She turned upon him a look so full of love, resignation and devotion, as she held out both her hands and said: “Well, I accept the restraint, Philip. I accept it. Oh, my dear husband, how much more merciful than that other alternative of separation! for your Marguerite tells you, Philip, that, would it come without sin, she would rather take death from your hands than banishment. The one great terror of her life, Philip, is of losing you by death or separation; she could not survive the loss, Philip, for her very life lives in your bosom. How can a widow live? Your Marguerite could not breathe without you; while with you, from you she could accept anything--anything. Since you do not banish her, do your will with her; you have the right; she is your own.” A few more words sighed out upon his bosom, to which he at last had drawn her, and then, lifting her head, she murmured: “And listen, dearest husband; give yourself no care or anxiety for the safe custody of your prisoner, for she will not try to escape. It is your command, dearest Philip, that binds me to the narrow limits of this island, as no other earthly power could do. You know me, Philip; you know that, were I in duress against my will, I would free myself; I would escape, were it only to heaven or to hades! Your bond, Philip, is not on this mortal frame, but on my heart, soul, spirit, and I should feel its restricting power were all nature else beckoning me over the limits you have prescribed, and all opportunities favorable to the transgression.” “You love me so; you say your life lives within mine, and I believe it does, for you inhabit me, you possess me, nor can I unhouse you, incendiary as you are--and yet you will not give me your confidence--will not justify yourself before me--while I, on my part, may not abate one jot or tittle of your restraint until you do.” “I do not arraign you even in my thoughts, love; so far from that, I accept you for my judge; I submit to your sentence. There is this dark cloud settled on my bowed head, love (would it rested only on my own), and some day it may be lifted. In the meantime, since you do not exile me, do your royal will unquestioned with your own, my king. Ah, Philip! we are not angels, you and I; and we may never find heaven in this world or the next; but, such as we are, even with this cloud between us, we love each other; on this earth we cannot part; and even in the next we must be saved or lost--together.” “Marguerite, tell me, is there a hope that, one day, this mystery may be cleared up?” “Philip, dearest, yes; a faint hope that I scarcely dare to entertain.” During all this time she had been standing within his circling arm, with her face upon his shoulder, and her soft, fragrant ringlets flowing past his cheek. Now, as she lifted her head, her wild, mournful eyes fell upon a distant sail skimming rapidly over the surface of the sparkling water, from the direction of Buzzard’s Bluff.