Garde listened eagerly, almost breathlessly, dwelling on every word concerning Rust, but her aunt returned once more to the subject of Wainsworth’s mother and no more was heard of Adam, for Henry presently bade them all good day and proceeded to follow, belated as he was, where his chief had gone, at the close of the meeting.
When he disappeared, Garde dropped her knitting and went quietly up the stairs, for the purpose of being alone, to think.
CHAPTER XII.
HOURS THAT GROW DARK.
Captain William Phipps was as eager as a boy, now that he had definitely settled on the purpose which had for its object the quest of the sunken treasure. Therefore he and Adam and the beef-eaters worked unceasingly to prepare the brig, “Captain Spencer,” for the cruise to the Bahamas.
What with provisioning the craft, enlisting more trustworthy men for the voyage and refitting a somewhat depleted and inefficient arsenal, Phipps waxed brusque and impatient. He had desired to get away from Boston not later than Saturday afternoon, but as the tasks before them had been tackled by Adam and the rest of them on Friday morning, the worthy Captain’s ambition to be on the sea on the Sabbath—a day for which he had little liking—was vain. Saturday night therefore approached and Phipps fumed, for he could not so outrage the Puritans’ sense of things Godly as to sail on Sunday, wherefore the departure had perforce to be postponed till Monday morning.
Adam, with an exaggerated sense of honor, had resisted the longing to go by night to that same alley in which he had rescued Garde’s cat and met that young lady with Mistress Prudence Soam. He spent the time with his beef-eaters and with Wainsworth, making merry for these music-hungering friends on the violin, which now seemed to him more than ever the one thing left him on which to concentrate the love of his affectionate nature.
On Sunday morning Captain Phipps betook himself to his brig, as she lay in mid-stream, to pother about by himself, while Adam dutifully escorted Goodwife Phipps to meeting, at South Church, which was nearer than the old church and more popular as well.
It was a solemn, black procession of Puritans that walked decorously to meeting in the sunlight. The day was one of almost unseemly beauty, for Nature was fairly barbarous in the colors which she wore like jewels. There was riotous gladness in the breeze that tipped back the bonnets from many a pretty face, to let the sun have a look at peach-bloom cheeks; there was a deviltry in the warmth that the girls felt first at their ankles, where thin stockings only protected them; and there was a twitter and chirrup of birds in the air.
In their homely black and their stiff white collars, the men were as solemn as posts. No bells sounded, either from afar, with mellowed pealings, nor nearer with persistent nagging. Men, women and children alike walked with their eyes steadfastly fixed on the ground.