The Portuguese Commandant was a small, meagre, little man, dried up to
a chip, from long sojourning under a tropical sun. He had very large
whiskers, and a very long sword; these were the two most remarkable
features in his person and dress. His attentions could not be misinterpreted, and Amine would have
laughed at him, had she not been fearful that she might be detained. In a few weeks, by due attention, she gained the Portuguese language
so far as to ask for what she required, and before she quitted the
island of Tidore she could converse fluently. But her anxiety to
leave, and to ascertain what had become of Philip, became greater
every day; and at the expiration of the three months, her eyes were
continually bent to seaward, to catch the first glimpse of the vessel
which was expected. At last it appeared, and as Amine watched the
approach of the canvas from the west, the Commandant fell on his
knees, and declaring his passion, requested her not to think of
departure, but to unite her fate with his. Amine was cautious in her reply, for she knew that she was in his
power. "She must first receive intelligence of her husband's death,
which was not yet certain; she would proceed to Goa, and if she
discovered that she was single, she would write to him." This answer, as it will be discovered, was the cause of great
suffering to Philip: the Commandant, fully assured that he could
compass Philip's death, was satisfied--declared that, as soon as he
had any positive intelligence, he would bring it to Goa himself, and
made a thousand protestations of truth and fidelity. "Fool!" thought Amine, as she watched the ship, which was now close to
the anchorage. In half-an-hour the vessel had anchored, and the people had landed. Amine observed a priest with them, as they walked up to the fort. She
shuddered--she knew not why; when they arrived, she found herself in
the presence of Father Mathias. Chapter XXIX


Both Amine and Father Mathias started, and drew back with surprise at
this unexpected meeting. Amine was the first to extend her hand;
she had almost forgotten at the moment how they had parted, in the
pleasure she experienced in meeting with a well-known face. Father Mathias coldly took her hand, and laying his own upon her head,
said: "May God bless thee, and forgive thee, my daughter, as I have
long done." Then the recollection of what had passed, rushed into
Amine's mind, and she coloured deeply. Had Father Mathias forgiven her? The event would show; but this is
certain, he now treated her as an old friend: listened with interest
to her history of the wreck, and agreed with her upon the propriety of
her accompanying him to Goa. In a few days the vessel sailed, and Amine quitted the Factory and its
enamoured Commandant. They ran through the Archipelago in safety, and
were crossing the mouth of the Bay of Bengal, without having had any
interruption to fine weather. Father Mathias had returned to Lisbon,
when he quitted Ternicore, and, tired of idleness, had again
volunteered to proceed as a missionary to India. He had arrived at
Formosa, and shortly after his arrival, had received directions from
his superior to return on important business to Goa, and thus it was
that he fell in with Amine at Tidore. It would be difficult to analyse the feelings of Father Mathias
towards Amine--they varied so often. At one moment, he would call to
mind the kindness shown to him by her and Philip--the regard he had
for the husband, and the many good qualities which he acknowledged
that she possessed--and _now_ he would recollect the disgrace, the
unmerited disgrace, he had suffered through her means; and he would
then canvass, whether she really did believe him an intruder in her
chamber for other motives than those which actuated him, or whether
she had taken advantage of his indiscretion. These accounts were
nearly balanced in his mind; he could have forgiven all, if he had
thought that Amine was a sincere convert to the church; but his strong
conviction that she was not only an unbeliever, but that she practised
forbidden arts, turned the scale against her. He watched her narrowly,
and when, in her conversation, she shewed any religious feeling, his
heart warmed towards her; but when, on the contrary, any words escaped
her lips which seemed to show that she thought lightly of his creed,
then the full tide of indignation and vengeance poured into his bosom. It was in crossing the Bay of Bengal, to pass round the southern cape
of Ceylon, that they first met with bad weather; and when the storm
increased, the superstitious seamen lighted candles before the small
image of the saint which was shrined on deck. Amine observed it,
and smiled with scorn; and as she did so, almost unwittingly, she
perceived that the eye of Father Mathias was earnestly fixed upon her. "The Papooses I have just left do no worse than worship their idols,
and are termed idolaters," muttered Amine. "What then are these
Christians?" "Would you not be better below?" said Father Mathias, coming over to
Amine; "this is no time for women to be on deck--they would be better
employed in offering up prayers for safety." "Nay, Father, I can pray better here; I like this conflict of the
elements; and as I view, I bow down in admiration of the Deity who
rules the storm; who sends the winds forth in their wrath, or soothes
them into peace." "It is well said, my child," replied Father Mathias; "but the Almighty
is not only to be worshipped in His works, but, in the closet, with
meditation, self-examination, and faith. Hast thou followed up the
precepts which thou hast been taught? hast thou reverenced the sublime
mysteries which have been unfolded to thee?" "I have done my best, Father," replied Amine, turning away her head,
and watching the rolling wave. "Hast thou called upon the Holy Virgin, and upon the saints--those
intercessors for mortals erring like thyself?" Amine made no answer; she did not wish to irritate the priest, neither
would she tell an untruth. "Answer me, child," continued the priest with severity. "Father," replied Amine, "I have appealed to God alone--the God of the
Christians--the God of the whole universe!" "Who believes not everything, believes nothing, young woman. I thought
as much! I saw thee smile with scorn just now; why didst thou smile?" "At my own thoughts, good Father." "Say rather, at the true faith shown by others." Amine made no answer. "Thou art still an unbeliever, and a heretic. Beware, young woman! beware!" "Beware of what, good Father? why should I beware? Are there not
millions in these climes more unbelieving, and more heretic, perhaps,
than I? How many have you converted to your faith? What trouble, what
toil, what dangers have you not undergone to propagate that creed--and
why do you succeed so ill? Shall I tell you, Father? It is because the
people have already had a creed of their own: a creed taught to them
from their infancy, and acknowledged by all who live about them.