It has been said that man justifies himself in whatsoever he does. Adam thought he needed justification for desiring to go once, just once, into that alley, wherefore he prepared his mind with several excuses. Armed with these he at length slipped away from the Crow and Arrow and found his way to the rear of that house into which he had seen Garde and Prudence disappear, on that memorable first night in Boston.
Had Rust come to this trysting-place at the same hour on the two previous evenings, he would have met Mistress Merrill face to face. Garde, in her impulsive eagerness to see him again, had waited for little debating before she slipped from the house, to see if he might not have come to deliver that certain trinket from Hispaniola. Her cousin Prudence, more diffident, had desired to come forth also, but she had lacked Garde’s readiness of execution and courage. However she had not lacked the incentive, and as no maiden is utterly awed, in the presence of a tender passion, Mistress Prudence had at length steeled her heart, and to-night she came tripping diffidently forth, not long after Adam’s arrival on the scene.
So silently had Prudence come that Adam, who might have arranged otherwise, suddenly found himself confronted, before he had made up his mind whether he wished any one might appear or not.
“Why, good evening, Mr. Rust,” said Prudence, with a little gasp at her own daring, “why, I was just walking in the garden and couldn’t think who it might be, here by the gate. Why, how strange we should meet!”
Adam had said good evening, waving a salute grandly with his hat, the moment Prudence had spoken, for he had realized instantly that she was not Garde and his presence of mind had risen to the occasion without delay.
“I—wandered up here looking, for—for distressed cats,” said Adam.
“Oh, did you?” said Prudence, innocently. “That was real noble.”
Adam hated to have anything he did called noble. He therefore hastened to do penance, in a measure, for his slightly inaccurate statement.
“I am bound to confess,” he added, “that I did have a faint hope that I might see either you or Mistress Merrill—or both—to say good-by, for to-morrow I am off again, for a jaunt on the sea.”
“Going away?” echoed Prudence. “Oh, why, Garde might be disappointed, not to see you and say good-by.”