"Poor man," said Amine, with a look of pity, "how much he must have suffered! Is not this the man who brought you the letter from the Company, Philip?"

"He! he! yes! Not very welcome, was it, lady?"

"No, my good fellow; it's never a welcome message to a wife, that sends her husband away from her. But that was not your fault."

"If a husband will go to sea and leave a handsome wife when he has, as they say, plenty of money to live upon on sh.o.r.e, he! he!"

"Yes, indeed, you may well say that," replied Amine.

"Better give it up. All folly, all madness--eh, captain?"

"I must finish this voyage, at all events," replied Philip to Amine, "whatever I may do afterwards. I have suffered much, and so have you, Schriften. You have been twice wrecked; now tell me, what do you wish to do? Go home in the first ship, or go ash.o.r.e at the Cape, or--"

"Or do anything, so I get out of this ship--he! he!"

"Not so. If you prefer sailing with me, as I know you are a good seaman, you shall have your rating and pay of pilot--that is, if you choose to follow my fortunes."

"Follow?--Must follow. Yes! I'll sail with you, Mynheer Vanderdecken, I wish to be always near you--he! he!"

"Be it so, then: as soon as you are strong again, you will go to your duty; till then, I will see that you want for nothing."

"Nor I, my good fellow. Come to me if you do, and I will be your help,"

said Amine. "You have suffered much; but we will do what we can to make you forget it."

"Very good!--very kind!" replied Schriften, surveying the lovely face and figure of Amine. After a times shrugging up his shoulders, he added--"A pity! Yes, it is! Must be, though."

"Farewell!" continued Amine, holding out her hand to Schriften.

The man took it, and a cold shudder went to her heart; but she, expecting such a result, would not appear to feel it. Schriften held her hand for a second or two in his own, looking at it earnestly, and then at Amine's face. "So fair--so good! Mynheer Vanderdecken, I thank you. Lady, may Heaven preserve you!" Then squeezing the hand of Amine, which he had not released, Schriften hastened out of the cabin.

So great was the sudden icy shock which pa.s.sed through Amine's frame when Schriften pressed her hand, that when with difficulty she gained the sofa, she fell upon it. After remaining with her hand pressed against her heart for some time, during which Philip bent over her, she said, in a breathless voice, "That creature must be supernatural--I am sure of it--I am now convinced. Well," continued she, after a pause of some little while, "all the better, if we can make him a friend; and if I can I will."

"But think you, Amine, that those who are not of this world have feelings of kindness, grat.i.tude, and ill-will, as we have? Can they be made subservient?"

"Most surely so. If they have ill-will--as we know they have--they must also be endowed with the better feelings. Why are there good and evil intelligences? They may have disenc.u.mbered themselves of their mortal clay, but the soul must be the same. A soul without feeling were no soul at all. The soul is active in this world, and must be so in the next. If angels can pity, they must feel like us. If demons can vex, they must feel like us. Our feelings change, then why not theirs?

Without feelings, there were no heaven, no h.e.l.l. Here our souls are confined, cribbed, and overladen--borne down by the heavy flesh by which they are, for the time, polluted; but the soul that has winged its flight from clay is, I think, not one jot more pure, more bright, or more perfect, than those within ourselves. Can they be made subservient, say you! Yes, they can; they can be forced, when mortals possess the means and power. The evil-inclined may be forced to good, as well as to evil. It is not the good and perfect spirits that we subject by art, but those that are inclined to wrong. It is over them that mortals have the power. Our arts have no power over the perfect spirits, but over those which are ever working evil, and which are bound to obey and do good, if those who master them require it."

"You still resort to forbidden arts, Amine. Is that right?"

"Right! If we have power given to us, it is right to use it."

"Yes, most certainly, for good; but not for evil."

"Mortals in power, possessing nothing but what is mundane, are answerable for the use of that power; so those gifted by superior means are answerable as they employ those means. Does the G.o.d above make a flower to grow, intending that it should not be gathered! No! neither does he allow supernatural aid to be given, if he did not intend that mortals should avail themselves of it."

As Amine's eyes beamed upon Philip's, he could not for the moment subdue the idea rising in his mind, that she was not like other mortals; and he calmly observed, "Am I sure, Amine, that I am wedded to one mortal as myself?"

