It was at the house of the Assistant Spikeman, and there were no persons in the room save himself and Prudence. The door was closed, and the girl was standing with a besom in one hand, while the Assistant, who was seated, had hold of the other, and was looking up into her hazel eyes. He drew her 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?"