, a -glass of water, or a new set of diamonds?” - -“You know what I am dying for,” she said, tremulously, in a voice hardly -above a whisper. “You said if I were dying, you—you would know what -for.” - -“Oh, did I?” Adam mused. He was pale behind his calm. His hands were -perspiring, coldly. “Yes, of course. I said you would be dying to run -away with me. And now you would try to prove that this was all wrong. My -dear Lady Margaret, this is unkind.” - -She arose from her seat. She was driven to her wits’ end for anything to -say. - -“Silly boy,” she answered, as she came toward him, and then she quickly -added: “Oh, Adam, would you mind just clasping this strap?” - -The strap was a narrow bit of finery which crossed her bare shoulder. -She had artfully loosened the golden clasp and now came to present -shoulder, strap, clasp and all for re-arrangement. - -“There is nothing I can do with greater ease,” said Rust, “There you -are,—done already.” He had performed his office with amazing dexterity -and with a touch so fleeting that she would never have known when it -alighted. - -“Oh, you haven’t done it right, my dear foolish Adam,” she said, with a -delicious little chuckle. “I’ll put my arm across your shoulder, so. -Now, make it right, do, Adam, please.” - -She dropped her exquisite arm on his shoulder as she spoke and edged -closer. She turned so that her face was so near to his that he could -feel how glowing warm she was. Her breath fanned against his cheek, -hotly. The man felt a sense of intoxication stealing upon him. Yet he -was fixing the clasp as briefly as before, when she made a movement with -her slipper. - -“Oh, I am falling,” she said in a little cry, and throwing both arms -about him, to support herself, she was clasped close to his breast, for -a moment, before he could seem to re-establish her balance. In that -brief time a mad horde of thoughts ran riotously through his brain. She -was beautiful; she loved him; she had fascinated something in him -always. Could he not be happy, loving her and having her love in return? -Why not run away with her—to the Continent—anywhere—and fill the aching -void in his nature with love and caresses! - -His heart was beating furiously. He trembled. A fever leaped into his -brain. Through his arms shot a galvanic contraction, as they halted in -the act of closing about the superb, slender figure he was holding. It -seemed as if he must kiss her, on her lips, her throat—her shoulder! - -“Adam, I am dying!” she whispered to him again, as he held her. - -“Don’t die standing up,” he said, with a sudden recovery of the mastery -over himself. “Sit down and do it calmly.” - -He swayed her aside, and there was nothing she could do but to take the -seat she had occupied before. - -“How provoking of me to trip on my gown,” she said, looking up at him -sullenly. “Do you think we shall have snow to-morrow?” - -“I shall pray against a precipitation of icebergs,” said Adam. “There is -nothing suggestive of love in ice.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - A BEEF-EATER PASSES. - - -THE rigors of the London winter pursued the beef-eaters relentlessly, -tapping them remindfully on the shoulder, now and again, with a cold, or -a spell of bronchitis, and then, under cover of a fog, some deadly -affliction fastened upon the pair all at once. The rover found them, -after an absence from their quarters of two days, so ill that first one -and then the other was crawling from his bed to minister to his comrade, -so that both grew rapidly worse. - -Adam looked at the two of them ruefully, when at length he came to where -they were. He had never known them ill in this manner before. They cared -nothing for eating; they slept but little. Their eyes were bright. They -were perfectly cheerful, in a feeble sort of way. After the Sachem had -come they declared they wanted for nothing, provided he would talk to -them, sing a little and let them lie there and see him, or hear him play -on his favorite violin. - -He brought them every comfort which money could buy. He cooked for them, -served them and ate at their board—which was a board indeed, reaching -from one bed to the other, where they could easily get at what he spread -on its surface for their pleasure. But the choice wines he fetched, and -the fruits and the delicate bits of game and fish, remained almost -wholly untasted. - -Adam was soon at a loss to know what to do. He tried to get at their -symptoms. - -“Pike, you rogue,” he said, “I want to know where you feel bad. You are -ill, you know; now where is the pain?” - -“By my sword-stroke,” said Pike, in a worn-down voice, “I have no pain. -I may be tired, to-day, but to-morrow, bring me a pirate and I shall eat -him without the trouble of slicing him first.” - -“Tired, that’s it,” agreed Halberd. “I’m a bit tired myself, this -afternoon, but by cock’s crow to-morrow I could enjoy pulling the tail -out of a lion and beating the beast to death with the bloody end of it.” - -“Well, doesn’t your stomach ache, or your head hurt you?” insisted Adam. -“When you cough like that, doesn’t it hurt your chest?” - -“No, I like it, for the tickling,” said Halberd. - -The two old scamps were afraid of being taken across the channel to -Spain again, or down into France, or perhaps across to Morocco. After -three days of his “tinkering” unsuccessfully, with his faithful -companions, Adam called in a doctor. - -The worthy physician promptly bled the two patients. Little Pike became -quieter, if possible, than before. Halberd, on the contrary, was -somewhat wrought up in his feelings. - -“By my steel!” said he, when the doctor had departed, “this puny Sir -Nostrum has let more of my juice with his nonsense than ever was taken -by swordsman out of my carcass. Faith! I’ll pulp the fellow, and he -comes again!” - -Adam laughed, for Halberd suddenly got back a monstrous appetite. He -likewise abounded in pains, which he permitted the Sachem to soothe; and -he otherwise improved past all belief. He had been a little ill, and his -sympathy with Pike had made his ailment mischievous. - -Pike, however, had no such rally in him. He put in his time smoothing -the coverlet with slow, feeble movements, while he lay there looking at -Adam with dumb affection until one could almost fancy he was wagging a -tail, with weak, joyful jerks. - -He got the Sachem to sing him the love song of the many seas, for Pike -had once had a heart full of love for a maiden himself, and while the -experience was nothing jollier than a funeral on the day set for the -wedding, nevertheless he liked the lively song, with all its various -maids and misses mentioned, for he conceived them all to be the -self-same girl, after all, simply transported to different climes. - -While Adam was singing and playing, with the merriest spirit he could -conjure, the wistful old Pike had the impudence to close his eyes and -die. - -A faint smile lingered on his face; whether as a result of his joke on -Adam and Halberd, or his pleasure derived from the song, could never be -known. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - A WOMAN SCORNED. - - -SIR WILLIAM PHIPPS and Increase Mather, together with the other Puritan -patriots who made up the small band of charter-hunters at the Court of -William and Mary, worked consistently, if not harmoniously, toward their -end. - -They found their monarch disposed to permit them to do about as they -pleased, when at length he comprehended their situation and the needs of -Massachusetts. His attorney-general was ordered to draw up a charter, on -the broad lines suggested by the American council. No sooner did they -get it into their hands, however, than they fell into heated discussions -over trifling divergencies which they found between it and the older -charter, which they had come to regard with almost idolatrous awe and -reverence. - -The new charter granted them many liberties and privileges which the old -one had not contained. Time even proved the new one to be the better -document for the colony, but despite these facts, and the further fact -that it restored to their dominion the provinces of Maine, New -Hampshire, and Nova Scotia, to the St. Lawrence River, they found much -at which to grumble. - -However, they finally accepted what they had, with what show of -gratitude they were able to simulate. Their disaffection doubtless had -its purpose, and it might have been fruitful of the further concession -which they gained, namely, the privilege of nominating their own next -Governor. - -Here, for once, they were quite unanimous. They requested that Sir -William Phipps be appointed. They knew that without the priceless -services which he had rendered the cause, during all his sojourn in -England, they might never have received a tithe of what was now secured -to their country with all possible stability. - -The nomination of Captain Phipps was made complete by the King without -delay. He was constituted Captain-General and Governor-in-Chief of the -Province of Massachusetts Bay, in New England, and likewise -Captain-General of the Colonies of Connecticut and Rhode Island. - -Weighted down with these new responsibilities, he went seeking for Adam -Rust, at the gay salon of the Duchess of Kindlen, noted in its day for -its scope and the liberties acceded to the guests who assembled in its -spacious halls. - -Having heard from a mutual friend that Sir William would be looking him -up at the Duchess’, Adam repaired to the scene rather more early than -was his custom. He had seen but little of the captain for a matter of -several years. He was chiding himself upon the negligence by which this -had been made possible, when he arrived at the house. - -The funeral of the faithful Pike, and the plight of the lorn old -Halberd, since losing his comrade, had depressed Adam’s spirits -immeasurably. Halberd had been following him about, dumbly, ever since -the dire event in the family. He said but little; he made no complaints -of his loneliness. He simply hung on Adam’s footsteps, like a homeless -old dog, whose one remaining instinct is faithfulness and undying -affection, waiting for his master when he came from the brightly-lighted -houses, pleased and excited whenever he could have the Sachem to talk -with on the topic of Pike’s many virtues and traits of character that -confirmed him in his fellow’s affections. - -Adam had taken the lorn beef-eater into his own apartments, where he -could keep a more careful watch over his health and his negative -happiness. No friend among all his noble acquaintances had such a hold -on Adam’s heart as had this bragging old remnant of his retinue, and to -none did he drop the mask of frivolity as he did before this companion, -whom nothing could discourage nor alter. - -Thus he had been glad to think of going no more where the Duchess, Lady -Margaret and the others assembled, with their tinsel show, their -thinly-plated talk, their gambling and amours, but had contemplated -going away with Halberd, into Nature’s simpler walks and profounder -beauties. - -The garish glitter struck inharmoniously upon him, as he walked -impatiently through the brilliant rooms, in a search for Sir William -Phipps, who had not yet arrived. He presently found himself confronted -by Suffle, who, in turn, had been looking about for Lady Margaret. - -“How do you do?” said Suffle, at once. “My dear Rust, I am charmed to -see you again. I have been wanting to see you, ’pon my word. Would you -mind just giving me a few minutes’ talk?” - -“One of my greatest delights is derived from listening to a brilliant -conversationalist,” said Rust. “Where shall we go?” - -“There is no one as yet in the dice-box,” said the other. “If you don’t -mind, we might stroll in there by ourselves.” - -Saying, “I am yours to command,” Adam followed leisurely behind his -friend to the now empty room employed nightly for gambling. - -“It’s rather a delicate business—what I have to say,” confessed Suffle, -by way of a preface, “but you are a frank, decent fellow, that a man can -talk to, well—openly—don’t you know.” - -“Thanks,” said Adam. “If it is anything about Lady Margaret, let us be -sensible, by all means.” - -“That’s devilish clever of you, old chap,” responded Suffle, evidently -much relieved already. “Of course you know how matters stand.” - -“I would never be sure of where anything stood, that had a woman for an -element in its make-up.” - -“Yes, I know. That’s clever, too—deucedly clever. Perhaps I had better -put it plainly.” - -“Do, I beg of you.” - -“Now—you are a frank, sensible man. Now—do you really like—you -know—love, you know—Lady Margaret,—just speaking as man to man, -sensibly, as you so cleverly said?” - -“Would you force me to become either ungallant or a traitor?” - -“Not at all, I——” - -“Well, let us say that I am ungallant, since we are to be frank,” said -Rust. “I will even admit that I am ungallant.” - -“Good,” said Suffle. “That’s what I thought—I mean, you know——” - -“Yes, I know what you mean. Proceed.” - -“Well, I feel very much relieved. You are a decent sort, Rust—a deucedly -decent sort. Now I am very fond of Lady Margaret. I have learned to be, -you know. My uncle requires me to marry her, don’t you see, or be cut -off with a brass farthing. So I have learned to be deucedly fond of her, -you know.” - -“Very reasonable and like a