The Phantom Ship

by Frederick Marryat

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  It need hardly be observed that Philip made all possible haste to hisown little cottage, which contained all that he valued in this world.He promised to himself some months of happiness, for he had done hisduty; and he felt that, however desirous of fulfilling his vow, he couldnot again leave home till the autumn, when the next fleet sailed, and itwas now but the commencement of April. Much, too, as he regretted theloss of Mynheer Kloots and Hillebrant, as well as the deaths of theunfortunate crew, still there was some solace in the remembrance that hewas for ever rid of the wretch Schriften, who had shared their fate; andbesides he almost blessed the wreck, so fatal to others, which enabledhim so soon to return to the arms of his Amine.

  It was late in the evening; when Philip took a boat from Flushing, andwent over to his cottage at Terneuse. It was a rough evening for theseason of the year. The wind blew fresh, and the sky was covered withflaky clouds, fringed here and there with broad white edges, for thelight of the moon was high in the heavens, and she was at her full. Attimes her light would be almost obscured by a dark cloud passing overher disk; at others, she would burst out in all her brightness. Philiplanded, and, wrapping his cloak round him, hastened up to his cottage.As with a beating heart he approached, he perceived that the window ofthe parlour was open, and that there was a female figure leaning out.He knew that it could be no other than his Amine, and, after he crossedthe little bridge, he proceeded to the window, instead of going to thedoor. Amine (for it was she who stood at the window) was so absorbed incontemplation of the heavens above her, and so deep in communion withher own thoughts, that she neither saw nor heard the approach of herhusband. Philip perceived her abstraction, and paused when within fouror five yards of her. He wished to gain the door without beingobserved, as he was afraid of alarming her by his too sudden appearance,for he remembered his promise, "that if dead he would, if permitted,visit her as his father had visited his mother." But while he thusstood in suspense, Amine's eyes were turned upon him: she beheld him;but a thick cloud now obscured the moon's disk, and the dim light gaveto his form, indistinctly seen, an unearthly and shadowy appearance.She recognised her husband, but having no reason to expect his return,she recognised him as an inhabitant of the world of spirits. Shestarted, parted the hair away from her forehead with both hands, andagain earnestly gazed on him.

  "It is I, Amine, do not be afraid," cried Philip, hastily.

  "I am not afraid," replied Amine, pressing her hand to her heart. "Itis over now. Spirit of my dear husband--for such I think thou art--Ithank thee! Welcome, even in death, Philip--welcome!" and Amine wavedher hand mournfully, inviting Philip to enter as she retired from thewindow.

  "My God! she thinks me dead," thought Philip, and, hardly knowing how toact, he entered in at the window, and found her sitting on the sofa.Philip would have spoken; but Amine, whose eyes were fixed upon him ashe entered, and who was fully convinced that he was but a supernaturalappearance, exclaimed--

  "So soon--so soon! O God! thy will be done: but it is hard to bear.Philip, beloved Philip, I feel that I soon shall follow you."

  Philip was now more alarmed: he was fearful of any sudden reaction whenAmine should discover that he was still alive.

  "Amine, dear, hear me. I have appeared unexpectedly and at an unusualhour; but throw yourself into my arms, and you will find that yourPhilip is not dead."

  "Not dead!" cried Amine, starting up.

  "No, no, still warm in flesh and blood, Amine--still your fond anddoting husband," replied Philip, catching her in his arms, and pressingher to his heart.

  Amine sank from his embrace down upon the sofa, and fortunately wasrelieved by a burst of tears, while Philip, kneeling by her, supportedher.

  "O God! O God! I thank thee," relied Amine, at last. "I thought itwas your spirit, Philip. O! I was glad to see even that," continuedshe, weeping on his shoulder.

  "Can you listen to me, dearest?" said Philip, after a silence of a fewmoments.

  "O speak--speak, love; I can listen for ever."

  In a few words Philip then recounted what had taken place, and theoccasion of his unexpected return, and felt himself more than repaid forall that he had suffered, by the fond endearments of his still agitatedAmine.

  "And your father, Amine?"

  "He is well; we will talk of him to-morrow."

