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.