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?”