  "Yes," thought Philip, as he awoke next morning, and dwelt upon thelovely features of his still slumbering wife; "yes, God is merciful. Ifeel that there is still happiness in store for me; nay, more, that thathappiness also depends upon my due performance of my task, and that Ishould be punished if I were to forget my solemn vow. Be it so,--through danger and to death will I perform my duty, trusting to Hismercy for a reward both here below and in heaven above. Am I not repaidfor all that I have suffered? O yes more than repaid," thought Philip,as with a kiss he disturbed the slumber of his wife, and met her fulldark eyes fixed upon him, beaming with love and joy.

  Before Philip went down stairs, he inquired about Mynheer Poots.

  "My father has indeed troubled me much," replied Amine. "I am obligedto lock the parlour when I leave it, for more than once I have found himattempting to force the locks of the buffets. His love of gold isinsatiable: he dreams of nothing else, he has caused me much pain,insisting that I never should see you again, and that I should surrenderto him all your wealth. But he fears me, and he fears your return muchmore."

  "Is he well in health?"

  "Not ill, but still evidently wasting away--like a candle burnt down tothe socket, flitting and flaring alternately; at one time almostimbecile, at others, talking and planning as if he were in the vigour ofhis youth. O what a curse it must be--that love of money! I believe--I'm shocked to say so, Philip,--that that poor old man, now on the brinkof a grave into which he can take nothing, would sacrifice your life andmine to have possession of those guilders, the whole of which I wouldbarter for one kiss from thee."

  "Indeed, Amine, has he then attempted anything in my absence?"

  "I dare not speak my thoughts, Philip, nor will I venture upon surmises,which it were difficult to prove. I watch him carefully;--but talk nomore about him. You will see him soon, and do not expect a heartywelcome, or believe that, if given, it is sincere, I will not tell himof your return, as I wish to mark the effect."

  Amine then descended to prepare breakfast, and Philip walked out for afew minutes. On his return, he found Mynheer Poots sitting at the tablewith his daughter.

  "Merciful Allah! am I right?" cried the old man: "is it you, MynheerVanderdecken?"

  "Even so," replied Philip; "I returned last night."

  "And you did not tell me, Amine."

  "I wished that you should be surprised," replied Amine.

  "I am surprised! When do you sail again, Mynheer Philip? very soon, Isuppose? perhaps to-morrow?" said Mynheer Poots.

  "Not for many months, I trust," replied Philip.

  "Not for many months!--that is a long while to be idle. You must makemoney. Tell me, have you brought back plenty this time?"

  "No," replied Philip; "I have been wrecked, and very nearly lost mylife."

  "But you will go again?"

  "Yes, in good time I shall go again."

  "Very well, we will take care of your house and your guilders."

  "I shall perhaps save you the trouble of taking care of my guilders,"replied Philip, to annoy the old man, "for I mean to take them with me."

  "To take them with you! for what, pray?" replied Poots, in alarm.

  "To purchase goods where I go, and make more money."

  "But you may be wrecked again and then the money will be all lost. No,no; go yourself, Mynheer Philip; but you must not take your guilders."

  "Indeed I will," replied Philip; "when I leave this, I shall take all mymoney with me."

  During this conversation it occurred to Philip that, if Mynheer Pootscould only be led to suppose that he took away his money with him, therewoul
d be more quiet for Amine who was now obliged, as she had informedhim, to be constantly on the watch. He determined, therefore, when henext departed, to make the doctor believe that he had taken his wealthwith him.

  Mynheer Poots did not renew the conversation, but sank into gloomythought. In a few minutes he left the parlour, and went up to his ownroom, when Philip stated to his wife what had induced him to make theold man believe that he should embark his property.

  "It was thoughtful of you, Philip, and I thank you for your kind feelingtowards me; but I wish you had said nothing on the subject. You do notknow my father; I must now watch him as an enemy."

  "We have little to fear from an infirm old man," replied Philip,laughing. But Amine thought otherwise, and was ever on her guard.

  The spring and summer passed rapidly away, for they were happy. Manywere the conversations between Philip and Amine, relative to what hadpassed--the supernatural appearance of his father's ship, and the fatalwreck.

  Amine felt that more dangers and difficulty were preparing for herhusband, but she never once attempted to dissuade him from renewing hisattempts in fulfilment of his vow. Like him, she looked forward withhope and confidence, aware that, at some time, his fate must beaccomplished, and trusting only that that hour would be long delayed.

  At the close of the summer, Philip again went to Amsterdam, to procurefor himself a berth in one of the vessels which were to sail at theapproach of winter.

