“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.