This service over, the gates of the fortress are opened to the market girls, with their fresh, demure faces, and their neat, almost sombre, garments.
There is much talking about the young lady Elvira, the governor’s daughter, and how she was going to be married, and who to, and what he was like—but all this little tittle-tattle was carried on gravely, and with a demure air.
But pacing apart is Captain Richard Forth—his puritan heart strongly beating against the governor’s injustice in recalling his promise, and the shame that a puritan leader should marry his daughter to one of the godless cavaliers.
Nay—he speaks his complaints out aloud—whereon Robertson, a fellow officer, tells him to wear a fair face—there are his country and his soul to live for yet. “Open thy heart to me.”
“’Tis not a righteous act, I say. He hath promised me the maiden—and now I have returned, he doth recall his word.”
“Heaven is a bride who never turneth away from the true lover.”
“Death were welcome.”
“I would fain death passed over thee if thou art in that frame, Richard Forth.”
“I have lost her—I have lost her!”
“And thereby perchance thou hast gained much. Heaven is merciful and all-seeing. Hark! dost hear the good march—embrace thy good sword—’twill not fail thee.”