“Maiden,” said Ludar, then, more grave than I had ever seen him, “I can make no fine speeches, such as Humphrey here or yonder monkey at the mast-head; but I accept you as one of this crew with a prouder heart than if I were offered my father’s castle.”
Then he held out his great hand, and she lay her little hand in it, and her true eyes flashed up to meet his. And I who stood by knew that the compact I witnessed then was for a longer voyage than from here to Leith.
I was glad when presently the man came in and reported.
“By your leave, captain, we be eight leagues east of Flamboro’ with a southerly breeze falling fast. The ship lies in the wind and the tiller is swinging.”
“Take the helm, master, and keep her head straight. Humphrey, fetch down the poet. He and I will mount the first watch to-night. Maiden, do you get what rest you may, ere your turn comes in the morning.”
“Ay, ay, my captain,” said she cheerily, and went.
“Humphrey,” said Ludar, calling me back, when she had gone, “do you wonder that I love that maiden?”
“I do not,” said I.
“Is she you love as fair, as brave, as noble?”
“She is,” I answered, “every whit as fair, every whit as brave, every whit as noble.”