The day was bright and fair; land was nowhere to be seen; only a stretch of blue-green water through which the Miséricorde spanked with a light breeze at her stern. The white sails shone out in the sunlight, and the happy gulls called to one another above our heads. As I faced round and drank in mouthful after mouthful of the fresh salt air, my life seemed to revive within me, and I felt the strength rush back into my thews. But the greatest joy of all was that the maiden, seeing me stand there, came up and bade me a joyous welcome to the upper air once more.
“Alas,” said she, laughing, “it has been dull times while you have been below, Humphrey. My good old nurse has not ceased to cry out that she was dying since we took our first lurch into the free sea. Your Knight of the Rueful Countenance flies from me whenever he sees me afar; your French captain might be an Englishman, he is so sulky; and as for your English paragon there,”—and she pointed to the gallant who was strutting on the forward deck—“he frightens me with his frenzies and raptures. Do you all make love that way in England?”
“No,” said I, “I think not.”
“Why, Humphrey, you talk as if you knew not; I would have vowed you had a sweetheart of your own, with the rest of them.”
“Maybe I have,” said I.
Just then to my relief, Ludar came up.
“Sir Ludar,” I said, “this lady complains that you, who are so brave, run away whenever she looks your way.”
Neither the maiden nor Ludar liked my clumsy speech.
“Nay, Sir Malapert,” said she, “I complain not of what contents me. Besides, Sir Ludar has been better employed in nursing you.”
“If I be a coward,” said Ludar, “it’s because I dread a frown more than a battle-axe.”