“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.