  The wreck of the Ter Schilling was well known; and the circumstancesattending it, with the exception of the appearance of the Phantom Ship,had been drawn up by Philip on his passage home, and communicated to theCourt of Directors. Not only on account of the very creditable mannerin which that report had been prepared, but in consideration of hispeculiar sufferings and escape, he had been promised by the Company aberth, as second mate, on board of one of their vessels, should he beagain inclined to sail to the East Indies.

  Having called upon the Directors, he received his appointment to theBatavia, a fine vessel of about 400 tons burden. Having effected hispurpose, Philip hastened back to Terneuse, and, in the presence ofMynheer Poots, informed Amine of what he had done.

  "So you go to sea again?" observed Mynheer Poots.

  "Yes, but not for two months, I expect," replied Philip.

  "Ah!" replied Poots, "in two months!" and the old man muttered tohimself.

  How true it is that we can more easily bear up against a real evil thanagainst suspense! Let it not be supposed that Amine fretted at thethought of her approaching separation from her husband; she lamented it,but feeling his departure to be an imperious duty, and having it ever inher mind, she bore up against her feelings, and submitted, withoutrepining, to what could not be averted. There was, however, onecircumstance, which caused her much uneasiness--that was the temper andconduct of her father. Amine, who knew his character well, perceivedthat he already secretly hated Philip, whom he regarded as an obstacleto his obtaining possession of the money in the house; for the old manwas well aware that if Philip were dead, his daughter would care littlewho had possession of, or what became of it. The thought that Philipwas about to take that money with him had almost turned the brain of theavaricious old man. He had been watched by Amine, and she had seen himwalk for hours muttering to himself, and not, as usual, attending to hisprofession.

  A few evenings after his return from Amsterdam, Philip, who had takencold, complained of not being well.

  "Not well!" cried the old man, starting up; "let me see--yes, your pulseis very quick. Amine, your poor husband is very ill. He must go tobed, and I will give him something which will do him good. I shallcharge you nothing, Philip--nothing at all."

  "I do not feel so very unwell, Mynheer Poots," replied Philip; "I have abad headache certainly."

  "Yes, and you have fever also, Philip, and prevention is better thancure; so go to bed, and take what I send you, and you will be wellto-morrow."

  Philip went up stairs, accompanied by Amine; and Mynheer Poots went intohis own room to prepare the medicine. So soon as Philip was in bed,Amine went down stairs, and was met by her father, who put a powder intoher hands to give to her husband, and then left the parlour.

  "God forgive me if I wrong my father," thought Amine, "but I have mydoubts. Philip is ill, more so than he will acknowledge; and if he doesnot take some remedies, he may be worse--but my heart misgives me--Ihave a foreboding. Yet surely he cannot be so diabolically wicked."

  Amine examined the contents of the paper: it was a very small quantityof dark-brown powder, and, by the directions of Mynheer Poots, to begiven in a tumbler of warm wine. Mynheer Poots had offered to heat thewine. His return from the kitchen broke Amine's meditations.

  "Here is the wine, my child; now give him a whole tumbler of wine, andthe powder, and let him be covered up warm, for the perspiration willsoon burst out and it must not be checked. Watch him, Amine, and keepthe clothes on, and he will be well to-morrow morning." And MynheerPoots quitted the room, saying, "Good night, my child."

  Amine poured out the powder into one of the silver mugs on the table,and then proceeded to mix it up with the wine. Her suspicions had, forthe time been removed by the kind tone of her father's voice. To do himjustice as a medical practitioner, he appeared always to be most carefulof his patients. When Amine mixed the powder, she examined andperceived that there was no sediment, and the wine was as clear asbefore. This was unusual, and her suspicions revived.

  "I like it not," said she; "I fear my father--God help me!--I hardlyknow what to do--I will not give it to Philip. The warm wine mayproduce perspiration sufficient."

  Amine paused, and again reflected. She had mixed the powder with sosmall a portion of wine that it did not fill a quarter of the cup; sheput it on one side, filled another up to the brim with the warm wine,and then went up to the bedroom.

  On the landing-place she was met by her father, whom she supposed tohave retired to rest.

  "Take care you do not spill it, Amine. That is right, let him have awhole cupful. Stop, give it to me; I will take it to him myself."

  Mynheer Poots took the cup from Amine's hands, and went into Philip'sroom.

  "Here, my son, drink this off, and you will be well," said MynheerPoots, whose hand trembled so that he spilt the wine on the coverlid.Amine, who watched her father, was more than ever pleased that she hadnot put the powder into the cup. Philip rose on his elbow, drank offthe wine, and Mynheer Poots then wished him good night.

