“A proof of my confidence in you, Marguerite?” he repeated, slowly, and then, after a thoughtful pause, he added, “Does it need proof then? Marguerite, I know not how much the humbling sense of dishonor would crush me, could I cease for one single hour to confide in you--in you, the sacred depository of my family honor, and all my best and purest interests--you, whom it were desecration, in any respect, to doubt. Lady, for the love of heaven, consult your own dignity and mine before demanding a proof of that which should be above proof and immeasurably beyond the possibility of question.” “You take this matter very seriously, Philip,” said Marguerite, with a troubled brow. “Because it is a very serious matter, love--but the boon; what is it, lady? I am almost ready to promise beforehand that it is granted, though I might suffer the fate of Ninus for my rashness. Come, the boon, name it! only for heaven’s sake ask it not as proof of confidence.” “And yet it must necessarily be such, nor can you help it, my lord,” said Marguerite, smiling with assumed gayety. “Well, well! let’s hear and judge of that.” Marguerite still hesitated, then she spoke to the point. “I beg you will permit me to leave you for a month.” “To leave me for a month!” exclaimed Philip Helmstedt, astonishment, vexation, and wonder struggling in his face, “that is asking a boon with a bitter vengeance. In the name of heaven where do you wish to go? To your friend Nellie, perchance?” “I wish to go away unquestioned, unattended and unfollowed.” “But, Marguerite,” he stammered, “but this is the maddest proposition.” “For one month--only for one month, Philip, of unfettered action and unquestioned motives. I wish the door of my delightsome cage opened, that I may fly abroad and feel myself once more a free agent in God’s boundless creation. One month of irresponsible liberty, and then I render myself back to my sweet bondage and my dear master. I love both too well, too well, to remain away long,” said Marguerite, caressing him with a fascinating blending of passion with playfulness, that at another time must have wiled the will from his heart, and the heart from his bosom. Now, to this proposition, he was adamant. “And when do you propose to start?” he asked. “To-morrow, if you will permit me.” “Had you not better defer it a week, or ten days--until the first of April, for instance: all-fools’-day would be a ‘marvellous proper’ one for you to go, and me to speed you on such an expedition.” Marguerite laughed strangely. “Will you allow me to ask you one question, my love? Where do you wish to go?” “Gipsying.” “Gipsying?” “‘Aye, my good lord.’” “Oh, yes; I remember! Marguerite, let me tell you seriously that I cannot consent to your wish.” “You do not mean to say that you refuse to let me go?” exclaimed Marguerite, all her assumed lightness vanishing in fear.