“But the boon, Marguerite; or rather the command, my lady, what is it?”
“Philip,” she said, raising her head from his bosom, and fixing her eyes on his face, “Philip, I want—heavens! how the storm raves!—do you hear it, Philip?”
“Yes, love, do not mind it; it cannot enter.”
“But the ships, the ships at sea.”
“Do not think of them, love; we cannot help them; what is beyond remedy is beyond regret.”
“True, that is very true! what is beyond remedy is beyond regret,” said Marguerite, meditatively.
“But the ‘boon,’ as you call it, the command, as I regard it—what is it, Marguerite?”
“Philip, I am about to ask from you a great proof of your confidence in me,” she said, fixing her eyes earnestly, pleadingly upon his face.
“A proof of my confidence in you, Marguerite?” he repeated, slowly, and then, after a thoughtful pause, he added, “Does it need proof then? Marguerite, I know not how much the humbling sense of dishonor would crush me, could I cease for one single hour to confide in you—in you, the sacred depository of my family honor, and all my best and purest interests—you, whom it were desecration, in any respect, to doubt. Lady, for the love of heaven, consult your own dignity and mine before demanding a proof of that which should be above proof and immeasurably beyond the possibility of question.”
“You take this matter very seriously, Philip,” said Marguerite, with a troubled brow.