Garde suddenly jumped up and kissed her.
“Good-by!” she said. “Oh, thank you, thank you, so much! But—haven’t you something I can take to—to Captain Phipps?”
Goody immediately supplied her with a small package. “Take him this tea,” she said. “No sailor should ever go to sea without it.”
Garde sped away, as if on the wings of impulse.
“She’s in love! she’s in love!” screamed the jackdaw, hilariously. As she ran, Garde could hear him clapping his wings against his body, in noisy applauding.
Running and walking alternately, by the quieter streets and lanes, meeting no one on her way, Garde finally arrived in sight of the ship-yard belonging to William Phipps. Her first impulsive thought had by now had time to abate somewhat and give place to a more sober reflection. Mistress Merrill began to wonder what she would say, if she did manage to see Adam Rust. It had been by a swift inspiration, almost an instinct of a maidenly young woman, that she had provided herself with an excuse for racing to this place. No modest girl could bear the thought of seeming to run after a man, or to say anything bold to him, or anything calculated to show that she held herself in any way other than proudly aloof, where he must bring his love, if he would sue for her favor.
She thought of all this as she went. She also began to think that perhaps Goody Dune might be mistaken. If Adam were found and he did not love her after all, not for all the world would he get one sign from her that she loved him or cared for him one tiny bit, or cared whether he went or remained.
She was breathless, rosy as a cherry and excited. Her hair had fallen down and the plaits had loosened. It hung about her face and nestled against her creamy throat like strands of ebony, richly copper-plated. Her dark eyes were flashing; her lips were parted, revealing her teeth like little white soldiers in a row. As she ran, her skirts whipped upward, in curves, about the roundest and trimmest ankles imaginable.
She now observed a small boat, approaching the landing. Out in the stream the sails of the “Captain Spencer” were rising like clouds. Garde then discovered the figure of a tall man, who had been sitting on a heap of logs, for he arose and went toward the dory, which had evidently come from the ship to fetch him. She recognized familiar outlines and the drag of the sword which the man was wearing.
“Adam!” she cried. “Oh, Adam, wait!”