Sometimes she spoke of herself, and of the sunny land she left to come to America. That subject was one to set her cheeks aglow, and make her eyes to sparkle. She told me of France, where she had been so happy as a girl, and I told her of some parts of it that I had visited. Of her reasons for coming to this bleak shore she said nothing, seeming to hesitate as we touched on that. All she told me was, that one day her father packed up such of his belongings as could be transported, sold the rest, and, with her cousin Marie and herself, had come to Massachusetts.
There had been many trials, the worst of all being when M. de Guilfort became ill, because of the rigors of the winter, and passed away. Once, when I told Lucille that her tongue found little difficulty with the English words, she blushed and seemed confused. Then, with downcast eyes, she said an Englishman had lodged with her father, in Paris, and had been her instructor. Whereat I wondered at her confusion, and, though I scented some mystery, I said nothing, being content to wait until it was made clear.
But I thought it strange that any man with English blood in his veins, should teach this French maid to say, “I love, you love, we love,” and yet let it end there. But, of a surety, I was glad that he had.
And so it came that I loved Lucille more and more every day. Sometimes, when I looked into her eyes, I forgot the errand that brought me to Salem, and I would have willingly cast my commission to the winds, for the privilege of being near her always. So it is when a man loves, not alone with wisdom. And as time went by my love grew.
From moody to gay, and back again to deep despair had my spirit moved, until, at length, I resolved to put all to the proof, and learn whether I had any cause to hope. So, one pleasant afternoon I put on what best garments I had, furbished my sword up, at great labor of muscle, and walked to Lucille’s house. With a hand that strangely trembled, yet with which I could, at any other time, have found the smallest nick in the wall with my sword point, I lifted the heavy iron knocker on the door and let it fall. It made a resounding racket, almost like thunder, I thought. The serving woman let me into the front room, and I sat in the window recess. I was just beginning to wish I had put the matter off until another time, when Lucille entered.
“Hast cast any more rocks, Captain?” she asked, smiling.
“Lackaday, no!” I cried, in sudden terror at the thought of one throw I had made, not far back.
“I ought to fear you,” she said, “for you are a very Goliath,” and she took a seat near the fireplace. Though it was not cold without, a little blaze was going and it cast queer shadows, which played about the room and on Lucille’s hair.
“My strength was like to serve me a sorry trick,” I ventured. “Had e’en a fragment of the rock struck you I should have cast myself into the sea.”
“Do not say that,” she responded, “it would have been no fault of yours. I should not have passed that way. I saw the men at their games, and might have known that there was danger for an onlooker.”