“It is he, adorable Delilah; and fear not, even though incited by the foe, by clipping my locks, to dwindle my strength. Give me your sword, man,” turning to an officer:—“Ah! I’m fettered. Clip it yourself, lady.”
“No, no—I am—”
“Afraid, would you say? Afraid of the vowed friend and champion of all ladies all round the world? Nay, nay, come hither.”
The lady advanced; and soon, overcoming her timidity, her white hand shone like whipped foam amid the matted waves of flaxen hair.
“Ah, this is like clipping tangled tags of gold-lace,” cried she; “but see, it is half straw.”
“But the wearer is no man-of-straw, lady; were I free, and you had ten thousand foes—horse, foot, and dragoons—how like a friend I could fight for you! Come, you have robbed me of my hair; let me rob your dainty hand of its price. What, afraid again?”
“No, not that; but—”
“I see, lady; I may do it, by your leave, but not by your word; the wonted way of ladies. There, it is done. Sweeter that kiss, than the bitter heart of a cherry.”
When at length this lady left, no small talk was had by her with her companions about someway relieving the hard lot of so knightly an unfortunate. Whereupon a worthy, judicious gentleman, of middle- age, in attendance, suggested a bottle of good wine every day, and clean linen once every week. And these the gentle Englishwoman—too polite and too good to be fastidious—did indeed actually send to Ethan Allen, so long as he tarried a captive in her land.
The withdrawal of this company was followed by a different scene.