man,” said Adam. - -“Yes, I fancy so myself. I am coming to the point.” - -“Then there is a point?” - -“Oh dear me, yes. You see, as you don’t care for Lady Margaret, that -way, and I do——” - -“Why then, to be sure, take her and let me give you my blessing,” Rust -interrupted. “I will do this with all my heart.” - -“Thanks, old chap, but that is not quite the point,” Suffle assured him. -“The fact of the matter is, she rather likes you, Rust, you know. I’m -bound to admit she does, though God knows why, and we are two sensible -men, you know, and that is what I wanted to talk about.” - -“You do me too great an honor,” Adam assured him. “But what would you -have me do?” - -“Why—that’s just the point. Of course I wouldn’t like to ask you to -clear out of the country——” - -“Don’t let modesty stand in your way, my dear Suffle. This favor would -be nothing—a mere trifle.” - -“Oh no, now, I wouldn’t permit it,” said Suffle, magnanimously. “But you -are such a deucedly clever fellow, don’t you know, that I thought you -might be able to devise something, something to—well, you know.” - -“Yes, oh yes,” said Adam, pulling calmly at his long golden mustache. He -meditated for a moment and idly picked up a dice-box, placed in -readiness for the evening’s play upon the table. “Do you ever fripper -away your time with these? If you do, perhaps we might arrange a little -harmless device without much trouble.” - -At one of the doors, the figure of Lady Margaret appeared and -disappeared as Suffle expressed his eagerness to know what the plan in -Adam’s head might be. Although she had glided swiftly from room to room -in search of Rust, Lady Margaret had frowned when she saw him in company -with her fiancé, and petulantly beating her fan in her fragrant little -palm, she had gone back around toward a secondary entrance, in which a -heavy curtain hung. She was vaguely wondering what the two could find to -talk about together, and to what extent they were gambling, that they -went at the dice thus early. - -She now met Sir William Phipps, Governor-elect of New England, who had -finally arrived and who was scanning the gathering company for a sight -of Adam Rust. - -“Oh, how well you are looking, Sir William,” she cried to Phipps, -delightedly. - -“I am looking for a friend,” said the captain, with his customary -bluntness. “But thank you, Lady Margaret, thank you, heartily.” - -“If you are looking for a friend, why, look over my head?” she said to -him, prettily. “Oh, you dear Colonial Governors are such delightfully -honest people. We all have to like you, really.” - -“I have found some honest men in England,” said the Captain, with -conviction. “The Puritans are growing numerous among your people.” - -Lady Margaret laughed, spontaneously enough. “And what about our women?” -she said. “Do you find them at all—well, charming?” - -“Some are as bold as a pirate,” he said, without intending anything -personal. He could see many ropes and clusters of jewels, gleaming from -afar. “And some of them must have plundered many a good ship of her -treasure,” he added. “If I don’t put about and do some cruising, I shall -never speak that boy to-night.” - -He bowed, somewhat jerkily, and sauntered off. Lady Margaret continued -on her way around toward that curtained door, on the other side of which -she had seen Rust and Suffle with the dice. - -William Phipps spent no further time in conversing with the women, -beyond a word as he passed, so that finally he came to the gambling -apartment, where he found his protégé. Knitting his brows for a second, -in an ill-concealed annoyance, to see Adam Rust engaged in such a -pursuit as this, he stood there in the doorway, hoping to catch Adam’s -eye and so to admonish him silently for indulging even a moment’s whim -at this vice. - -“One thousand more,” said Adam, somewhat hotly. - -Sir William pricked up his ears in amazement. - -“Lost again!” Rust exclaimed. “The devil is in the dice!” His back was -toward the curtained door. There was a mirror, however, directly across -the room. Watching the glass he presently beheld the reflection of a -movement, where the tapestry swayed behind him. “Three thousand now, or -nothing!” he added, desperately. - -The dice rattled out of the box in the silence that followed. - -“It’s luck,” said Suffle, scooping up the dice to throw again. - -“It’s sorcery!” exclaimed the rover, in evident heat. “Come, sir, I have -two thousand left. I’ll stake it all on a single throw!” - -Phipps would have interfered, had it been in any place but a private -house, where the scandal would spread so swiftly. He twitched in -nervousness, as he gripped the cane with which he would have liked to -knock the dice-box endways. - -The throw was completed. - -“I’m done!” said Rust. “I’ve nothing more to stake!” - -“Oh, come,” said Suffle, tauntingly, “play your sword, your—surely you -must have something you prize. What, no resources? Must we cease the -play so soon?” - -“My sword? No!” said Adam, with temper. “But stay; since you speak so -slightingly of my sword, I have one more stake to offer.” - -“By all means name it and play.” - -“My stake, sir, is the Lady Margaret,” Adam growled at him, angrily. -“Betrothed to you, she loves me more. Come, sir, stake me a thousand -against my chances to win her and take her away from you, heart and -soul. A thousand, sir, and if you can win it—your field shall be open, -you shall hear nor fear no more from me!” - -“By my faith,” said Suffle, rising, as Adam had done, “you hold this -lady lightly, that you prattle of her name like this. Better I should -run you through, for an arrant knave.” - -“Bah!” said Rust, “you think more of your winnings than you do of your -lady. You hesitate and scold over a paltry thousand. Stake it, man, or -by my troth I shall tell her what valuation you put upon her worth.” - -Lady Margaret’s face appeared for a second at the curtain. It was white -with rage. - -“You insult this lady with your monstrous proposition,” cried Suffle. - -“And you insult her worse, with your parsimony!” came the swift retort. - -“It is calumny for you to say she loves you!” Suffle growled. - -“Yet stake me, sir, or you shall see me get her and laugh at your -stinginess,” Rust flung at him banteringly. “Come, sir, one more moment -and I withdraw the offer.” - -“Done!” said Suffle, “for by ’sdeath, my fortune shall prove you a liar! -Throw the dice.” - -Adam threw and counted. “My luck has changed at last,” he said, in -triumph. - -“We shall see,” retorted Suffle, and flinging the dice he sat down and -roared with laughter. - -“Lost!” said Adam, tragically. “So be it. To the devil with you, sir; -and I wish you joy of your winnings.” - -He strode from the table, met Sir William Phipps at the door, winked at -him merrily and so drew him out in the hall. - -“What’s this? What’s this?” said the Governor, excitedly. “I come here -to see you, with news on my tongue, and find you—like this!” - -“Tush, William,” said Adam, laughing boyishly, and as cool as a fish. “I -was betting in farthings. I must have lost a hundred. Did you think the -luck was all with Suffle?” - -“But, sir, this—this lady?” - -“There is more than one way to cure a woman of a heart’s distemper,” -said the young man, cheerfully. “Lady Margaret was just there, behind -the curtain. But this is wasting time. What is your news?” - -Phipps looked at him in wonder, for a moment, then shaking his head, -sadly, he presently drew his hand down across his face, to his double -chin, as if to wipe out a smile, which had come out of his eyes and -traveled all over his countenance. - -“Adam,” he said, “they have made me Governor of the colony, and I want -you to go home with me to Boston.” - -Adam said nothing, for a moment, then he answered: “Let’s get out of -this. I want some fresher air to think it over in.” - -They were soon walking out at the gate, arm in arm. The air was not only -fresh, it was bitter cold. When they turned to go down the street, Adam -having first looked about, without seeing what he sought, old Halberd -issued from a niche, where he had been dancing to keep himself warm, and -followed along behind his master. - -“Well, now that you have thought it over,” said Phipps, at last, “what -do you say?” - -Adam had thought it over, from a thousand standpoints. The magnet at -Boston had drawn him and drawn him so long that he felt his whole soul -was already across the Atlantic. Why fight his longing any further? Why -not at least go home, look the proposition in the face and perhaps be -disillusionized? - -“I’m your man,” he said, as if to catch himself before he should alter -his mind. “When are you sailing?” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - REVELATIONS. - - -WHEN the Andros government came to an end, Edward Randolph had -languished in jail for a brief time only. The Puritans were chiefly -angered at his master, whom they had finally put aboard a ship and sent -away from the country. Thus the more mischievous spirit, and author of -many of their wrongs, escaped to work his malignant will upon them for -years. - -Randolph was so crafty, so insidious, and willing to remain so in the -background, that until it was quite too late to redeem their position, -the Puritans failed even to suspect him of the monstrous iniquities he -induced them to commit upon one another. The witchcraft persecutions, -which he fastened upon them, had not originated in his brain, fertile as -that organ was for the growth of things diabolical. He got his cue from -England, where thousands of persons perished, at the stake and -otherwise, convicted on fantastic testimony of practising arts that were -black and mysterious. - -Randolph, realizing that Boston had been made too warm for active -operations, began his work in Salem. That center offered him exceptional -opportunities. The growth of the dread disease was appalling. History -which would convey an adequate idea of this criminal fanaticism should -be bound in charred human skin. - -Boston was duly afflicted with the scourge. Randolph then returned, -quietly, and so manipulated his work and his dupes, from behind his own -scenes, that scores of old women were charged with and convicted of -witchcraft, in Randolph’s hope of wreaking his vengeance thus on -whatsoever old woman it might have been who had told Garde Merrill of -his affair with Hester Hodder. Having never been able to ascertain that -this person was Goody Dune, he was sweeping his net in all waters, to -make sure of his prey, in the same merciless spirit that Herod slew all -the male infants, to accomplish his terrible purpose. - -When Governor Phipps, with Adam Rust and Increase Mather, arrived at -Boston, in the frigate “Nonsuch,” in May, 1692, the prisons were crowded -full of witches, for the smell of whose burning or rotting flesh scores -of fanatical maniacs were clamoring. - -All Massachusetts had known that William Phipps, the Governor who had -risen so mightily from the ranks of the working men among them, was -coming. The name of the lane wherein his house had been built was -altered to Charter street, in his honor; the citizens beat their drums; -the disciples of gladness in the stomach arranged for a banquet; the -hordes marched in joy and with pomp and Puritan splendor, which lacked -nothing in ceremony, as Sir William was conducted to his house and then -to the public dinner. Even the fanatics waxed enthusiastic and developed -symptoms of being yet more greatly pursued and bewitched by the witches -whose incarceration they had already procured. - -In the madness, confusion and excess of glee, two persons were more -inwardly stirred than all the others, not by the arrival of William -Phipps, but by that of Adam Rust. One was Garde, to whose ears and heart -the story of Adam’s return came swiftly flying. The other was Edward -Randolph, who saw an opportunity for deviltry for which he had waited so -long that he had almost despaired of ever tasting its bitter-sweet. With -his own eyes he beheld Adam Rust, and he grinned. - -At the end of that long, fatiguing day, Rust retired to the privacy of -his tavern apartments, secured haphazard, during one of the moments less -filled than the others with pressing events. Here he sat him down for -the purpose of thinking. He wondered why he had come to Boston again, -and what he would do, now that at last he lived under the same sky with -Garde, hearing the same sounds she was hearing, breathing the same -fragrance of the Spring that stole to her. Should he try to see her? -Perhaps. But to speak to her—no, he thought he could make no advance in -this direction. But he could learn whether she had married, as of course -she must have done, long before, and then—well, something in him ought -to be satisfied—that something which had urged him so inexorably to -return and to make this moment possible. - -In the midst of his reveries, he heard a knock upon his door. It was -poor old Halberd, doubtless, who had been so forlorn and so ill on the -ocean. He had left him asleep, but, no matter, he would be glad to see -him, privacy of thought notwithstanding. - -“Come in,” he said. “Come in.” - -The door opened, not as Halberd was wont to perform an act so simple, -and Adam was conscious that a stranger had intruded upon him. He looked -up, winked his eyes and looked more intently, as if absolutely -incredulous that he was awake and sane. - -His visitor was Edward Randolph. - -“Mr. Rust, I am glad to see you again in Boston,” said the man, coming -forward in a tentative manner and smiling by sheer force of effort. “You -didn’t expect me, but I have taken this early opportunity of calling, to -say I know what a great wrong I did you in the past, and to make what -reparation I can.” - -“The devil could do no more,” said Adam, looking him over calmly. “And I -doubt if the devil ever had your impertinence.” - -“You do me wrong,” Randolph assured him, meekly. “I could do no less -than to come here and tender what apologies I may, and to do you a small -favor. I was grossly misled, concerning your worth and your courage, by -spiteful persons who had, as I now understand, some personal grudge.” - -“As I knew but two men in the town, when first I had the honor of -appraising you for a rascal,” said Adam, “your tale pleases me but -indifferently well. As for favors, I have none to ask of you, and none -to grant.” - -“Yet, if only in a Christian spirit,” the fellow insisted, “you must -permit me to beg your pardon for my errors of the past. I have long -regretted my grievous mistake of judgment, and for that long I have -desired an opportunity of showing my mortification and doing you the one -kindness in my power.” - -“In the spirit of the Christian crusaders,” said Rust, “I feel that I -could deny you little. You would do well, sir, to retire in good order -while my indisposition to throw you through the window is still upon -me.” - -“But, my dear Mr. Rust, you don’t know what an injury you are doing to -yourself,” the visitor went on. “If you knew how cruelly we were both -wronged, almost at the same time and by the same person, you would -listen, if only for that one compassion.” - -“I have been wronged in Boston,” Adam agreed, ominously, “and shatter my -hilt if I know why I hesitate to redress myself while I may.” - -“But I did you no wrong to your heart, sir. Our injuries were both of -the heart,” Randolph reiterated, persistently. “Look, sir, I had a -heart, six years ago, and I felt it cruelly trampled under foot—the same -foot that trampled upon yours, and here——” - -“Beware!” Adam growled. “I shall cut out your tongue, for little more. -Begone, sir, and thank your God at every step you take, that you still -live—if you value your life at all; and this I am driven to doubt.” - -“Here, here!” replied Randolph, nervously, and with shaking fingers he -drew from his pocket a packet of paper folded in the form of a letter. -“You will never believe me till I show you this. But I lay my heart -open—I expose my wounds, to prove how you wrong me. Read it, read it—the -letter she sent me—and then I shall be willing to bide by your answer.” - -Adam could not fail to be impressed by the man’s tenacity of purpose. -Being a just man, he had a faint suspicion dart through his head that, -after all, the man might not have known what he was doing when he -committed all his fiendish acts, years before. There had never been any -sufficient reason for what he had done, that Adam knew. He took the -letter, briefly to see what it was the fellow meant and wanted. - -He began to read, and then to feel that the man had obviously undergone -some trial, severe and not readily to be forgotten. It was Garde’s own -letter to himself he was reading. - -“She sent me that and then broke my heart after,” said Randolph, -speaking in a low, emotional voice, while Adam looked at the letter. “As -if she had not shattered my life sufficiently before.” - -“I’m sorry for you,” said Rust, after a moment. “Here, I don’t care to -pry into your letter. Take it, and go in peace.” - -“But read it, read it. You don’t know who wrote it,” said Randolph, who -was white with excitement. “I shouldn’t have come to you here with my -mortifying apologies, if there had not been a bond between us.” - -Adam gave him a look, as of one baffled by an inscrutable mystery. He -could not comprehend his visitor’s meaning. Then suddenly a flush leaped -into his face, as he remembered something he had heard in those by-gone -days, when he walked with that youth, whose very name he could not -recall, from Plymouth to Boston. - -He read the letter again with a new interest, a terrible interest. He -had gone away from Garde—sent away—with a stab in his heart, from which -he had never been able to recover. He had thought at first she sent him -away as a renegade, a fugitive from pseudo-justice, whom to have loved -openly would be a disgrace. He had thought then that perhaps she loved -Wainsworth, or even this Randolph. He had thought till he nearly went -crazy, for circumstances had compelled him to flee from Boston for his -life, and therefore to flee from all explanations which might have been -made. Garde having released him from jail, he had been driven to think -she believed him innocent. She had said she could do no less. Then he -had been left no belief to stand on but that of her loving some one else -more than she did himself. She had admitted that something had happened. -Cornered thus, he had found the case hopeless, and thoughts of return to -Boston then had seemed to him madness. - -This letter, now in his hand, confirmed all those more terrible thoughts -and beliefs. She had done some wrong to Randolph, too, as she here -confessed in her letter. She had believed some infamous story against -him, and now prayed his forgiveness. And what, in God’s name, had she -then added to this first wrong to the man, that Randolph now was so -bitter? - -Terribly stirred, he raced his glance over the pages and so to the -little quaintly affectionate ending. Then he read her signature, -“Garde—John Rosella.” - -John Rosella!—the name of that youth! She! Garde! - -He felt he should suddenly go mad. That boy he had so learned to -love—had been Garde! She had written this letter—she had signed that -name, which meant so much to him and to her, and so little to any one -else! - -He made a strange little sound, and then he began to read the letter -over again, from the first, letting every word, every syllable, sink -into his soul with its comfort and its fragrance of love. He forgot that -Randolph stood there before him. He was oblivious of everything. He was -on that highroad again. He was standing with Garde in the garden at -midnight, her kisses still warm on his lips. - -“You see there is a bond between us,” said Randolph. - -Adam ceased reading, galvanically. But for a second he did not raise his -eyes. He folded the letter and held it in his hand. He arose to his feet -and slowly moved between Randolph and the door. - -“There is a bond between us,” he agreed, speaking with nice -deliberation. “It is something more than a bond. It’s a tie of blood and -bone and suffering.” - -“I thought you would see it,” said Randolph. “This was all I came to -tell you,—this, and my sense of having done you wrong.” - -“Oh yes, I see it,” said Adam, turning the key in the lock and putting -it calmly in his pocket, “I see it all clearly. By the way, sir, who is -John Rosella, if I may ask?” - -Randolph had become pale. His eyes were growing wild. He had watched -Rust lock the door with quaking dread. - -“John Rosella?” he repeated, with a sickening sense of having overlooked -something important, which he had thought an insignificant trifle; “why, -that is merely the—her middle names. Her full name is Garde John Rosella -Merrill.” - -“I trust you are gentleman enough to fight,” said Rust, placing the -letter in his pocket, “for I shall tell you, sir, that you are a liar, a -scoundrel, a murderous blackguard.” - -Walking up to the staring wretch, calmly, Adam slapped his face till the -blow resounded in the room and Halberd came hastening to the door to -know what could be the matter. - -“I rang the bell,” said Rust, who opened the door with great -deliberation. “Bring a sword for one. The gentleman wishes to fight.” - -“What do you mean, sir?” said the trembling coward. “Give me back my -letter. I shall leave this place at once!” - -“Will you jump through the window?” Adam inquired, with mock concern. -“Don’t call that letter yours again, or I may not let you off with a -mere killing.” - -Halberd came with his sword. Adam drew his own good blade from the -battered scabbard he had always retained, and looked at the edge and the -point, critically. - -“I refuse to fight you!” said Randolph, who had once seen that terrible -length of steel at play. “I demand to be released from this place!” - -Rust went up and slapped him again. “Get up just manhood enough to raise -that sword,” Adam implored. “Take it and strike any sort of a foul blow -at me—one of your foulest—do! you dog.” - -The craven tried to make a run at the door. Adam pushed him back and -kicked him again toward the center of the room. - -“This is murder! I refuse to fight with such a villain!” cried the -fellow. “Let me out, or I shall call for help.” - -“You wouldn’t dare to let anybody know you are in town,” said Rust, -contemptuously. “Howl, do howl, and let me tell the public what you are. -Halberd, alas, there is no manhood in it. Therefore fetch me the whip I -saw in your apartments, for a sad bit of business.” - -To all of Randolph’s protests and wild chatterings of fear and hatred, -Rust was deaf. He took the whip, which Halberd presently brought, and -proceeded to cut Randolph across the face, the legs, the shoulders and -the hands till the craven smarted with a score of purple welts. - -“Halberd, you may clean your boots afterward,” Adam said at last. “Be -good enough to kick the dog from the room.” - -Halberd placed but two of his aids to departure, and then, Rust opening -the door, the craven flew madly out and away, a maniac in appearance, an -assassin in his state of mind. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - AFTER SIX YEARS. - - -AT Grandther Donner’s house, Garde had passed the day with her heart so -fluttering between hope and fear that she was all unstrung by the time -the evening arrived. She could bear it no longer, then, and with a shawl -on her head she started out to go to the Soams’ to learn what she might -of the many events of the hour. - -In the garden she paused. The stillness, the calm, the redolence of -Spring, burgeoning into maidenly summer, brought back to her mind that -similar time, six long years before, when she and Adam had met here -among the flowers, for that brief time of joy. - -The fire of love, kept so sacred by the vestal virgin spirit of her -nature, burned upward in her cheeks, as warm, as ardent as ever, after -these years of her lonely vigil. - -But would he ever stand there again, in the garden? Would he ever more -clasp her hands on the pickets of the gate? Or would he now prove -disdainful, proud of his friendship with the new Governor, aloof and -silent, as he had been since she sent him her letter? - -No matter what might be, she so hungered to hear some word of his -coming, some meager description of how he looked, some mere hearsay of -how he bore himself, that it seemed as if she must consume herself with -impatience on her way to her uncle’s. - -In the dusk which was swiftly descending on the face of the world, she -closed the gate behind her and started along the road, her face so pale -and yet so eager, in her yearning, that it was almost luminous. She was -presently conscious that some one, dimly visible, ahead, was rapidly -approaching. She drew her shawl a little more closely about her face and -quickened her footsteps, the sooner to pass this pedestrian. - -A metallic tinkle came to her ears and made her heart give an extra -bound, she knew not why. It had simply sounded like a scabbard, beating -its small accompaniment to sturdy strides. She looked up, timidly, to -see who it was that carried a sword into such a quiet part of Boston. -Then she halted and suddenly placed her hand out, to the near-by fence, -for a moment’s support. - -The man was almost passing her by, where she stood. He halted. He made -some odd little sound, and then he remained there, looking upon her, his -hand coming involuntarily up to his heart. - -Garde looked up in his face, without fear, but not without sadness, -wistfully—with the inquiry of six long years in her steadfast eyes. - -“Garde,” said Adam, in a voice she barely heard, “Garde—I have—come -home. I never got your letter till to-night.” - -She could not answer, for a moment. - -“I—have been waiting,” she then said, and striving to hold her lips from -trembling, she let two great tears trickle slowly across her face as she -still looked up in his eyes. - -There was nothing he could say. He read her whole story of faithfulness -and of suffering, her epic of a love that could not die, in that one -long look. Slowly he went up to her and taking her face in his hands he -kissed away the tears from her cheeks. He put her head gently against -his breast and let her cry. - -She still held to the fence, as if she dared not too suddenly lean on -his love, without which she had learned to live so long. But gradually, -as he held her there, saying nothing, but softly kissing her hair and -the one little hand he had taken in his own, her arms crept upward about -his shoulders and her heart beat against his, in a peace surpassing -anything of earth. - -“My Garde,” he finally began to whisper, over