“Sweetheart,” he said, “if ye forgive this blunderer, what care I? Make we direct for Holywood; there lieth your good guardian and my better friend, Lord Foxham. There shall we be wed; and whether poor or wealthy, famous or unknown, what matters it? This day, dear love, I won my spurs; I was commended by great men for my valour; I thought myself the goodliest man of war in all broad England. Then, first, I fell out of my favour with the great; and now I have been well thrashed, and clean lost my soldiers. There was a downfall for conceit! But, dear, I care not—dear, if ye still love me and will wed, I would have my knighthood done away, and mind it not a jot.”
“My Dick!” she cried. “And did they knight you?”
“Ay, dear, ye are my lady now,” he answered fondly; “or ye shall, ere noon to-morrow—will ye not?”
“That will I, Dick, with a glad heart,” she answered.
“Ay, sir? Methought ye were to be a monk!” said a voice in their ears.
“Alicia!” cried Joanna.
“Even so,” replied the young lady, coming forward. “Alicia, whom ye left for dead, and whom your lion-driver found, and brought to life again, and, by my sooth, made love to, if ye want to know.”
“I’ll not believe it,” cried Joanna. “Dick!”
“Dick!” mimicked Alicia. “Dick, indeed!—Ay, fair sir, and ye desert poor damsels in distress,” she continued, turning to the young knight. “Ye leave them planted behind oaks. But they say true—the age of chivalry is dead.”
“Madam,” cried Dick in despair, “upon my soul I had forgotten you outright. Madam, ye must try to pardon me. Ye see, I had new found Joanna!”