  "Do not leave him, Amine, I will see all right," said Mynheer Poots, ashe left the room. And Amine, who had intended to go down for the candleleft in the parlour, remained with her husband, to whom she confided herfeelings and also the fact that she had not given him the powder.

  "I trust that you are mistaken, Amine," replied Philip; "indeed I feelsure that you must be. No man could be so bad as you suppose yourfather."

  "You have not lived with him as I have--you have not seen what I haveseen," replied Amine. "You know not what gold will tempt people to doin this world--but, however, I may be wrong. At all events, you must goto sleep, and I shall watch you, dearest. Pray do not speak--I feel Icannot sleep just now--I wish to read a little--I will lie downby-and-by."

  Philip made no further objections, and was soon in a sound sleep, andAmine watched him in silence till midnight long had passed.

  "He breathes heavily," thought Amine; "but had I given him that powder,who knows if he had ever awoke again? My father is so deeply skilled inthe Eastern knowledge, that I fear him. Too often has he, I well know,for a purse well filled with gold, prepared the sleep of death. Anotherwould shudder at the thought; but he, who has dealt out death at thewill of his employers, would scruple little to do so even to the husbandof his own daughter; and I have watched him in his moods and know histhoughts and wishes. What a foreboding of mishap has come over me thisevening!--what a fear of evil! Philip is ill, 'tis true, but not sovery ill. No! no! Besides his time is not yet come;
he has hisdreadful task to finish. I would it were morning. How soundly hesleeps!--and the dew is on his brow. I must cover him up warm, andwatch that he remains so. Some one knocks at the entrance-door. Nowwill they wake him. 'Tis a summons for my father."

  Amine left the room, and hastened down stairs. It was as she supposed,a summons for Mynheer Poots to a woman taken in labour. "He shallfollow you directly," said Amine; "I will now call him up." Amine wentup stairs to the room where her father slept, and knocked; hearing noanswer, as usual, she knocked again.

  "My father is not used to sleep in this way," thought Amine, when shefound no answer to her second call. She opened the door and went in.To her surprise, her father was not in bed. "Strange," thought she;"but I do not recollect having heard his footsteps coming up after hewent down to take away the lights." And Amine hastened to the parlour,where, stretched on the sofa, she discovered her father apparently fastasleep; but to her call he gave no answer. "Merciful Heaven! is hedead?" thought she, approaching the light to her father's face. Yes, itwas so!--his eyes were fixed and glazed--his lower jaw had fallen.

  For some minutes, Amine leant against the wall in a state ofbewilderment; her brain whirled; at last she recovered herself.

  "'Tis to be proved at once," thought she, as she went up to the table,and looked into the silver cup in which she had mixed the powder--it wasempty! "The God of Righteousness hath punished him!" exclaimed Amine;"but O! that this man should have been my father! Yes! it is plain.Frightened at his own wicked, damned intentions, he poured out more winefrom the flagon, to blunt his feelings of remorse, and not knowing thatthe powder was still in the cup, he filled it up and drank himself--thedeath he meant for another! For another!--and for whom? one wedded tohis own daughter!--Philip! my husband! Wert thou not my father,"continued Amine, looking at the dead body, "I would spit upon thee? andcurse thee!--but thou art punished, and may God forgive thee! thou poor,weak, wicked creature!"

  Amine then left the room and went up stairs, where she found Philipstill fast asleep, and in a profuse perspiration.

  Most women would have awakened their husbands, but Amine thought not ofherself; Philip was ill, and Amine would not arouse him to agitate him.She sat down by the side of the bed, and with her hands pressed upon herforehead, and her elbows resting on her knees, she remained in deepthought until the sun had risen and poured his bright beams through thecasement.

  She was roused from her reflections by another summons at the door ofthe cottage. She hastened down to the entrance, but did not open thedoor.

  "Mynheer Poots is required immediately," said the girl, who was themessenger.

  "My good Therese," replied Amine, "my father has more need of assistancethan the poor woman; for his travail in this world I fear, is well over.I found him very ill when I went to call him, and he has not been ableto quit his bed. I must now entreat you to do my message, and desireFather Seysen to come hither; for my poor father is, I fear, inextremity."

  "Mercy on me!" replied Therese. "Is it so? Fear not but I will do yourbidding, Mistress Amine."

