"Then may its will be done," replied Amine, rising from her seat. "The
first pang is over. I feel better now, Philip. Your Amine knows her
duty." Philip made no reply; when, after a few moments, Amine continued:

"But one short week, Philip--"

"I would it had been but one day;" replied he; "it would have been
long enough. He has come too soon--the one-eyed monster." "Nay, not so, Philip. I thank him for the week--'tis but a short time
to wean myself from happiness. I grant you, that were I to tease, to
vex, to unman you with my tears, my prayers, or my upbraidings (as
some wives would do, Philip), one day would be more than sufficient
for such a scene of weakness on my part, and misery on yours. But, no,
Philip, your Amine knows her duty better. You must go like some knight
of old to perilous encounter, perhaps to death; but Amine will arm
you, and show her love by closing carefully each rivet to protect you
in your peril, and will see you depart full of hope and confidence,
anticipating your return. A week is not too long, Philip, when
employed as I trust I shall employ it--a week to interchange our
sentiments, to hear your voice, to listen to your words (each of which
will be engraven on my heart's memory), to ponder on them, and feed my
love with them in your absence and in my solitude. No! no! Philip; I
thank God that there is yet a week." "And so do I, then, Amine; and, after all, we knew that this must
come." "Yes! but my love was so potent, that it banished memory." "And yet during our separation your love must feed on memory, Amine." Amine sighed. Here their conversation was interrupted by the entrance
of Mynheer Poots, who, struck with the alteration in Amine's radiant
features, exclaimed, "Holy Prophet! what is the matter now?" "Nothing more than what we all knew before," replied Philip; "I am
about to leave you--the ship will sail in a week." "Oh! you will sail in a week?" There was a curious expression in the face of the old man as he
endeavoured to suppress, before Amine and her husband, the joy which
he felt at Philip's departure. Gradually he subdued his features into
gravity, and said--

"That is very bad news, indeed." No answer was made by Amine or Philip, who quitted the room together. We must pass over this week, which was occupied in preparations for
Philip's departure. We must pass over the heroism of Amine, who
controlled her feelings, racked as she was with intense agony at the
idea of separating from her adored husband. We cannot dwell upon the
conflicting emotions in the breast of Philip, who left competence,
happiness, and love, to encounter danger, privation, and death. Now,
at one time, he would almost resolve to remain, and then at others,
as he took the relic from his bosom and remembered his vow registered
upon it, he was nearly as anxious to depart. Amine, too, as she fell
asleep in her husband's arms, would count the few hours left them;
or she would shudder, as she lay awake and the wind howled, at the
prospect of what Philip would have to encounter. It was a long week to
both of them, and, although they thought that time flew fast, it was
almost a relief when the morning came that was to separate them; for
to their feelings, which, from regard to each other, had been pent up
and controlled, they could then give vent; their surcharged bosoms
could be relieved; certainty had driven away suspense, and hope was
still left to cheer them and brighten up the dark horizon of the
future. "Philip," said Amine, as they sat together with their hands entwined,
"I shall not feel so much when you are gone. I do not forget that all
this was told me before we were wed, and that for my love I took the
hazard. My fond heart often tells me that you will return; but it may
deceive me--return you _may_, but not in life. In this room I shall
await you; on this sofa, removed to its former station, I shall sit;
and if you cannot appear to me alive, O refuse me not, if it be
possible, to appear to me when dead. I shall fear no storm, no
bursting open of the window. O no! I shall hail the presence even of
your spirit. Once more; let me but see you--let me be assured that you
are dead--and then I shall know that I have no more to live for in
this world, and shall hasten to join you in a world of bliss. Promise
me, Philip." "I promise all you ask, provided Heaven will so permit; but, Amine,"
and Philip's lips trembled, "I cannot--merciful God! I am indeed
tried. Amine, I can stay no longer." Amine's dark eyes were fixed upon her husband--she could not
speak--her features were convulsed--nature could no longer hold
up against her excess of feeling--she fell into his arms, and lay
motionless. Philip, about to impress a last kiss upon her pale lips,
perceived that she had fainted. "She feels not now," said he, as he laid her upon the sofa; "it is
better that it should be so--too soon will she awake to misery." Summoning to the assistance of his daughter Mynheer Poots, who was
in the adjoining room, Philip caught up his hat, imprinted one more
fervent kiss upon her forehead, burst from the house, and was out of
sight long before Amine had recovered from her swoon. Chapter VIII


Before we follow Philip Vanderdecken in his venturous career, it
will be necessary to refresh the memory of our readers by a succinct
recapitulation of the circumstances that had directed the enterprise
of the Dutch towards the country of the East, which was now proving to
them a source of wealth which they considered as inexhaustible. Let us begin at the beginning. Charles the Fifth, after having
possessed the major part of Europe, retired from the world, for
reasons best known to himself, and divided his kingdoms between
Ferdinand and Philip. To Ferdinand he gave Austria and its
dependencies; to Philip Spain; but to make the division more equal
and palatable to the latter, he threw the Low Countries, with the few
millions vegetating upon them, into the bargain. Having thus disposed
of his fellow-mortals much to his own satisfaction, he went into a
convent, reserving for himself a small income, twelve men, and a pony. Whether he afterwards repented his hobby, or mounted his pony, is not
recorded; but this is certain--that in two years he died. Philip thought (as many have thought before and since) that he had a
right to do what he pleased with his own. He therefore took away from
the Hollanders most of their liberties: to make amends, however, he
gave them the Inquisition; but the Dutch grumbled, and Philip, to stop
their grumbling, burnt a few of them. Upon which, the Dutch, who are
aquatic in their propensities, protested against a religion which was
much too warm for their constitutions.