That night, as he sat with the maiden and her father, he spoke of departing on the morrow with a ship that would sail for Morocco to be gone many months, and his sweetheart came to him, creeping into his arms.
"Do not leave me, Hugh," she pleaded. "It is so far away."
"I must go, little one," he answered, smoothing her fair hair. "Men sit not ever by the fire to hear tabby purr."
"Say them again," she pleaded, "say again the words thou didst speak this morning, that I may have them with me when thou art far away."
"Far in illimitable recesses of time and of space," he began shamefacedly, "before phenomena existed, thy bodiless soul and mine met and mingled as one"—
"Where hast learned that jargon, Hugh?" asked the old merchant, with a loud guffaw.
"Hush!" said Hugh, with loving hands upon the maiden's ears so that she might not hear. "All is fair in love, father!"
But Hugh was still an honest merchant, and never in his long and happy life did he use the stolen vocabulary in bargaining, or to gain dishonest advantage in trade. Only, when the face of Blanche, his wife, grew sad, he would take out the colored bags, which he kept secretly locked in an iron chest, and then the old smiles would come back to her beautiful face, and with them the look of awe wherewith she regarded her husband, as the mist of purple, and the flecks of rose color, and the bubbles of gold, fell on hair and eye and ear.