  The second knocking had awakened Philip, who felt that he was muchbetter, and his headache had left him. He perceived that Amine had nottaken any rest that night, and he was about to expostulate with her,when she at once told him what had occurred.

  "You must dress yourself, Philip," continued she, "and must assist me tocarry up his body, and place it in his bed, before the arrival of thepriest. God of mercy! had I given you that powder, my dearest Philip--but let us not talk about it. Be quick, for Father Seysen will be heresoon."

  Philip was soon dressed, and followed Amine down into the parlour. Thesun shone bright, and its rays were darted upon the haggard face of theold man, whose fists were clenched, and his tongue fixed between theteeth on one side of his mouth.

  "Alas! this room appears to be fatal. How many more scenes of horrorare to pass within it?"

  "None, I trust," replied Amine; "this is not, to my mind, the scene ofhorror. It was when that old man (now called away--and a victim to hisown treachery) stood by your bed-side, and with every mark of interestand kindness, offered you the cup--_that_ was the scene of horror," saidAmine, shuddering--"one which long will haunt me."

  "God forgive him! as I do," replied Philip, lifting up the body, andcarrying it up the stairs to the room which had been occupied by MynheerPoots.

  "Let it at least be supposed that he died in his bed, and that his deathwas natural," said Amine. "My pride cannot bear that this should beknown, or that I should be pointed at as the daughter of a murderer! OPhilip!"

  Amine sat down, and burst into tears.

  Her husband was attempting to console her, when Father Seysen knocked atthe door. Philip hastened down to open it.

  "Good morning, my son. How is the sufferer?"

  "He has ceased to suffer, father."

  "Indeed!" replied the good priest, with sorrow in his countenance; "am Ithen too late? yet have I not tarried."

  "He went off suddenly, father, in a convulsion," replied Philip, leadingthe way up stairs.

  Father Seysen looked at the body and perceived that his offices wereneedless, and then turned to Amine, who had not yet checked her tears.

  "Weep, my child, weep! for you have cause," said the priest. "The lossof a father's love must be a severe trial to a dutiful and affectionatechild. But yield not too much to your grief, Amine; you have otherduties, other ties, my child--you have your husband."

  "I know it, father," replied Amine; "still must I weep, for I was _his_daughter."

  "Did he not go to bed last night then that his clothes are still uponhim? When did he first complain?"

  "The last time that I saw him, father," replied Philip; "he came into myroom and gave me some medicine, and then he wished me good night. Uponon a summons to attend a sick bed, my wife went to call him, and foundhim speechless."

  "It has been sudden," replied the priest; "but he was an old man, andold men sink at once. Were you with him when he died?"

  "I was not, sir," replied Philip; "before my wife had summoned me and Ihad dressed myself, he had left this world."

  "I trust, my children, for a better." Amine shuddered. "Tell meAmine," continued the priest, "did he show signs of grace before hedied? for you know full well that he has long been looked on as doubtfulin his creed and little attentive to the rites of our holy church."

  "There are times, holy father," replied Amine, "when even a sincereChristian can be excused, even if he give no sign. Look at his clenchedhands, witness the agony of death on his face, and could you, in thatstate expect a sign?"

  "Alas! 'tis but too true, my child: we must then hope for the best.Kneel with me, my children, and let us offer up a prayer for the soul ofthe departed."

  Philip and Amine knelt with the priest, who prayed fervently; and asthey rose, they exchanged a glance which fully revealed what was passingin the mind of each.

  "I will send the people to do their offices for the dead, and preparethe body for interment," said Father Seysen; "but it were as well not tosay that he was dead before I arrived, or to let it he supposed that hewas called away without receiving the consolations of our holy creed."

  Philip motioned his head in assent as he stood at the foot of the bed,and the priest departed. There had always been a strong feeling againstMynheer Poots in the village;--his neglect of all religious duties--thedoubt whether he was even a member of the church--his avarice andextortion--had created for him a host of enemies; but, at the same time,his great medical skill, which was fully acknowledged, rendered him ofimportance. Had it been known that his creed (if he had any) wasMahomedan, and that he had died in attempting to poison his son-in-law,it is certain that Christian burial would have been refused him, and thefinger of scorn would have been pointed at his daughter. But as FatherSeysen, when questioned, said, in a mild voice, that "he had departed inpeace," it was presumed that Mynheer Poots had died a good Christianalthough he had acted litt
le up to the tenets of Christianity during hislife. The next day the remains of the old man were consigned to theearth with the usual rites; and Philip and Amine were not a littlerelieved in their minds at everything having passed off so quietly.

