“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.