and over again, “my own -Garde—my darling, precious Garde.” - -“Oh, this may all be wrong, Adam,” she answered him, after a time. “I -don’t understand it. We don’t know what has happened, in all these -years. Oh, how did you happen to come?” - -“You drew me, sweetheart,” he said, in a voice made tremulous with -emotion. “I have had no peace till now. I have loved you so! I have -dreamed of you so! But I never knew—till to-night, when I got your -letter.” - -“You—never got it till to-night? Oh Adam,” she said. “Oh, Adam, I have -been so punished for the wrong I did. Oh, you can never, never forgive -me!” - -“There, there, sweetheart,” he said to her soothingly, letting her cry -out the sobs she had stifled so vainly. “Forgive you, dear? You had no -need to ask for forgiveness—you who came to me there in that jail—you, -whose sweet little motherly spirit so provided for my poor old -beef-eaters, when they were hungry and fleeing for their lives. Dearest, -I don’t see how you did it, when I was a hunted renegade, a fugitive, -with doubled infamies piled upon my head. Oh, forgive me, dear, that -ever I doubted my own little mate.” - -“No, I should never have believed them—not all the world!” she -protested. “My Adam. My Adam.” - -With his strong arm about her, and her head leaned in confidence and -love on his shoulder, he led her back to the garden, at once the scene -of their joys and tragedies. - -He enthroned her on the steps of the porch, where as a child she had -been enthroned, when he as her boy-lover had sat, as now, at her feet -and listened to the dainty caresses of her voice. Only now he held her -hand in his and placed it on his cheek and kissed it fondly, as he -listened and told her of how he had come at last to receive the letter. - -At this she was frightened. She wanted to cradle his head upon her -bosom, now, and hold forth a hand to shield him from danger. She felt -that the perils for them both were clustered about his fearless head and -that hers was the right to protect. - -“Oh, please be careful, Adam, dear,” she implored. “That man is a -terrible man. Oh, I wish you had let him go. You will be careful, dear. -You must be careful, and watchful, every moment.” - -His reply was a kiss and a boyish laugh. Now that he had her once more, -he said, and now that nothing should ever part them again, his world was -complete, and there were no dangers, nor evils, nor sorrows. - -Then he begged her to tell him of the years that had passed. He petted -her fondly, as she spoke of her long, long wait. She seemed to him -thrice more beautiful, in the calm and dignity of her womanhood, which -had laid not so much as a faded petal on her beauty and her endless -youth. - -He exchanged a history of heart-aches, matching with one of his own -every pang she had ever endured. There was something ecstatic, now, in -the light of their new-found rapture, in recounting those long days of -sadness and despair. Every pain thus rehearsed drew them the closer, -till their love took on a sacredness, as if suffering and constancy had -wedded them long before. Like parents who have buried the children they -loved, they were made subdued and yet more truly fervent, more absolute -in the divine passion which held them heart to heart. - -And so, at last, when Garde was sure that Adam ought to go, they walked -hand in hand to the gate together. - -“Sweetheart, let me go outside, for a moment,” said Adam, quickly -shutting the barrier between them. “Now, with your two dear hands in -mine, it is just as it was six years ago. The night is the same, your -beauty is the same, our hearts and love are the same as before, and -nothing has ever come between us—except this gate.” - -He kissed her hands and her sweet face, as he had done on that other -happy night. - -“And we can open the gate,” said Garde, in a little croon of delight. - -Adam laughed, like the boy he was. He flung open the gate and went -inside and took her in his arms, kissing her upon the lips, rapturously, -time after time. - -“Oh Garde, I love you so!” he said. “I love you! I adore you, my own -little mate!” - -“I could have waited fifty years,” she answered him, nestling close and -patting his hand as she held it, in excess of joy, to her heart. “Oh -Adam! My Adam!” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - A BLOW IN THE DARK. - - -THE rover, so lost in exalted happiness that he hardly knew where he was -going, when at length he said his final good night to Garde, was not -aware that the faithful old Halberd finally fell into his tracks behind -him and followed him off toward the tavern. - -Immensely relieved again to see his master, whom he had not been able to -locate before, the old beef-eater was soon convinced that Adam was in a -mood the like of which had not appeared in the family for many a day. He -therefore glided silently after the dreamer, a rod or so to the rear, -waiting until Adam should turn about, as was his wont, to bid him walk -at his side. - -But to-night the Sachem was so thoroughly engrossed with his love and -his forming plans, that he completely forgot to think of his lorn -retinue, and therefore the beef-eater felt more alone and sad than -usual. There was nothing in Boston, save Adam, with which he could -associate any thoughts of jollier days. There was nothing but Adam left -in the world, to which to devote the great fund of affection and -devotion in his simple breast. - -But he was making no complaint, not even to himself. Whatever the Sachem -did was right. Nothing that Adam could have done would have driven him -away, nor have altered his love by so much as one jot. All he desired -was the privilege of loving his master, at whose heels he would have -followed, though the path led to Hell itself, and this with never so -much as a question, nor a murmur of hesitation. - -The moon had been silvering the roofs of the houses for some time, and -Adam and Halberd wended their way, in their short procession, through -the deserted business streets of the town. Masses of shadow lay upon the -sidewalk, where Adam was striding buoyantly along. - -Within fifteen feet of him, and between him and Adam, suddenly Halberd -heard a sound that made him halt where he stood. Three figures, their -faces masked with black cloth, ran out from a deep doorway, where they -had crowded back, for concealment, and darted upon the rover, walking -unconsciously onward. - -“Sachem! Sachem!” cried the beef-eater, wildly. - -He darted forward, in time to see Adam turn to receive a stab in the -neck and a blow on the head that sent him to earth before he could even -so much as raise a hand to ward off his murderous assailants. - -Dragging his sword from his scabbard as he ran, old Halberd leaped -frantically into the midst of the three asassins, ready to battle -against any odds conceivable, in this the climax-moment of his loyalty. - -He struck but a single blow, which fell upon one of the bludgeons held -by the masked ruffians. He screamed out his terrible tocsin of anguish -and rage. Then a blow from behind him crushed in his skull and he fell -across the master he had striven to serve, a corpse. - -Waiting for nothing further, the three figures sped away, down the -street, dived into the darkness of an alley and were gone, past all -finding, when a few startled citizens opened their windows or doors and -looked out on the street to see what the awful cries of Halberd had -betokened. - -“I see something—down on the sidewalk,” said the voice of one of the -men. “The lantern, wife, the lantern!” - -“What is it? What is it?” called another, from across the way. - -And others answering, that they knew not what it meant, or that it had -sounded like some terrible deed being done, there were presently half a -dozen awed men coming forth, when their neighbor appeared at his door -with his light. - -The black, still heap which had been seen from a window smote them all -with horror. A dark stream, from which the light was suggestively -reflected, already trickled to the gutter. They lifted Halberd from the -second prostrate form and found that Adam was swiftly bleeding to death -from a ghastly wound in the neck, from which the life-fluid was leaping -out in gushes. - -“Turn him over, turn him over!” commanded the man with the lantern. “Run -to my house and ask the wife for everything to tie up an -artery—bandages, too!” - -He knelt down in the red stream. Digging his fingers into the gaping, -red mouth of the wound, he clutched upon the severed artery with a skill -at once brutal and sure. The gushes ceased, almost entirely. - -Adam’s face, already deathly white, had been turned upward. - -“Saints preserve us!” said one of the citizens. “It’s the bosom friend -of the Governor!” - -“Then we know where to take him, if he doesn’t die in spite of me,” said -the skilful surgeon who had pounced upon the wound. “Look to the other -man and see if he too, is bleeding.” - -One of the other men had already loosened the collar about old Halberd’s -neck. Another came to assist him. - -“He’s bleeding a little, from the back of his head,” said he. “O Lord! -He’s dead!” - -The doctor’s wife came running to the place herself, with her husband’s -case in which he had a score of cunning tools and the needs of his -craft. - -The good woman pushed the men aside and with an assurance and a courage -almost totally unknown in her sex, at the time, in such a case as this, -bent down above the wounded man and lent to her husband the nimble -fingers and the quick comprehension without which he might easily have -failed to prevent that deadly loss of blood. - -As it was, Rust was at the door of death. The turn he had made, when -Halberd called out in alarm, had saved him from inevitable death. The -steel driven so viciously into his neck, would have severed the jugular -vein completely had he turned the fraction of a second less soon than he -did, or an inch less far. - -The blow on his temple had glanced, so that half the power, which in the -case of Halberd had crushed in the skull instantly, had been lost, -nevertheless it had served to render him wholly unconscious. Therefore, -two hours later, when brave little Mrs. Phipps got him laid in a clean, -sweet couch, he looked like death, and his heart-beat was feeble and -faintly fluttering between mere life and the Great Stillness. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - ADAM’S NURSE. - - -WHEN the intelligence of the almost unparalleled crime spread with -terror and awe in its wake through Boston, in the morning, Garde heard -it like a knell—a fatality almost to have been expected, when she and -Adam had been at last so happy. She did not faint. Not even a moan -escaped her lips. She turned white and remained white. - -“Grandther,” she said to the old man who owed his restoration to health -and almost complete soundness of mind to her ministrations, “I am -betrothed to this friend of our new Governor’s. I shall go to attend -him.” - -She left her grandfather staring at her in wonder, and with only her -shawl on her head, she went to the “fair brick house” which William -Phipps had built for his wife at the corner of Salem and Charter streets -in the town. - -“I am betrothed to Adam Rust,” she repeated, simply. “I have come to -attend him.” - -As if poor Garde had not already, in six years of waiting and hoping and -vain regrets, sufficiently suffered for a moment’s lack of faith in her -lover, the anguish now came upon her in a flood tide. Adam no sooner -recovered a heart-beat strong enough to give promise of renewed -steadiness, than he lapsed from his unconscious condition into one of -delirium. - -Had Garde been wholly in ignorance of his past and his life of many -tragedies, she would have been doomed to learn of all of it now. He -lived it all over, a hundred times, and told of it, brokenly, excitedly, -at times with sallies of witty sentences, but for the most part in the -sighs with which his life had filled his heart to overflowing, but to -which he had never before given utterance. - -She knew now what the boy had suffered when King Philip, the Sachem of -the Wampanoags, was slain, with the people of his nation. She felt the -pangs he had felt when, on first returning to Boston, he had believed -himself supplanted in Garde’s affections by his friend Henry Wainsworth. -She heard him croon to the little Narragansett child, as he limped again -through the forest. And then she sounded the depths of a man’s despair -when the whole world and the woman he loves drive him forth, abased. - -Yet much as she suffered with him in this long rehearsal of his -heartaches, there was still one little consolation to her soul. - -The one name only that he spoke, and spoke again and again, in murmurs -of love and in heart-cries of agony, was—Garde. - -Having acquired her skill in the harsh school where her grandfather’s -illness had been the master, Garde could almost have rejoiced in this -reparation she was making to Adam for what she had contributed to his -pangs in the past, had it not been that his hovering so at the edge of -death frightened all other emotions than alarm from her breast. -Nevertheless she believed he would live. He could not die, she insisted -to herself, while she gave him a love so vast and so sustaining. - -This feeling was fairly an instinct. And the truth in which it was -grounded came struggling to the fore, one morning, when Adam opened his -eyes, after his first refreshing sleep, and laughed at her gayly, if a -little weakly, to see her there, bending down above him. - -“John Rosella,” he said, “I have been dreaming of you—the sweetest boy -that ever lived.” - -“Oh, Adam,” said Garde, suddenly crimsoning. “Oh—now you—you mustn’t -talk. You must go back to sleep at once.” - -Adam was drowsy, despite himself. “I remember—every word—we said,” he -murmured, “and every—look of your sweet—sweet face.” And then he fell -again into peaceful slumber. - -Arrived so far as this toward recovery, he made rapid progress. Healthy -and wholesome as he was, sound, from habits of clean, right living, he -mended almost too fast, according to Garde’s ideas of convalescence, for -she feared he would rise in revolt, over soon, and do himself an injury -by abandoning care and comfort before she could pronounce him quite -himself. - -In reality there had been but little more than his loss of blood to -contend with, save that his state of mind had engendered a fever, as a -result of all he had undergone, so that when this latter was allayed and -the wound in his neck was healing with astonishing rapidity, his -strength came back to his muscles and limbs by leaps and bounds. -Therefore, despite her solicitude, Garde was soon happy to see him again -on his feet and making his way about the house, his face a little wan -and white, but the twinkle in his eye as merry as the light in a jewel. - -He could furnish no accurate or reliable information as to whom his -murderous assailants had been. He could only conjecture that Randolph -had been at the bottom of the affair, from motives of vengeance. This -was the truth. But the disappearance of Randolph from Boston was -reckoned so variously, as having taken place anywhere from two days to -three years before, that nothing could be reliably determined. - -Moreover, it sufficed for Adam and Garde that they were here, in the -land of the living, together, and though it made the rover feel sad to -think of the loss of his last beef-eater, the faithful old Halberd. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - GOODY IN THE TOILS. - - -THE worthy Puritan citizens of Boston fêted Governor Phipps in one -breath and asked him to make concessions of his powers to his council in -the next. They worked themselves weary with enthusiasm over his advent -and then they wore him out with exactions, with their epidemic of -persecuting witches and with the faults they found with his methods of -life and government. - -Sir William had not been long in his new harness, when he was heard to -wish he again had his broadax in hand and were building a ship of less -dimensions than one of state. A little of his old love for his calling -and the men it had gathered about him was expressed in a dinner which he -gave to ship-carpenters, from whose ranks he was proud to have risen, as -he told them and told the world. He had a hasty temper, as a result of -having been so long a captain on the sea, accustomed to absolute -obedience at the word of command. Yet his squalls of anger were soon -blown over, leaving him merry, honest and lovable as before. - -Unfortunately Governor Phipps was largely under the influence of -Increase Mather and his son, the Reverend Cotton Mather, who were both -as mad fanatics on the topic of religion and witchcraft as one could -have found in a day’s walk. The influence over Phipps had been gained by -the elder Mather in England, where he and Sir William were so long -associated in their efforts to right their colony and its charter. - -Witchcraft persecutions, having fairly run amuck in England, Increase -Mather had enjoyed exceptional opportunities for observing the various -phenomena developed by this dreadful disease. He arrived in Boston after -Randolph had succeeded far beyond the dreams of his own malice in -starting the madness on its terrible career. The field offered an -attraction not to be withstood, by either of the Mathers. They were soon -fairly gorging themselves on the wonders of the invisible world, -testimonies and barbarous punishments. - -Lieutenant-Governor Stoughton was an active figure in all this -lamentable business. Phipps was dragged into the maelstrom bodily. He -pitied the frightened wretches in the prisons and secretly instructed -his jailers to be remiss in their duties of chaining, ironing and -otherwise inflicting needless punishment on these helpless mortals. - -The more effectually and quietly to turn the fearful tide, so -appallingly engulfing the minds of the wrought-up populace, Phipps -organized a court of Oyer and Terminer, wherein he sat himself, with -seven magistrates, to try the wretched old women, dragged screaming to -the farcical examinations. At these trials, devilish children swore away -the lives of fellow-creatures, abandoned alike by their kind and by -their God. In this court of his own making, William Phipps was slowly -and surely putting a stop to the mania, for the horrors of some of the -executions sent a thrill of fright and dread through the whole of -Boston. - -Exercising his power of pardoning, and then expending his own money to -assist them to flee from the state, William Phipps saved so many -defenseless women that he fairly broke the fabric of the awful mania in -twain. Early after his arrival, however, he was called away to Plymouth. -No sooner was his back turned than the zealots pounced, tooth and nail, -upon a new crop of witches and hailed them before the court, on trial -for their lives, in haste before the Governor should return to work his -leniency upon them. - -Thus it came about that Garde, having exhausted the small supply of -simples possessed by herself and Goodwife Phipps, went to Goody Dune’s -and there witnessed the work of a witch-hunting mob. - -It was a warm, summery morning, fit jewel for the year’s diadem of -things beautiful. Cries, yells, of pretended fear, and harsh, discordant -prayers, screamed into the air, assailed Garde’s ears before she could -yet see the little flower-surrounded hut where Goody lived. She felt a -sudden misgiving strike through her heart as she hastened onward. - -She came upon the scene in a moment. Nearly fifty men and boys, with a -sprinkling of mere girls and one or two women, were storming the small -stronghold of the old wise woman, who had done so much for those -afflicted by ailments and troubles. Indeed in the crowd there were many -citizens who had blessed her name and the wisdom by which she had mended -their bodily woes. But all now were mad with excitement. Some were -purposely frothing at the mouth. A dozen leaped frantically about, -declaring they were being pinched and bitten by the demons that Goody -was actuating to malice. Young boys slily put nails and pins in their -mouths and then spat them forth, to show what evils were then and there -being perpetrated upon them. - -The tidy little garden was trampled to pitiable wreckage of flowers and -vines. The house was being boldly entered by a few lusty knaves, with -Psalms Higgler and Isaiah Pinchbecker in their midst. Sounds of wild -beating, upon the pans and kettles inside, made half the assembled -people turn pale with self-induced fear, which they loved to experience. - -Suddenly Goody’s old black cat came bounding forth. The men, boys and -women fell down in affright, screaming that the devil was upon them. To -add to their horror and superstitious dismay, the jackdaw, Rex, came -flying out. He perched for a moment on the ridge and then circled once -or twice about the house. He was wounded, for the ruffians in the -cottage had beaten him savagely, with sticks and whips. He was -bedraggled; for they had thrown water upon him. His feathers were all -awry. He was altogether a sorry spectacle. - -“B-u-h-h—it’s cold,” called the bird. “Fools, fools, fools!” and -flapping his ragged wings so that they clapped against his sides as he -flew, he started straight for the woods and was soon out of sight. - -If the witch-hunters had been smitten with delightful fear before, they -were appalled by this terrible bird. They fell down upon their knees and -wept and prayed and made a thousand and one mysterious signs by which -evil could be averted. Those who knew in their hearts that the whole -thing, up to this, had been humbug and fraud, now quaked with a fear -that was genuine. The devil himself had said some horrible, unthinkable -rigmarole which would doubtless cast a spell upon them such as they -would never be rid of again in their lives. Their children would be born -with fishes’ tails, with asses’ legs, with seven heads. Above the wails -of anguish, which arose on the air, came the shouts of the captors of -Goody Dune. They were now seen dragging her forth with hooks, which were -supposed to insulate the operator from the evils which a witch could -otherwise pronounce upon her enemies with dire and withering effect. And -then it was seen what the shouting of triumph was. - -Each of the captors bore a Bible in his hand from which he read, -haphazard, at the top of his voice as he walked, thus disinfecting -himself, or fumigating himself, as it were, to prevent him from catching -the evil which was hovering about the witch, like an aureole of -dangerous microbes of the devil’s own breeding. - -No sooner did old Goody’s well-known form appear than the fanatics in -the garden fled in a panic for the gate, howling and wailing their -prayers more loudly than before, but pushing and jostling one another -and falling endways, as they tried to run and to look behind them at the -same time. They must see everything, whatever the cost. - -The men were seen to be armed with pitchforks. There is nothing in the -way of a weapon which your devil so abhors as a pitchfork, in the hands -of any one save himself. - -This noisy, mad procession moved in great disorder out into the highway, -where Garde had paused, dismayed and concerned for Goody. She saw the -wise old woman walking calmly along with her captors, for Goody, unlike -the witches of lesser wisdom, knew too much to cry out wild protests -against this infamy, and so to convict herself of uttering curses, -spells and blasphemies on the public roads. She looked about her, at men -and women she had relieved of pains, and at children whose early -ailments she had exorcised with her simples. - -They were all now possessed of the devil, in good faith, for the mad -capers they cut to show that Goody was all potent to produce the most -fiendish and heinous results upon them could only have been invented out -of the sheer deviltry which is one of the component parts of the human -animal. - -Helpless, terrified by these maniacs about her, Garde could only lean -against the fence and hold her place while the running, neck-twisting -people went by. - -“Oh, poor dear Goody,” she murmured to herself, involuntarily. - -The old wise woman looked across the bank of bobbing heads about her and -half smiled, in a weary, hopeless manner that sent a pang straight to -Garde’s heart. She knew that Goody was saying, “Never mind me, dear,” -and this only made it all the more unendurable. - -Goody had been hustled by in a moment. The dust arose from the scurrying -feet. The hobble-de-hoy pageant went rapidly toward the town, its -numbers being momentarily augumented, as fresh persons heard the -disturbance rising and coming near, on the summer air, and joined the -throng. - -Unwilling to let her friend be conveyed thus away without her even -knowing where she was now to be taken, Garde followed the last of the -stragglers, and so saw the crowd become a mob, in the more populous -streets of the town, and finally beheld Goody hurried to one of the -prisons and shut out of sight behind the doors. - -The jail was the one into which, six years before, Adam Rust had been so -infamously thrown. