I sent to the innkeeper for some rags and rotten stone, that I might polish the steel up. Master Aleworthy appeared himself with the stuff. When he saw my fine looks (for I do myself that credit) he would not let me burnish up the weapon, but insisted on doing it for me. A very proper attempt he made of it, too, for, when he had finished it shone like a new shilling.
“Now for breakfast,” he said.
“Not for me,” I replied, “there will be plenty of fodder when this affair is over.”
“But, Sir Francis, ’twill be a long time to then.”
“Short enough,” was my answer.
I strode out across the fields to the Captain’s house, hoping I might get a glimpse of Lucille. But if she had been hard to see a week ago, she was ten times more so now. At every door I tried I was bidden to take myself off, and call again. Finally, being somewhat vexed, I called to one saucy hussy:
“Know, madame, that I am to wed to-day. That I am the groom.”
“Aye, I know it,” she responded, as cool as you please. “You will be sent for when you are wanted.”
With that I had to be content, kicking my heels up and down the garden path. Noon was the time. It wanted two hours yet.
It seemed a month that I was in the garden. At last some one beckoned to me, and I was admitted in to see Lucille.