I sheathed my blade, sitting down beside Lucille.
“Seriously, now, what is to become of me?” she asked.
“Why,” I answered, as gaily as I could, “since you are mine, you must follow my poor fortunes, it would seem; that is, if you are willing to follow one who has but----”
“But his sword,” she broke in, smiling at me.
“Nay, I had not finished. But his love, his sword, his horse, and the clothes on his back.”
“Except for my love, I am even poorer than that,” confessed Lucille, “unless I could go back to Salem, and that I will not. There was some little money that my father left, but it was nearly spent. I have no sword, no horse, and only this poor sea-stained dress.”
“Yet in it I would rather have you than the most richly robed lady in all the world,” I cried.
“Come,” I went on, “we are betrothed,” and I took her by the hand. “Let us go to the good dominie here, ask him to join us in wedlock, then we may seek our fortune as man and wife.”
“What? Wed in this frock?” Lucille looked at it as if it was all rags, but indeed it was a pretty dress.
“What matters the gown?” I asked.