“Oh, the terrible morrow, I wish it would never come,” Lucille whispered.
“Have no fear,” I assured her. Then I told her of myself. How I with others had broken from Salem gaol after I had been near to death in the great press. I told of my journey, though I did not relate all my feelings when I knew she had sailed with Sir George, as I thought.
The night wore on. Our fire grew dim, and I bade Lucille sleep, for I did not want her to be awake when I must go out to meet my enemy. But she said she could not slumber, and thus we sat in each other’s arms until a greater blackness gave warning that the dawn was at hand.
It was cold and gray and still, save for the noise of the waves. Then the grayness became lighter in color.
The stars that had been bright grew dim. Slowly the morning light came, a pale rosy flush in the eastern sky. Then the edge of the sun peeped up from beneath the waves.
I looked at Lucille. She was fast asleep on my arm. I placed her gently against the rock, my coat for a pillow. It was time to go now. I wondered if I would return, or would it be Sir George, who would be there when she awoke.
I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the half parted lips. Once, twice, three times.
She stirred, and murmured my name.
“Good bye, Lucille,” I whispered. “Good bye, my dear love, good bye.”
Then I went out to meet my foe.