"Yes! yes! Philip, compose yourself, I am but mortal; would to Heaven I were not. Would to Heaven I were one of those who could hover over you, watch you in all your perils, save and protect you in this your mad career but I am but a poor weak woman, whose heart beats fondly, devotedly for you--who for you would dare all and everything--who, changed in her nature, has become courageous and daring from her love-- and who rejects all creeds which would prevent her from calling upon heaven, or earth, or h.e.l.l, to a.s.sist her in retaining with her her soul's existence!"

"Nay! nay! Amine,--say not you reject the creed. Does not this,"--and Philip pulled from his bosom the holy relic,--"does not this, and the message sent by it, prove our creed is true?"

"I have thought much of it, Philip. At first it startled me almost into a belief; but even your own priests helped to undeceive me. They would not answer you; they would have left you to guide yourself; the message and the holy word, and the wonderful signs given, were not in unison with their creed, and they halted. May I not halt, if they did? The relic may be as mystic, as powerful as you describe; but the agencies may be false and wicked--the power given to it may have fallen into wrong hands; the power remains the same, but it is applied to uses not intended."

"The power, Amine, can only be exercised by those who are friends to Him who died upon it."

"Then is it no power at all or if a power, not half so great as that of the arch-fiend; for his can work for good and evil both. But on this point, dear Philip, we do not well agree, nor can we convince each other. You have been taught in one way, I another. That which our childhood has imbibed--which has grown up with our growth, and strengthened with our years--is not to be eradicated. I have seen my mother work great charms and succeed. You have knelt to priests. I blame not you!--blame not, then, your Amine. We both mean well--I trust do well."

"If a life of innocence and purity were all that were required, my Amine would be sure of future bliss."

"I think it is; and thinking so, it is my creed. There are many creeds: who shall say which is the true one? And what matters it?--they all have the same end in view--a future Heaven."

"True Amine, true," replied Philip, pacing the cabin thoughtfully; "and yet our priests say otherwise."

"What is the basis of their creed, Philip?"

"Charity and good-will."

"Does charity condemn to eternal misery those who have never heard this creed--who have lived and died worshipping the Great Being after their best endeavours, and little knowledge?"

"No, surely."

Amine made no further observations; and Philip, after pacing for a few minutes in deep thought, walked out of the cabin.

The Utrecht arrived at the Cape, watered, and proceeded on her voyage, and, after two months of difficult navigation, cast anchor off Gambroon.

During this time Amine had been unceasing in her attempts to gain the good-will of Schriften. She had often conversed with him on deck, and had done him every kindness, and had overcome that fear which his near approach had generally occasioned. Schriften gradually appeared mindful of this kindness, and at last to be pleased with Amine's company. To Philip he was at times civil and courteous, but not always; but to Amine he was always deferent. His language was mystical,--she could not prevent his chuckling laugh, his occasional "He! he!" from breaking forth. But when they anch.o.r.ed at Gambroon, he was on such terms with her, that he would occasionally come into the cabin; and, although he would not sit down, would talk to Amine for a few minutes, and then depart. While the vessel lay at anchor at Gambroon, Schriften one evening walked up to Amine, who was sitting on the p.o.o.p. "Lady," said he, after a pause, "yon ship sails for your own country in a few days."

"So I am told," replied Amine.

"Will you take the advice of one who wishes you well? Return in that vessel--go back to your own cottage, and stay there till your husband comes to you once more."

"Why is this advice given?"

"Because I forebode danger--nay, perhaps death, a cruel death--to one I would not harm."

"To me!" replied Amine, fixing her eyes upon Schriften, and meeting his piercing gaze.

"Yes, to you. Some people can see into futurity further than others."

"Not if they are mortal," replied Amine.

"Yes, if they are mortal. But, mortal or not, I do see that which I would avert. Tempt not destiny further."

"Who can avert it? If I take your counsel, still was it my destiny to take your counsel. If I take it not, still it was my destiny."

"Well, then, avoid what threatens you."

"I fear not, yet do I thank you. Tell me, Schriften, hast thou not thy fate some way interwoven with that of my husband? I feel that thou hast."