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - GARDE’S SUBTERFUGE. - - -NEARLY as strong and well as ever, Adam Rust heard Garde’s excited and -desperate tale of Goody’s capture with an indignation which far outran -her own. He failed to realize, at first, the full import of Goody’s -position. Then, as Garde made him understand the almost inevitable -execution, staring this old woman-friend in the face, at the end of a -trial from which Truth would fly moaning, with her hands to her ears, -the rover would have buckled on his sword and gone to batter down the -jail to set the old wise woman free, had his sweetheart not restrained -him with all her powers of dissuasion. - -“Oh, we have got to be far more clever than that,” she said. “We have -got to get her out of there quietly—so quietly that we can get her -away—a long way off, before the awful crowds shall find it out. Help me -to do this. Help me to get her out cunningly, or we shall fail—and -to-night it will all be too late.” - -“Couldn’t the Governor pardon her out?” said Adam. “Why has he gone away -at such a time? Here, couldn’t Mrs. Phipps write a pardon? We could take -it to the jailer, and try him. If he then refused to release our friend, -we could try with a little gold in his hand. Mrs. Phipps—Mrs. Phipps,” -he called to the Captain’s wife. - -The plump little woman would have done anything on earth for Adam—her -boy—and for Garde, whom she loved no less, but she shook her head at -this new proposal. The potentialities of the position in which William’s -sudden elevation had placed her still gave her a little fright to -contemplate. She knew nothing of the powers of a Governor, still less of -those of a Governor’s wife. - -“I would be glad to do this thing, dear Adam,” she said, “for your sake, -or Garde’s, or even for old Goody herself, but can I? Would I dare? I -fear you hardly know the temper of these people on this question of -witches. They are mad.” - -“Try it,” said Adam. “We can do no less than to give it a trial. The -jailer will know of no reason for limiting the Governor’s prerogatives, -nor even those of his good wife. Write what I shall dictate, and let us -make the attempt. A bit of boldness is often as good as an army.” - -Never able to resist when Adam begged or even suggested, Goodwife Phipps -wrote, as he directed, one of the most sweeping and imperious pardons -ever reduced to cold language. This being duly sanded, and approved, -Rust folded it up and placed it safely in his pocket. - -“Now then, John Rosella,” he said to Garde, who blushed prettily, in -spite of her many conflicting emotions, “even supposing this works its -charm, we have only then made a good beginning. I must have a horse on -which to convey old Goody out of the reach of harm, when they find she -has slipped between their fingers. And the horse must be my own. No more -borrowed horses will do for me. Therefore content your mind, sweetheart, -while I go forth to make my needed purchases.” - -He kissed her, while Goodwife Phipps bustled off importantly about her -duties, and reassuring her that all should yet be well for Goody, he -went out into the glorious sunlight, and felt his old-time vigor spring -forward—from the warmth and the joyousness of Nature—to meet him. - -But the matter of finding a horse in Boston was not one to be disposed -of lightly. He hunted far and wide, for of those which were offered for -sale, many were old, a few were lame and others were vicious. These -latter he would have liked, for himself, since they challenged him, -their spirit against his, but foregoing the pleasant anticipation of a -battle royal, he rejected offers right and left, until he had used up -the morning completely, and at length felt obliged to be satisfied with -a somewhat undersized bay, who nevertheless seemed strong and otherwise -fit for the business in hand. - -Garde in the meantime had grown nervous with impatience, afraid as she -was, of one of those swift, inhuman trials of Goody which so often were -the subterfuges of the fanatics for rushing a person pre-condemned, to -the death from which there was no escape. - -“I have thought the matter over calmly,” said Adam, who knew nothing of -real calmness in a moment of daring, “and I feel certain we shall double -our chances of success by waiting till dark, or near it, when the jailer -might be persuaded to think we could get her away unnoticed noticed by -the rabble, and so might consent to the plan, when otherwise he would -think he must refuse.” - -There was reason in this, as Garde could see. Making Adam promise to -take a rest, before the time should be ripe for their enterprise, she -went home to David Donner, to set things to rights, and otherwise to -keep abreast of her little housewifely duties. She found the old man -excited, by a call which had come for his services, at noon. - -One of the seven magistrates who sat in the court of Oyer and Terminer, -to try the witches, had fallen ill. David had been requested to assume -his place. At this wholly unexpected news, Garde felt her heart leap -with a sudden rejoicing. If the worst came, Goody would have at least -one friend at the trial, to whose words of wisdom the Council had so -frequently listened. She ran to the old man and gave him a kiss. - -“Oh, I am so glad, dear Grandther,” she said. “They know how wise you -are and just!” - -“Thankee, child, thankee,” said the white-haired old man, smiling with -the pleasure which the whole transaction had excited in his hungering -breast. “They recognize me—a little—at last.” - -Yet so eager had the girl become, and so frightened of what the results -were almost certain to be, if Goody ever came to her trial, during the -absence of Governor Phipps, that she and Adam were hastening off to the -jail the moment the twilight began to descend on the town. - -“Jailer Weaver owes me some little favor,” she said as they came to the -place, “and he really owes a great deal to Goody.” Her voice was -shaking, her teeth felt inclined to chatter, so excited was all this -business making her feel. - -Vivid recollections of those terrible moments in which she had come to -see Mrs. Weaver and then had hovered about the prison, to liberate Adam, -made her cling to his arm in terror of what they were now about to -attempt. - -Adam himself, wondering if the jailer would by any chance remember his -face, and the break he and the poor old beef-eaters had made, had the -boldness and the love of adventure come surging up in his heart, till he -petted the hilt of his sword with a clenching fist. - -They entered at the door of that portion of the prison building where -the Weavers made their residence, as this would excite no suspicion on -the part of the few pedestrians in the street. The nature of their -business being partially secret, they chose to interview the jailer in -the room which answered for his parlor. - -Weaver was a man who constantly raised and lowered his eyebrows—a habit -he had gained through years of alternately scowling at his guests and -then looking puzzled or surprised that, being so innocent as they always -were, they should still be brought to such a place. He listened to -Adam’s flowery and courtly address, in which he announced the advent of -Goody’s pardon, with at least a hundred of these eyebrow contortions. - -“But the Governor never pardons before a trial,” he said. “Else, how -should he know but what he was pardoning a very guilty person indeed? If -he had pardoned her, or if he will pardon her, after the trial, I shall -be glad to give her freedom, poor soul. But you see she hasn’t even been -tried, and moreover this pardon comes from the Governor’s good lady.” - -Garde’s heart sank. The man was so unanswerably logical. - -“But, my good man,” said Adam, “I tell you this would be the Governor’s -pleasure. And the Governor stands in the shoes of the King, in matters -of grave importance. Now call in any one and ask if I am not the -Governor’s friend—his secretary, indeed.” - -“I know your face,” said Weaver, who remembered Adam well enough, as a -former guest of the house, but who chose to say nothing on delicate -subjects. “I saw you with Sir William the day he landed. Oh, aye, you -are his friend, I know that well. But——” - -“Good!” Adam interrupted. “Then, the Governor—who stands, mind you, in -the King’s shoes, in this matter, is away. I, being his friend, for the -moment take his place. Therefore I stand in the King’s shoes myself, and -I desire this woman’s pardon! Bring forth your ink, and I shall add my -signature to the document, in the King’s name.” - -Weaver was bewildered. This reasoning was as clear as a bell, yet he -knew what the angry mobs would soon be demanding from his stronghold. - -“But—but there can be no pardon, as I said, till after trial,” he -stammered. - -“What!” said Rust striding back and forth, while Garde looked on and -trembled, “do you refuse to obey your King?” - -“Oh, sir, alas, no,” said the jailer. “But what can I do?” - -“Do? Do? My friend, do you value your daily bread? Do you wish to retain -your office? Or shall the Governor grant your dismissal?” - -This was touching the man on a spot where he could endure no pressure. -He quailed, for he found himself between the devil—as represented by the -fanatical spirit of the mob—and the deep sea into which the loss of his -place would plunge him at once. - -“Oh, don’t turn me out!” he begged, convinced well enough of Adam’s -power with the Governor. “I would do anything to please you, sir, and I -have done much already to please the Governor. I am an old man, sir, and -we have saved nothing, and we know no other trade, and many people hate -us. There would be no place for me and mine. Do not turn us away for -this.” - -“I don’t wish to turn you away,” said Adam. “I merely ask you to release -this woman.” - -“She has never done any harm,” put in Garde. “She has been very good to -your wife and you. Surely you could spare her this.” - -“I would, Miss, I would,” said the wretched man. “I am sick to death of -this terrible craze of witches, but what can I do? If I do not release -her, I shall lose my place and starve. If I do let her go, I shall have -all the mobs down upon me, when they find there is no witch for trial. -How can I show them a paper, instead of a prisoner? My life might pay -the forfeit.” - -“Oh, Adam, this is terrible,” said Garde. “What can we do?” - -“After trial, you can surely get her pardoned,” the man insisted. “You -have the power. You can save her then.” - -“Oh, they will never wait!” cried the girl. “They may try her to-night, -and find her guilty and hang her the first thing in the morning!” - -Weaver turned pale. He knew that what she said might in all probability -be true. - -“But I cannot give them a bit of paper instead of a prisoner,” he -repeated. “If you will bring me some one else, who will vouch for the -mob’s respect of your pardon, as you vouch for the Governor——” - -“We’ve got to have her,” interrupted Adam. “You can say she escaped, by -her power of witchcraft. Release her, or look your last on these -cheerful walls.” - -“Oh, but, Adam,” said Garde, “why should we make such misery and trouble -for one person—for two persons, indeed with Mrs. Weaver—in trying to -save another? I like these good people. They are very kind to their -prisoners. They have spent much of their own money to give them little -comforts. Can we not think of some other way, as good as this, to get -poor Goody out and do no harm to innocent people?” - -Weaver was ready to break into tears. He started to repeat, “Bring me -some one to——” - -“Oh! Oh, I know! I know what to do!” cried Garde, interrupting. “All you -need is some one else to blame, when they find she is gone! It would -never be your fault if some one took her place. It would be a trick on -you, when they found it out. I’ll take her place. I’ll take her place, -because when they find out they are starting to try only me, they will -have to laugh it off as a joke. And Grandther is one of the -magistrates—appointed to-day—so they will have to let me go—and Goody -will be far away, by then—and no one will get into trouble!” - -“So one could blame me—nor they wouldn’t,” said Weaver, slowly, “but as -for you, Miss——” - -“Then we can do it!” Garde broke in, a little wildly. “Oh, hurry! we -might he too late. You can put me wherever Goody is, and I can change -clothes with her, and then, Adam——” - -“Yes, but——” started Adam. - -“Oh, let me, dear. I shan’t mind it a bit. And in the morning it will -all be over, and Goody will be safe, and no one harmed—and there is no -other way. And I want to! Oh, Goody has been like a mother to me! I must -do it. Please don’t say anything more. Mr. Weaver, take me to Goody -now!” - -“You brave little woman!” said Adam, his own courage leaping to greet -this intrepid spirit in his sweetheart. “I believe you can do it! We -shall win!” - -“Come back as early as you can,” said Garde, on whom a thought of the -lonely part of the business was suddenly impressed. “It won’t seem long. -And when it is over, I shall feel so glad I could do a little thing for -Goody. We must hurry. Every moment may be precious!” - -“But, lassie——” the jailer tried to insist once more, “you——” - -“Please don’t talk any more,” said Garde. “Take me to her now. And when -somebody looking like me comes back, let her go out by Mrs. Weaver’s -door with Mr. Rust.” - -“Yes, I, but——” - -“In the King’s name, no more talk,” interrupted Adam. Then he turned to -Garde. “You won’t be timid, little mate?” he said. “I shall not be gone -past midnight at the most.” - -“I shall be so glad to think I am leaving Goody in your strong, dear -hands,” said Garde, with a smile of love in her eyes. “Good-by, -dear,—good night, till the morning.” - -She kissed him, and smiling at him bravely, followed the jailer, who saw -that his place in the jail depended now on compliance with Adam’s and -Garde’s demand. The tremulous pressure of her little hand in his -remained with Adam when she had gone. He wondered if he were doing well, -thus to let his sweetheart assume poor Goody’s place. Then his own -boldness of spirit rebuked him and he laughed at the imaginary scene of -the magistrates, when they should finally discover their trial to be -nothing but a farce. - -Weaver meantime took a candle in his hand and led the way down the -corridor of the prison. Garde hesitated when she saw him descending the -steps. - -“Why—where is she?” she asked, timidly. - -“In the dungeon, lass,” said the jailer. “I was over sorry, but it could -not be helped. We are full everywhere else. But I shall leave you the -light, and anything you like for comfort. Only, if you hear any one -coming, blow out the candle straightway, or I shall be in a peck of -troubles.” - -Quelling her sense of terror, and thinking of Goody, alone in that -darkness, with such dreadful fates awaiting her reappearance among the -people, she promised herself again it would soon be over, and so -followed resolutely down into the hole where Adam had once been locked, -in those long-past days of despair. