“Alas!” he sighed, “I know not how.”
“Hast ne'er wooed maid ere this, big soldier?”
“Never!”
“Thou poor Pertinax! How empty—how drear thy life. For this do I pity thee with pity kin to love—”
“Love?” he whispered. “Ah, Melissa, couldst e'en learn to love one so unlovely, so rude, so rough and unmannered as I?”
“Never!” she sighed, “O, never—unless thou teach me?”
“Would indeed I might, Melissa. Ah, teach me how I may teach thee to love one so unworthy as Pertinax!”
Now hearkening to his harsh voice grown soft and tremulous, beholding the truth in his honest eyes, Melissa smiled, wondrous tender, and reaching out took hold upon his two hands.
“Kneel!” she commanded. “Kneel here upon the grass as I do kneel. Now, lay by thy cumbrous helmet. Now fold thy great, strong hands. Now bow thy tall, grim head and say in sweet, soft accents low and reverent: 'Melissa, I do love thee heart and soul, thee only do I love and thee only will I love now and for ever. So aid me, Love, amen!'” Then, closing his eyes, Sir Pertinax bowed reverent head, and, humbly folding his hands, spake as she bade him. Thereafter opening his eyes, he saw her watching him through gathering tears, and leaning near, he reached out eager arms, yet touched her not. Quoth he: “O maid beloved, what is thy sorrow?”
“'Tis joy—joy, and thou—thou art so strong and fierce yet so gentle and simple of heart! O, may I prove worthy thy love—”