“Ah, Jonathan, the secret, the secret! you wear a magic ring.”
“Fool that I was,” exclaimed Jonathan, “in my haste I forgot my discretion; well, you know my secret—be honest, and keep it yourself.”
“You have not told me all the properties of the ring; I must know all if thou wouldst have it kept a secret.”
Subtilia at length elicited the secret from her lover. The source of his power once known to her, the next object of her plans was to obtain that power for herself.
“Thou art very wrong, Jonathan,” said she, looking up into his face, with her dark black eyes; “surely thou art wrong to wear so precious a jewel on thy finger; some day, in the hurry of your occupation, you will lose the ring, and then your power is gone.”
“There is some sense in what you say, Subtilia,” replied Jonathan; “yet where shall I place it in security?”
“Let me be its guardian, dearest,” said Subtilia, with a look of deep affection. “No one will seek such a treasure of me; and whensoever you wish for it, it will be ready to your hand; among the rest of my jewels it will be perfectly secure.”
Jonathan acceded to her request, and placed the ring in her possession. For a time all went well; the ring was safe, and ready to his use, and the lady’s love did not decrease. One day, when he came to visit her as usual, he found Subtilia sitting on a couch, bathed in tears.
“Oh, my dear, dear lord!” exclaimed she, casting herself at his feet; “how can I dare to approach my lord?”
“Why this anxiety, this sorrow, Subtilia?” said Jonathan, as he raised her from the ground, and strove to kiss away her tears.