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - THE MIDNIGHT TRIAL. - - -GOODY DUNE was a frightened and pitiable spectacle, with her age and the -terrors of the dungeon and coming execution upon her. She struggled in -an effort to maintain a show of composure, at sight of Garde and the -jailer. Nevertheless she would not, at first, listen to a word of the -plan of substitution, to get her away from the prison. - -When at last she had fairly overridden Goody’s objections, and had made -her complete the exchange of garments, Garde kissed her with all the -affection of a daughter, and sent her forth to Adam’s protection. She -then heard the lock in the dungeon-door shoot squeakingly into place -with a little thrill of fear, which nothing human and womanly could have -escaped. - -She listened to the footfalls receding down the corridor, and then the -utter silence of the place began to make itself ring in her ears. She -looked about her, by the aid of the flickering light which the tallow -dip was furnishing, at the barren walls, the shadows, and the heap of -straw in the corner. At all this she gave a little shiver of dread. - -All the excitement which had buoyed her up to make this moment possible -escaped from her rapidly. She began to think how Goody must have felt, -till her moment of deliverance came. Then she thought of what Adam had -endured when, lame, hungry, exhausted and defamed, he had been thrown -with violence into this horrible hole, from which he could have had no -thought of being rescued. - -She took the candle in hand and went in search of the tiny window, down -through which she had dropped him the keys. When she saw it, she gave a -little shudder, to note how small it was, and how it permitted no light -to enter the place. - -Returning then to a paper, filled with bread and butter, pie, cake and -cold meat, which Weaver had fetched her, while she and Goody had been -exchanging garments, she tried to eat a little, to occupy her time and -her thoughts. But she could only take a sip of the milk, which stood -beside the paper, and a nibble at the bread. To eat, while in her -present state of mind, was out of the question. - -The stillness seemed to increase. She felt little creeps of chill -running down her shoulders. What a terrible thing it would be to have no -hope of leaving this fearful cellar! Suppose anything should happen to -Adam, to prevent him from returning! How long would it be till morning? -Surely she must have been there nearly an hour already. She clasped her -hands, that were cold as ice. She almost wished she had not tried this -solution of the difficulty. Then she remembered the wise old woman, who -had made her neighbors’ children her own care—as she had no sons nor -daughters of her own—and who had been sister, mother and friend to -Hester Hodder, and guardian angel, teacher and kindly spirit over -herself. This made her calmer, for a time, and again courageous. - -When once more the dread of the place and the ringing silence and the -doubts that seemed to lurk in the shadows, came stealing back, she -thought of Adam, rehearsing every incident in every time they had ever -met. And thus she lingered long over that walk from Plymouth to Boston. - -In the midst of sweet reveries which really did much to dissipate her -qualms and chills, she heard someone walking heavily along in the -corridor above her. Swiftly calling to mind what the jailer had said -about the light, she blew it out and stood trembling with nervousness, -waiting for the door to open before her. - -But the sounds of heavy boots on the upper floor presently halted. Then -they retreated. She breathed more freely. And then—she suddenly felt the -darkness all about her. - -Fear that some one had been about to enter had, for the moment, made her -oblivious of the curtain of gloom which closed in so thickly when she -blew out the candle. Now, when she realized that she could not again -ignite that wick, a horror spread through her, till she closed her eyes -and sank on the floor in despair. - -The time that passed was interminable. She had not thought of how -terrible the dungeon would be without the candle. She could almost have -screamed, thus to be so deprived of the kindly light which had made the -place comparatively cheerful. But she pulled up her resolution once -again, thinking how Goody and Adam had endured nothing but darkness, and -with no hope of succor such as she could see illuminating her hours of -dread. - -Midnight came at last and found Garde unstrung. When the tramp of many -feet rang above her, at last, she welcomed the thought that some one was -near. She hoped it was morning and that Adam had returned. But then she -heard a jangle of keys, and footfalls on the steps leading down to where -she was, and her heart stood still. - -In the natural consternation which the hour, the darkness and the -suspense had brought upon her, she hastily hid her head and face in -Goody’s shawl, and bending over, to represent the older woman, she -tremblingly saw the door swing open and heard the jailer command her to -come forth. - -With her heart beating violently and her knees quaking beneath her, -Garde came out, relieved in some ways to flee from that awful hole of -darkness, but frightened, when she saw the array of stern-faced men, who -had come, as she instantly comprehended, to take her away to a trial. - -There was not one among the five or six men that she knew. She -remembered the faces of Pinchbecker and Higgler, having seen them in the -morning, when Goody was taken, but the others were witnesses that -Randolph had sent from Salem, experts in swearing away the lives of -witches. They too had been present at the capture of Goody. - -Undetected as she was, Garde was surrounded by this sinister group of -men, and was marched away, out of the jail, into the sweet summer’s -night air, and so down a deserted street, to a building she had never -entered before in her life. - -Hardly had the prison been left behind when Adam Rust, swiftly -returning, after having readily provided for the safe escape of Goody -Dune, came galloping into Boston, his brain on fire with a scheme of -boldness. - -He had made up his mind to ride straight to the prison, demand -admittance, compel the jailer to deliver Garde up at once, carry her -straight to a parson’s, marry his sweetheart forthwith, and then take -her off to New Amsterdam. Weaver could blame the rescue of the witch to -him and be welcome. He could even permit Adam to tie him and gag him, to -make the story more complete, but submit he should, or Rust would know -the reason. His wild ride had begotten the scheme in his -adventure-hungry mind. - -He knew the residence of the parson who had married Henry Wainsworth and -Prudence Soam, the week before he and Phipps had returned to -Massachusetts, for Garde had told him all the particulars, time after -time—having marriage in her own sweet thought, as indeed she should. He -therefore went first to this parson’s, knocked hotly on the door, to get -him out of bed, and bade him be prepared to perform the ceremony within -the hour. - -The parson had readily agreed, being a man amenable to sense and to the -luster of gold in the palm, wherefore Adam had gone swiftly off to work -the _tour de force_ on which all else depended. He arrived at the jail -when Garde had been gone for fifteen minutes. Here he learned with -amazement of the midnight trial to which she had been so summarily led. - -Trembling like a leaf, Garde was conducted into a chamber adjoining the -room wherein the dread magistrates were sitting, with their minds -already convinced that this was a case so flagrant that to permit the -witch to live through the night would be to impair the heavenly heritage -of every soul in Boston. - -Here the girl was left, in charge of Gallows and two other ruffianly -brutes, whose immunity from the evil powers of witches had been -thoroughly established in former cases. In the meantime her accusers had -gone before the magistrates, ahead of herself, to relate the unspeakable -things of which Goody Dune had been guilty. - -Shaking, not daring to look up, nor to utter a sound, Garde had tried to -summon the courage to throw off the whole disguise, laugh at her captors -and declare who she was, but before she should arrive in the presence of -Grandther Donner, who would protect her and verify her story, at least -as to who she was, she could not possibly make the attempt. - -Terribly wrought upon by the suspense of waiting to be summoned before -that stern tribunal of injustice, Garde began to think of the anger -which these unmirthful men might show, when she revealed the joke before -their astounded eyes. She swayed, weakly, almost ready to swoon, so -great became her alarm. - -She could hear the high voices of Psalms Higgler and Isaiah Pinchbecker, -penetrating through the door. They were giving their testimony, in which -they had been so well coached by Edward Randolph, who was even now in -there among the witnesses, disguised, and keeping as much as possible in -the background. - -The door presently opened and Garde was bidden to enter. Her heart -pounded with tumultuous strokes in her breast. She could barely put one -foot before the other. She caught at the door-frame to prop herself up -as she entered the dimly-lighted, shadow-haunted room. - -Then her gaze leaped swiftly up where the magistrates were sitting. She -saw strangers only—men she knew in the town, but not David Donner. She -felt she should faint, when one of the men turned about, and she -recognized her grandfather, looking feverish, wild-eyed and hardly sane. -This was why she had not known him sooner. - -“Oh, Grandther!” she suddenly cried. “It’s I! It’s Garde! Oh, save me! -Oh, take me home!” - -She flung off Goody’s shawl, and darting forward ran to her -grandfather’s side and threw her arms like a child about his neck, where -she sobbed hysterically and laughed and begged him to take her away. - -The court was smitten with astonishment from which no one could, for the -moment, recover. - -Randolph had pressed quickly forward. But he now retired again into the -shadow. - -“What’s this? What’s this?” demanded the chief of the magistrates, -sternly. “What business is this? What does this mean? Where is——” - -“Witchcraft! A young witch! Cheated! We are cheated! The young witch has -cheated us of the old witch!” cried Pinchbecker, shrilly. - -“My child! My child!” said David Donner. “This is no witch, -fellow-magistrates and friends.” - -“She has cheated us of the old witch!” repeated Pinchbecker wildly. “She -has daily consorted with a notorious witch. She has aided a witch to -escape. She is a witch herself! We know them thus! She is a dangerous -witch! She is a terrible young witch!” - -“How comes this?” said the chief again, excitedly. His associates also -demanded to know how this business came to be possible, and what was its -meaning. The room was filled with the shrill cries of the men denouncing -Garde more stridently than before, and with the exclamations of -astonishment and shouts to know what had become of the witch they had -come there to try. - -During all this confusion, Garde was clinging to her grandfather and -begging him to take her home. - -“Have the girl stand forth,” commanded the chief magistrate. “We must -know how this business has happened.” - -Three of the men laid hold of Garde and took her from her wondering -grandfather’s side. She regained her composure by making a mighty -effort. - -“Goody Dune was no witch!” she cried. “You all know what a good, kind -woman she has been among you for years—till this madness came upon us! -She is a good woman—and I love her, for all she has done. She is not a -witch—you know she is not a witch!” - -The witnesses, who knew all the ways in which witches were to be -detected, raised their voices at once, in protest. - -“Order in the Court!” commanded the magistrate. “Young woman, have you -connived to let this Goody Dune escape?” - -“She was no witch!” repeated Garde, courageously now. “I knew you would -try to send her to the gallows. I knew she was fore-condemned! I could -do no less—and you men could have done no less, had you been less mad!” - -“Blasphemy!” cried Higgler. “She is convicted out of her own mouth!” - -“When a witch is young,” cried Pinchbecker, “she can work ten times more -awful evils and arts!” - -One of the magistrates spoke: “No woman ever yet was beautiful and -clever both at one time. If she be the one, she cannot be the other. -This young woman, being both, is clearly a witch!” - -“She’s a witch—worse than the other!” screamed another of the witnesses. -“Condemn her! Condemn her!” - -“Oh, Grandther,” cried Garde, “take me away from these terrible men!” - -Randolph now came sneaking forth, out of the shadow. - -“This is that same young woman,” he cried, “who lost the colony its -charter!” - -“The charter!” screamed David Donner, instantly a maniac. “The charter! -She lost us the charter! Witch! The charter! Condemn her! Kill her! The -charter! She! She! She! Kill her!