“But our charter—our government—our liberty, child!” cried David, raising his two shaking hands above his head. “You can save them all!”
“And is it so light a matter for me to become the mother of our liberty?” said Garde, on whom the spirit of wisdom had strangely descended, no doubt from Goody Dune. “Grandther, you would wish to think of this yourself.”
She had risen from her seat. She faced her grandfather and he saw her eyes nearly on a level with his own. A look of her mother, sad, appealing, forgiving, played intangibly across her face. The old man’s look seemed to follow its transit. He passed his nervous fingers along his brow. The fire died away in his eyes.
“Then think it over,” he said, huskily. “Think it over, my child, think it over. I will not coerce your decision. No, I’ll not coerce her, Ruth, no, no, I’ll not!”
He moved to the door, as one in a dream, and left the room.
CHAPTER XVI.
GARDE’S LONELY VIGIL.
David Donner was not to be deterred for long, by the shadow of a memory which he had seen flit like a ghost of his past, across Garde’s features. He was arriving at that age when a man’s memory is not so strong as in years past and when the events of the day at hand seem therefore the more important. He fretted under his promise to go abroad, desiring this to be abrogated by his fellow-colonists, and this could only be done when he should persuade them that the charter would be saved, or at least his country better served, by his remaining where he was. He had not as yet spoken to his colleagues of Randolph’s proposition. He was waiting for Garde to give him her answer.
The girl watched the old man narrowly, to see how long she could wait, for her answer was no more ready after a week than it had been on the first day. This was not entirely because her affections were placed elsewhere. She was a little patriot, otherwise her love for Adam would have prompted her reply at once, and from hot lips. She was undergoing a genuine struggle with herself. If it were true that she could save the charter, should she permit her own happiness or Adam’s to stand before the happiness and rights of all the Massachusetts people? Had not Adam himself written that when there are three and only two could be happy, the one, representing the minority, should suffer sorrow, that the greater number might preserve their joy? Then, when she and Adam were only two, how much more they should endure sorrow, when all the people of that colony weighed against them in the question.
No, it was not a simple matter in which her own desires could speak out above the clamor of duty. And yet, she could not feel the truth of Randolph’s position and promise. Suppose he had not the ability, so to save the charter as her grandfather believed he would. Suppose, having the power, he should prove dishonest, when once he had won his desire. What was there in a wife to tie him to his obligation? If politics had prompted him to go so far, would they not continue to prompt him further, after the marriage had given him his way? To sacrifice herself and Adam was to Garde a mighty thing. She was capable of any heroism, but her mind and her nature exacted that it be not specious. No travail of motherhood ever gave a more acute or prolonged agony than was Garde’s portion as she strove to give birth to a wise and right resolution.