down with a force which was not
resisted, and imprinted a kiss on the cheek she half averted.

"Prudence," he said, "how long shall I languish? Verily am I as one
who longs for the dawn."

"You do not love me half as much as you pretend," said the girl, still
standing by his side, and suffering her hand to be pressed by his.
"There is too wide a difference betwixt us, and I am all the time
afraid you are only making a fool of me."

"By this palm, softer than the down of the cygnet; by thy lips, redder
than rubies; by thy diamond eyes, I swear I love thee dearer than my
own soul," exclaimed Spikeman.

"How can you speak of your soul," said Prudence, smiling as she spoke,
"when you know you are talking and acting like a wicked man?"

"Canst thou not understand the liberty of the saints? Is it not
written, that to him only who thinketh a thing to be evil, it is evil?
Surely, I have explained all this, even unto weariness?"

"Aye, it may be so with thee; but I am no saint. I am afraid I'm doing
very wrong."

"If you thought so," replied the Assistant, gently drawing her down
upon his lap, "would you occupy this place; would a smile beautify
those intoxicating lips, and would I read paradise in thine eyes?"

Prudence threw her arm round Spikeman's neck, and sunk her face upon
his shoulder, as if to evince her tenderness and hide her blushes, but
in truth, to conceal a disposition to laugh.

"I wish," she said, presently raising her head, and looking Spikeman
bewitchingly in the face, "I knew whether you really mean what you
say?"

"Thou art unjust to me, Prudence. Have I not given every possible
proof of affection? What hast thou asked that I have withheld? Have I
not treated thee as the elect lady of my soul?"

"Nay, there be some things which you refuse to tell me. I am foolish,"
she added, forcing some moisture into her eyes; "but--but--"

"But what, O garden of delights?" asked Spikeman, kissing the
hypocritical tears away.

"When you refuse me anything, I think you do not love--love me."

"Ask, and thou wilt be convinced of the contrary."

"I am but a woman," she said, looking at him with a smile so sweet
that we almost pardon poor Spikeman his infatuation, "and I feel like
dying when I know there is a secret, and cannot get at the bottom of
it."

"What secret? I understand thee not."

"If you yourself had not dropped a hint, I had never thought of it;
but it was about this Knight they call Sir Chr