"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 Christopher Gardiner, whom Governor Winthrop thinks so much of."
"We will cure him of that folly. What foolish thing have I said to this girl?" thought the Assistant. "Prudence," he added, "this is a matter that cannot concern thee. Thou wouldst not have me speak of secrets of State?"
"Said I not right!" exclaimed Prudence, rising, and preparing to leave the room, "that your love was but a pretext? How, I want to know, is a secret of State better than any other? Now, had I given poor Philip half the encouragement which my silly fondness for thee—O, dear!—" and she put her hands up to her eyes.