Nor, while indulging a feeling which cannot be called love, was
Spikeman regardless of his hatreds. He strove by every means to excite
distrust and ill-will against Sir Christopher and Arundel. As for the
humble Philip, he hardly looked upon him any longer as a rival, such
had been the success of the deceitful Prudence. With these preliminary
observations, the reader is prepared for what follows.

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