“Mistress Prudence Soam,” Adam repeated, replying to Garde’s last remarks. “Indeed I should be but a sorry clod, not to wish to see her again. Does she also come searching for simples?”
“No,” replied Garde, a little dully. “But I thank you for reminding me that I must set about my task. Therefore I must bid you good day.”
Adam thought something would snap inside his breast. There was the sunlight, streaming through the aisles of the trees; there was Garde, whom he loved beyond anything of earth, setting off alone when he should be at her side, culling her herbs, touching her hands as he gave her the aromatic leaves that he too knew so well, and looking into Paradise through her eyes, that had so danced when first he knew them. But what of Wainsworth? What of the honor of a friend to a friend?
“Good day,” he echoed, with a mock gaiety that struck painfully on the ears of both. “I trust your quest will be as successful as I could wish your life to be happy.”
He hesitated a moment, for it was hard to part thus. Garde had hoped he might volunteer to go along and carry the tiny basket she held on her arm, for a woman’s love can never be so discouraged as not to have a new little hope every other moment that something may happen to set matters aright in spite of all. But Adam did not dare to prolong this test of his honor to Wainsworth. He felt that his head was reeling, but with a stately bow he took a final, lingering look at the sweetest vision he had ever seen, and started away.
Garde, steadied by her pride, returned his bow and walked further into the woods.
Adam felt that he must pause and turn; that the “Garde!” that welled up from his heart would burst through his lips in spite of all he could do. With his violin clasped beneath his arm, however, he conquered himself, absolutely, and never so much as turned about again to see where the wood-nymph had gone.
But Garde could not so slay her dearest impulse. She turned before she had gone ten steps. Looking back, she saw Adam, bareheaded, crowned by his golden ringlets,—through which the sunbeams were thrust like fingers of gilt,—trailing his sword, clutching his violin, striding off in his boots as lithely as a panther and bearing up under his faded brown coat as proudly as a king.
“Oh, Adam!” she said, faintly, but he was already too far away to hear the little wood-note which her voice had made.
He disappeared. She knew he would soon be clear of the trees. Reluctantly at first, and then eagerly, though silently, she flitted along from tree to tree, where he had gone, till at length she came to the edge of the forest.