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, for the time been removed by the kind tone of her father's voice. To do him justice as a medical pract.i.tioner, he appeared always to be most careful of his patients. When Amine mixed the powder, she examined and perceived that there was no sediment, and the wine was as clear as before. This was unusual, and her suspicions revived.

"I like it not," said she; "I fear my father--G.o.d help me!--I hardly know what to do--I will not give it to Philip. The warm wine may produce perspiration sufficient."

Amine paused, and again reflected. She had mixed the powder with so small a portion of wine that it did not fill a quarter of the cup; she put 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 to have retired to rest.

"Take care you do not spill it, Amine. That is right, let him have a whole 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's room.

"Here, my son, drink this off, and you will be well," said Mynheer Poots, whose hand trembled so that he spilt the wine on the coverlid.

Amine, who watched her father, was more than ever pleased that she had not put the powder into the cup. Philip rose on his elbow, drank off the wine, and Mynheer Poots then wished him good night.

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

"I trust that you are mistaken, Amine," replied Philip; "indeed I feel sure that you must be. No man could be so bad as you suppose your father."

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

Philip made no further objections, and was soon in a sound sleep, and Amine watched him in silence till midnight long had pa.s.sed.

"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 in the 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. Another would shudder at the thought; but he, who has dealt out death at the will of his employers, would scruple little to do so even to the husband of his own daughter; and I have watched him in his moods and know his thoughts and wishes. What a foreboding of mishap has come over me this evening!--what a fear of evil! Philip is ill, 'tis true, but not so very ill. No! no! Besides his time is not yet come; he has his dreadful task to finish. I would it were morning. How soundly he sleeps!--and the dew is on his brow. I must cover him up warm, and watch that he remains so. Some one knocks at the entrance-door. Now will 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 shall follow you directly," said Amine; "I will now call him up." Amine went up stairs to the room where her father slept, and knocked; hearing no answer, as usual, she knocked again.

"My father is not used to sleep in this way," thought Amine, when she found 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 he went down to take away the lights." And Amine hastened to the parlour, where, stretched on the sofa, she discovered her father apparently fast asleep; but to her call he gave no answer. "Merciful Heaven! is he dead?" thought she, approaching the light to her father's face. Yes, it was so!--his eyes were fixed and glazed--his lower jaw had fallen.

For some minutes, Amine leant against the wall in a state of bewilderment; 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 was empty! "The G.o.d 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, d.a.m.ned intentions, he poured out more wine from the flagon, to blunt his feelings of remorse, and not knowing that the powder was still in the cup, he filled it up and drank himself--the death he meant for another! For another!--and for whom? one wedded to his own daughter!--Philip! my husband! Wert thou not my father,"

continued Amine, looking at the dead body, "I would spit upon thee? and curse thee!--but thou art punished, and may G.o.d forgive thee! thou poor, weak, wicked creature!"

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

Most women would have awakened their husbands, but Amine thought not of herself; 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 her forehead, and her elbows resting on her knees, she remained in deep thought until the sun had risen and poured his bright beams through the cas.e.m.e.nt.

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

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

"My good Therese," replied Amine, "my father has more need of a.s.sistance than 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 able to quit his bed. I must now entreat you to do my message, and desire Father Seysen to come hither; for my poor father is, I fear, in extremity."

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

The second knocking had awakened Philip, who felt that he was much better, and his headache had left him. He perceived that Amine had not taken 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 a.s.sist me to carry up his body, and place it in his bed, before the arrival of the priest. G.o.d 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 here soon."

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

"Alas! this room appears to be fatal. How many more scenes of horror are to pa.s.s within it?"

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

"G.o.d forgive him! as I do," replied Philip, lifting up the body, and carrying it up the stairs to the room which had been occupied by Mynheer Poots.

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

Amine sat down, and burst into tears.

Her husband was attempting to console her, when Father Seysen knocked at the 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 I then too late? yet have I not tarried."

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

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

"Weep, my child, weep! for you have cause," said the priest. "The loss of a father's love must be a severe trial to a dutiful and affectionate child. But yield not too much to your grief, Amine; you have other duties, 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 upon him? When did he first complain?"

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

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

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

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

"There are times, holy father," replied Amine, "when even a sincere Christian can be excused, even if he give no sign. Look at his clenched hands, witness the agony of death on his face, and could you, in that state 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 of the departed."

Philip and Amine knelt with the priest, who prayed fervently; and as they rose, they exchanged a glance which fully revealed what was pa.s.sing in the mind of each.

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