“Sir Knight of Shene,” quoth he, “by reason of this jewel potential thou dost bear, now must I perforce obey thy behest and wed thee unto this our gracious lady Benedicta, Duchess of Ambremont, Canalise, Tissingors, Fordyngstoke and divers other towns, villages and—”
“Duchess—a duchess?” exclaimed Sir Pertinax. “Duchess say'st thou—this, the Duchess Benedicta! O Melissa—thou—thou—a duchess!”
“Sooth and forsooth,” sighed she in pretty mockery, “I do fear I am!”
“Then thou 'rt no humble maid, distressful and forlorn, Melissa?”
“Yea, Pertinax—all this am I indeed unless thou love me, and loving me, wed me, and wedding me love me the better therefor, and loving me ever the better, thou may'st learn a little some day how a woman may love a man.”
“Par Dex!” mumbled Sir Pertinax, kissing her rosy finger-tips, “be thou duchess or witch-maid o' the wood, I do love thee heart and soul, body and mind, now and for ever, Melissa.”
Then Friar John, beholding the radiant joy of their faces, reached forth his hands in blessing.
“Kneel ye, my children!” he sighed. “For here methinks is true-love such as brighteneth this world all too seldom. So here, within the forest, the which is surely God's cathedral, this your love shall be sanctified unto you and the world be the better therefor! Kneel ye, my children!”
And thus, kneeling upon the flower-sprent turf hand in hand and with heads reverently bowed, they were wed, while the six outlaws stared in silent awe and the meek ass cropped the grass busily.
“O Pertinax,” sighed the Duchess as they rose, “so greatly happy am I that I will others shall be happy likewise; let us make this indeed a day of gladness. I pray thee sound the bugle that hangeth within the great oak, yonder.”