  It was not until after the funeral had taken place that Philip, incompany with Amine, examined the chamber of his father-in-law. The keyof the iron chest was found in his pocket; but Philip had not yet lookedinto this darling repository of the old man. The room was full ofbottles and boxes of drugs, all of which were either thrown away, or, ifthe utility of them was known to Amine, removed to a spare room. Histable contained many drawers, which were now examined, and among theheterogeneous contents were many writings in Arabic--probablyprescriptions. Boxes and papers were also found, with Arabic characterswritten upon them; and in the box which they first took up was a powdersimilar to that which Mynheer Poots had given to Amine. There were manyarticles and writings, which made it appear that the old man had dabbledin the occult sciences, as they were practised at that period, and thosethey hastened to commit to the flames.

  "Had all these been seen by Father Seysen!" observed Amine, mournfully."But here are some printed papers, Philip!"

  Philip examined them, and found that they were acknowledgments of sharesin the Dutch East-India Company.

  "No, Amine, these are money, or what is as good--these are eight sharesin the Company's capital, which will yield us a handsome income everyyear. I had no idea that the old man made such use of his money. I hadsome intention of doing the same with a part of mine before I went away,instead of allowing it to remain idle."

  The iron chest was now to be examined. When Philip first opened it; heimagined that it contained but little; for it was large and deep, andappeared to be almost empty; but when he put his hands down to thebottom, he pulled out thirty or forty small bags, the contents of which,instead of being silver guilders, were all coins of gold; there was onlyone large bag of silver money. But this was not all; several smallboxes and packets were also discovered, which, when opened, were foundto contain diamonds and other precious stones. When everything wascollected, the treasure appeared to be of great value.

  "Amine, my love, you have indeed brought me an unexpected dower," saidPhilip.

  "You may well say _unexpected_," replied Amine. "These diamonds andjewels my father must have brought with him from Egypt. And yet howpenuriously were we living until we came to this cottage! And with allthis treasure he would have poisoned my Philip for more! God forgivehim!"

  Having counted the gold, which amounted to nearly fifty thousandguilders, the whole was replaced, and they left the room.

  "I am a rich man," thought Philip, after Amine had left him; "but ofwhat use are riches to me? I might purchase a ship and be my owncaptain, but would not the ship be lost? That certainly does notfollow; but the chances are against the vessel; therefore I will have noship. But is it right to sail in the vessels of others with thisfeeling?--I know not; this, however, I know, that I have a duty toperform, and that all our lives are in the hands of a kind Providence,which calls us away when it thinks fit. I will place most of my moneyin the shares of the Company, and if I sail in their vessels, and theycome to misfortune by meeting with my poor father, at least I shall be acommon sufferer with the rest. And now to make my Amine morecomfortable."

  Philip immediately made a great alteration in their style of living.Two female servants were hired: the rooms were more comfortablyfurnished; and in everything in which his wife's comfort and conveniencewere concerned, he spared no expense. He wrote to Amsterdam andpurchased several shares in the Company's stock. The diamonds and hisown money he still left in the hands of Amine. In making thesearrangements the two months passed rapidly away; and everything wascomplete when Philip again received his summons, by letter, to desirethat he would join his vessel. Amine would have wished Philip to go outas a passenger instead of going as an officer, but Philip preferred thelatter, as otherwise he could give no reason for his voyage to India.

  "I know not why," observed Philip, the evening before his departure,"but I do not feel as I did when I last went away; I have no forebodingof evil this time."

  "Nor have I," replied Amine; "but I feel as if you would be long awayfrom me, Philip; and is not that an evil to a fond and anxious wife?"

  "Yes, love, it is; but--"

  "O, yes, I know it is your duty, and you must go," replied Amine,burying her face in his bosom.

  The next day Philip parted from his wife, who behaved with morefortitude than on their first separation. "_All_ were lost but _he_ wassaved," thought Amine. "I feel that he will return to me. God ofHeaven, Thy will be done!"

  Philip soon arrived at Amsterdam; and having purchased many things whichhe thought might be advantageous to him in case of accident, to which henow looked forward as almost certain, he embarked on board the Batavia,which was lying at single anchor, and ready for sea.