If it should be through the agency of the devil--what
then? He becomes my servant, and not my master; he is permitted by
Heaven to act against himself;" and Amine's eyes darted fire, as she
thus boldly expressed herself. "Did your mother often exercise her art?" inquired Philip, after a
pause. "Not to my knowledge; but it was said that she was most expert. She
died young (as you know), or I should have known much more. Think
you, Philip, that this world is solely peopled by such dross as
we are?--things of clay--perishable and corruptible? Lords over
beasts--and ourselves but little better. Have you not, from your
own sacred writings, repeated acknowledgments and proofs of higher
intelligences mixing up with mankind, and acting here below? Why
should what was then, not be now! and what more harm is there to apply
for their aid now, than a few thousand years ago? Why should you
suppose that they were permitted on the earth then--and not permitted
now? What has become of them? Have they perished? have they been
ordered back--to where--to heaven? If to heaven--the world and mankind
have been left to the mercy of the devil and his agents. Do you
suppose that we, poor mortals, have been thus abandoned? I tell you
plainly, I think not. We no longer have the communications with
those intelligences that we once had, because, as we become more
enlightened, we become more proud, and seek them not; but that they
still exist--a host of good against a host of evil, invisibly opposing
each other--is my conviction. But, tell me, Philip, do you in your
conscience believe that all that has been revealed to you is a mere
dream of the imagination?" "I do not believe so, Amine: you know well I wish I could." "Then is my reasoning proved: for if such communications can be made
to you, why cannot others? You cannot tell by what agency; your
priests say it is that of the evil one; you think it is from on high. By the same rule, who is to decide from whence the dream shall come?" "'Tis true, Amine; but are you certain of your power?" "Certain of this: that if it pleases superior intelligence to
communicate with you, _that_ communication may be relied upon. Either
you will not dream, but pass away the hours in deep sleep, or what you
dream will be connected with the question at issue." "Then, Amine, I have made up my mind--I will dream: for at present
my mind is racked by contending and perplexing doubts. I would know
whether I am right or wrong. This night your art shall be employed." "Not this night, nor yet to-morrow night, Philip. Think you one moment
that, in proposing this, I serve you against my own wishes? I feel as
if the dream will decide against me, and that you will be commanded
to return to your duty; for I tell you honestly, I think not with the
priests; but I am your wife, Philip, and it is my duty that you should
not be deceived. Having the means, as I suppose, to decide your
conduct, I offer them. Promise me that, if I do this, you will grant
me a favour which I shall ask as my reward." "It is promised, Amine, without its being known," replied Philip,
rising from the turf; "and now let us go home." We observed that Philip, previous to his sailing in the _Batavia_, had
invested a large proportion of his funds in Dutch East India stock:
the interest of the money was more than sufficient for the wants of
Amine, and, on his return, he found that the funds left in her charge
had accumulated. After paying to Father Seysen the sums for the
masses, and for the relief of the poor, there was a considerable
residue, and Philip had employed this in the purchase of more shares
in the India stock. The subject of their conversation was not renewed. Philip was rather
averse to Amine practising those mystical arts, which, if known to the
priests, would have obtained for her, in all probability, the anathema
of the Church. He could not but admire the boldness and power of
Amine's reasonings, but still he was averse to reduce them into
practice. The third day had passed away, and no more had been said
upon the subject. Philip retired to bed, and was soon fast asleep; but Amine slept not. So soon as she was convinced that Philip would not be awakened, she
slipped from the bed and dressed herself. She left the room, and in a
quarter of an hour returned, bringing in her hand a small brazier of
lighted charcoal, and two small pieces of parchment, rolled up and
fixed by a knot to the centre of a narrow fillet. They exactly
resembled the philacteries that were once worn by the Jewish nation,
and were similarly applied. One of them she gently bound upon the
forehead of her husband, and the other upon his left arm. She threw
perfumes into the brazier, and as the form of her husband was becoming
indistinct from the smoke which filled the room, she muttered a few
sentences, waved over him a small sprig of some shrub which she held
in her white hand, and then closing the curtains, and removing the
brazier she sat down by the side of the bed. "If there be harm," thought Amine, "at least the deed is not his--'tis
mine; they cannot say that he has practised arts that are unlawful
and forbidden by his priests. On my head be it!" And there was a
contemptuous curl on Amine's beautiful arched lip, which did not say
much for her devotion to her new creed. Morning dawned, and Philip still slumbered. "'Tis enough," said Amine,
who had been watching the rising of the sun, as she beheld his upper
limb appear above the horizon. Again she waved her arm over Philip,
holding the sprig in her hand; and cried, "Philip, awake!" Philip started up, opened his eyes, and shut them again to avoid the
glare of the broad daylight, rested upon his elbow, and appeared to be
collecting his thoughts. "Where am I?" exclaimed he. "In my own bed? Yes!" He passed his hand
across his forehead, and felt the scroll. "What is this?" continued
he, pulling it off, and examining it. "And Amine, where is she? Good
Heavens, what a dream! Another?" cried he, perceiving the scroll tied
to his arm. "I see it now. Amine, this is your doing." And Philip
threw himself down, and buried his face in the pillow. Amine, in the meantime, had slipped into bed, and had taken her place
by Philip's side. "Sleep, Philip, dear! sleep!" said she, putting her
arms round him; "we will talk when we wake again." "Are you there, Amine?" replied Philip, confused. "I thought I was
alone; I have dreamed--" And Philip again was fast asleep before
he could complete his sentence. Amine, too, tired with watching,
slumbered and was happy. Father Mathias had to wait a long while for his breakfast that
morning; it was not till two hours later than usual that Philip and
Amine made their appearance. "Welcome, my children," said he; "you are late." "We are, Father," replied Amine; "for Philip slept, and I watched till
break of day." "He hath not been ill, I trust," replied the priest. "No, not ill; but I could not sleep," replied Amine.