—Where is she? The charter! The -charter! The charter!” - -With his two bony, palsied hands raised high above his head, like -fearful talons, with his white hair awry over his brow, with his eyes -blazing with maniacal fire, the old man had suddenly stood up and now he -came staggering forward, screaming in a blood-chilling voice and making -such an apparition of horror that the men fell backward from his path. - -“Oh Grandther! Grandther!” cried Garde, holding forth her arms and going -toward him, to catch him as she saw him come stumbling toward her. - -“Witch!” screamed the old man shrilly. “Kill her! Kill her! I never -coerced her! The charter! Witch! Witch! The charter!” - -He suddenly choked. He clutched at his heart in a wild, spasmodic -manner, and with froth bursting from his lips, he fell headlong to the -floor and was dead. - -“She has killed him!” cried Higgler. “She has killed him with her -hellish power!” - -“Witch! A murderous young witch!” - -“Condemn her! Condemn her!” came in a terrible chorus. - -“To the gallows! Hale her to the gallows!” Randolph added from the rear. - -The man called Gallows thought this referred to him. He grinned. He and -the two brutes who had handled many defenseless witches before, came -toward the girl, who stood as if petrified, her hand pressed against her -heart in dumb anguish. - -Suddenly the door was thrown open and in there came Governor Phipps, -cane in hand, periwig adjusted, cloak of office on his shoulders. He was -blowing his nose as he entered, so that no one saw his face plainly, yet -all knew the tall, commanding figure and the dress. - -“What, a trial, at night, and without me?” he roared, in a towering -rage, which many present had already learned to fear. “Is this your -province, you magistrates, assembled to deal out justice? Do you heckle -a defenseless woman like this? Disperse!—the whole of you, instantly. I -command it! If you have condemned, I pardon. The prisoner will leave the -court with me!” - -The men, craven that they were, he could deceive, but Garde knew the -voice, the gait, the bearing of her lover. She sprang to his side with a -little cry of gladness and clung to him wildly, as his strong arm swung -boldly about her waist. She could hardly more than stand, so tremendous -had been the stress of her fearful emotions. - -Scorning to expend further scolding or shaming upon them, and -comprehending that delay had no part in his game, Adam turned his back -on the slinking company and strode away, half supporting Garde, who hung -so limply in his hold. - -Randolph, baffled, afraid to reveal himself by denouncing the imposture -which he had been only a second behind Garde in detecting, stole close -to his henchmen and whispered the truth in their ears. - -Higgler and Pinchbecker, conscious of the blood of Adam on their hands, -felt their knees knock suddenly together. The man must be the very devil -himself. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - THE GAUNTLET RUN. - - -WITH his bride up behind him on his horse, the rover spurred swiftly -away from the parson’s, still within the hour, in which he had promised -to return to his wedding. Unafraid of whatsoever the world, before or -behind, might contain, while her lover-husband lived at her side, Garde -felt a sense of exhilaration, at leaving Boston, such as she had never -known in all her life. - -With her grandfather dead and Goody no longer at the little cottage on -the skirts of town, she had no ties remaining, save those at the houses -of Soam and Phipps. And what were these, when weighed in the balance -against Adam Rust—her Adam,—her mighty lord? - -Trembling and clinging as she was, he had carried her off. Gladly she -had gone to the parson’s. Her heart now rejoiced, as he told her that -Massachusetts was behind them forever. For its people, with their harsh, -mirthless lives of austerity and fanaticism, she had only love enough to -give them her pity. But her life was life indeed, when, ever and anon, -Adam halted the horse, lest she fear a fall, and twisted about to give -her a kiss and a chuckle of love and to tell of the way he had cheated -the mob and the court of their witches. - -“Make no doubt of it, you are a witch—one of the sweetest, cleverest, -bravest, most adorable little witches that ever lived,” he said, “and I -love you and love you for it, my darling wife!” - -They had left the town early in the morning. By break of day they were -not so far from Boston as Adam could have wished. The horse had been -wearied by carrying double, when he conveyed Goody Dune to a place of -safety,—so that the old woman could subsequently join himself and Garde -in New Amsterdam,—and therefore he had halted the animal humanely, from -time to time, as the load under which the good beast was now working was -not a trifle. - -Having avoided the main road, for the greater part of the remaining -hours of darkness, Adam deemed it safe at last to return to the highway, -as he thought it unlikely they had been pursued under any circumstances. -Thus the sun came up as they were quietly jogging along toward a copse -of trees through which the road went winding with many an invitation of -beauty to beckon them on. - -Crossing a noisy little brook, the rover permitted the horse to stop for -a drink. Not to be wasting the precious time, Adam turned himself half -way around in the saddle, as he had done so frequently before, and gave -his bride a fair morning salute. - -He had then barely ridden the horse a rod from the stream, when, without -the slightest warning, the figure of Gallows, mounted on a great black -steed, suddenly broke from cover among the trees and bore down upon -them. - -The great hulk, sword in hand, made a quick dash toward the defenceless -two, and slashed at Garde with all his fearful might. - -Jerking his horse nearly out of the road, Adam swung from the line of -the brute’s cowardly stroke, yet before he could do aught to prevent it, -Gallows righted, flung out his leaden fist and dragged the girl fairly -off from her seat, till she struck on the back of her head, among the -rocks of the road, and lay there unconscious, and almost beneath the -tread of the horse’s prancing feet. - -Then the monster spurred at his horse and turning him back, rode to -drive him madly over the prostrate form in the dust. - -Making a short, sharp cry of anger, Adam whipped out his sword and -dashed upon the murderous butcher before he could get within fifteen -feet of Garde, where she lay in the sunlight. - -Gallows had plenty of time to see him coming. The two met in a -tremendous collision of steel on steel that sounded a clangor through -the woods and sent the two swords flying from their owners’ grips. - -Disarmed, the pair thudded together in a swift and hot embrace, sawing -their horses close in, the more firmly and straight erect to hold their -seats. - -“You be a fool and I be the fool-killer!” roared Gallows, hoarsely. He -tugged with his giant strength, to drag Adam fairly across to his own -big saddle, where he could either break his back or beat him to death -with the butt of a pistol, which he was trying to draw with the hand -that held the reins. - -Slipping his wrist under the chin and his hand around to the fellow’s -massive shoulder, Adam tilted back the heavy head with a force so great -that Gallows was glad to release his hold, else he would surely have -toppled from his perch. - -The horses leaped a little apart. Back their riders jerked them. Again -the two big human forms shot together, and clung in a fierce embrace, -like two massive chunks of iron, welded together by their impact. Once -more Gallows used his great brute strength, while Rust employed his wit -and got his same terrible leverage on the monster’s neck. - -For a moment Gallows fought to try to break the hold, and to drag his -opponent headlong from his horse, by kicking Adam’s animal stoutly in -the flank. But Adam was inflicting such an agony upon him as he could -not endure. They broke away, only to rush for the third time, back to -this giant wrestling. - -“The fool will never learn. I shall kill him yet!” cried Rust to -himself, for he went for Gallows’s neck as before and got it again in -his hold. - -He threw a tremendous strength into the struggle. Gallows let out a -bellow. Releasing the reins, he threw both his arms about his foe and -deliberately fell from his seat, with the intention of crushing Rust -beneath his weight, on the ground. - -Adam’s turn in the air was the work of the expert wrestler. The horses -shied nervously away. - -The two were up on their feet and telescoped abruptly in one compact, -struggling mass, as if two malleable statues of heroic size had suddenly -been bent and intertwisted together. - -With his ox-like force Gallows began to force Adam backward. Adam let -him expend himself in this manner for a moment. He then discovered the -great hulk’s design. He meant to force the rover to where Garde was -still lying, and so to trample upon her till the life should be stamped -and ground from her helpless form. - -Randolph had sent him to commit this final infamy. - -The rage that leaped up in Adam’s breast was a terrible thing. He -feinted to drop as if in exhaustion. Gallows loosened his hold to snatch -a better one, at once. In that second Adam dealt him a blow in the -stomach that all but felled him where he stood. - -Before he could straighten to recover, Rust was upon him like a tiger. -Getting around the great brute’s side, he threw both hands around the -short, thick neck and twisted himself into position so that he and -Gallows were placed nearly back to back. Then with one movement he -lifted at the man’s whole weight, with the monster’s head as a lever, -hauled fiercely backward. Into the action he threw such a mighty rush of -strength that Gallows was hoisted bodily off the ground, for a second, -and then his neck gave forth a tremendous snap and was broken so -fearfully that one of the jagged ends of a vertebra stabbed outward -through the flesh, and dripped with red. - -The whole dead weight of the fellow’s carcass rested for a second on -Rust’s back and shoulder, and then Adam let him fall to the ground, -where, like a slain hog, he rolled heavily over and moved no more. - -Panting, fierce-eyed, ready to slay him again, Adam stood above the body -for a moment, his jaws set, his fists clenched hard in the rage still -upon him. - -Then he heard a little moan, and turning about saw Garde, attempting to -raise herself upward, in the road. He ran to her instantly and propped -her up on his knee. - -“Dearest, dearest,” he said, “are you badly hurt? Garde, let me help -you. Don’t look—don’t look there. It’s all right. Here, let me get you -back to the shade.” - -He took her up tenderly in his arms and carried her out of the road to a -near-by bank of moss. Here he sat her down, with her back to a tree, and -ran to fill his hat with water from the stream. - -The two horses, having stopped to take a supplementary drink, and a -nibble at the grass, were easily caught. The rover secured them both and -tied them quickly to a bush, with the dragging reins. Then back to Garde -he ran with the water. - -“Oh, thank you, dear,” she said, “I don’t think I am hurt. But with the -fright, and the fall, I think I must have fainted.” - -“Thank God!” said Adam, as she drank from his hat and smiled in his -face, a little faintly, but with an infinite love in her two brown eyes. -“Thank God, for this delivery. There will be no more trouble. I feel it! -I know it. At last we have run the gauntlet.” - - - * * * * * - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - BEWITCHED. - - -IN his tidy little house in New Amsterdam, Adam sat reading a letter -from Governor William Phipps, written at Boston. - - “I forgyve you y^r merrie empersonashun and all ye other things - alsoe, save y^e going away without goode-bye,” he read, “but let - it pass. I w^d write to say God Blesse you bothe. And as I have - never known such a goode blade as y^{rs} in fight, I w^d offer - you to make you my commander of ye forces to goe in war against - ye French, where they do threat to harasse our peeple as of - yore——” - -Adam halted here and looked up at the battered old sword on the wall. -His thought went truant, to his helpmate, away for a few minutes’ walk -to Goody Dune’s. He shook his head at the Governor’s generous offer. - -“Well, well, William,” he said aloud, “I don’t know. I don’t know what -may be the matter, but—no more fighting for me, old comrade. I think it -must be that I—am bewitched.” - - - THE END. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - ● Transcriber’s Notes: - ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected. - ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected. - ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only - when a predominant form was found in this book. - ○ Text that: - was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). - ○ The use of a caret (^) before a letter, or letters, shows that the - following letter or letters was intended to be a superscript, as - in S^t Bartholomew or 10^{th} Century. - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN A WITCH IS YOUNG *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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