At last,
somewhat recovered, he rose, dressed himself, and then again sat
down--his eyes fixed upon the clothes of Krantz, and the gold which
still lay on the sand. "He would give me that gold. He foretold his doom. Yes! yes! it was
his destiny, and it has been fulfilled. _His bones will bleach in
the wilderness_, and the spirit-hunter and his wolfish daughter are
avenged." The shades of evening now set in, and the low growling of the beasts
of the forest recalled Philip to a sense of his own danger. He thought
of Amine; and hastily making the clothes of Krantz and the doubloons
into a package, he stepped into the peroqua, with difficulty shoved it
off, and with a melancholy heart, and in silence, hoisted the sail,
and pursued his course. "Yes, Amine," thought Philip, as he watched the stars twinkling and
corruscating. "Yes, you are right, when you assert that the destinies
of men are foreknown, and may by some be read. My destiny is, alas! that I should be severed from all I value upon earth, and die
friendless and alone. Then welcome death, if such is to be the case;
welcome a thousand welcomes! what a relief wilt thou be to me! what
joy to find myself summoned to where the weary are at rest! I have my
task to fulfil. God grant that it may soon be accomplished, and let
not my life be embittered by any more trials such as this." Again did Philip weep, for Krantz had been his long-tried, valued
friend, his partner in all his dangers and privations, from the period
that they had met when the Dutch fleet attempted the passage round
Cape Horn. After seven days of painful watching and brooding over bitter
thoughts, Philip arrived at Pulo Penang, where he found a vessel about
to sail for the city to which he was destined. He ran his peroqua
alongside of her, and found that she was a brig under the Portuguese
flag, having, however, but two Portuguese on board, the rest of the
crew being natives. Representing himself as an Englishman in the
Portuguese service, who had been wrecked, and offering to pay for
his passage, he was willingly received, and in a few days the vessel
sailed. Their voyage was prosperous; in six weeks they anchored in the roads
of Goa; the next day they went up the river. The Portuguese captain
informed Philip where he might obtain lodging; and passing him off as
one of his crew, there was no difficulty raised as to his landing. Having located himself at his new lodging, Philip commenced some
inquiries of his host relative to Amine, designating her merely as a
young woman who had arrived there in a vessel some weeks before; but
he could obtain no information concerning her. "Signor," said the
host, "to-morrow is the grand _Auto da Fé_; we can do nothing until
that is over; afterwards, I will put you in the way to find out what
you wish. In the meantime, you can walk about the town; to-morrow I
will take you to where you can behold the grand procession, and then
we will try what we can do to assist you in your search." Philip went out, procured a suit of clothes, removed his beard, and
then walked about the town, looking up at every window to see if he
could perceive Amine. At a corner of one of the streets, he thought he
recognised Father Mathias, and ran up to him; but the monk had drawn
his cowl over his head, and when addressed by that name, made no
reply. "I was deceived," thought Philip; "but I really thought it was him." And Philip was right; it was Father Mathias, who thus screened himself
from Philip's recognition. Tired, at last he returned to his hotel, just before it was dark. The
company there were numerous; everybody for miles distant had come to
Goa to witness the _Auto da Fé_,--and everybody was discussing the
ceremony. "I will see this grand procession," said Philip to himself, as he
threw himself on his bed. "It will drive thought from me for a time,
and God knows how painful my thoughts have now become. Amine, dear
Amine, may angels guard thee!" Chapter XL


Although to-morrow was to end all Amine's hopes and fears--all her
short happiness--her suspense and misery--yet Amine slept until
her last slumber in this world was disturbed by the unlocking and
unbarring of the doors of her cell, and the appearance of the head
jailor with a light. Amine started up--she had been dreaming of her
husband--of happiness! She awoke to the sad reality. There stood the
jailor, with a dress in his hand, which he desired she would put on. He lighted a lamp for her, and left her alone. The dress was of black
serge, with white stripes. Amine put on the dress, and threw herself down on the bed, trying if
possible to recall the dream from which she had been awakened, but
in vain. Two hours passed away, and the jailor again entered, and
summoned her to follow him. Perhaps one of the most appalling customs
of the Inquisition is, that after accusation, whether the accused
parties confess their guilt or not, they return to their dungeons,
without the least idea of what may have been their sentence, and when
summoned on the morning of the execution they are equally kept in
ignorance. The prisoners were all summoned by the jailors, from the various
dungeons, and led into a large hall, where they found their
fellow-sufferers collected. In this spacious, dimly lighted hall were to be seen about two hundred
men, standing up as if for support, against the walls, all dressed in
the same black and white serge; so motionless, so terrified were they,
that if it had not been for the rolling of their eyes, as they watched
the jailors, who passed and repassed, you might have imagined them to
be petrified. It was the agony of suspense, worse than the agony of
death. After a time, a wax candle, about five feet long, was put into
the hands of each prisoner, and then some were ordered to put on
over their dress the _Sanbenitos_--others the _Samarias_! Those who
received these dresses, with flames painted on them, gave themselves
up for lost; and it was dreadful to perceive the anguish of each
individual as the dresses were one by one brought forward, and with
the heavy drops of perspiration on his brows, he watched with terror
lest one should be presented to him. All was doubt, fear, and horror! But the prisoners in this hall were not those who were to suffer
death. Those who wore the Sanbenitos had to walk in the procession and
receive but slight punishment; those who wore the Samarias had
been condemned, but had been saved from the consuming fire, by an
acknowledgment of their offence; the flames painted on their dresses
were _reversed_, and signified that they were not to suffer; but this
the unfortunate wretches did not know, and the horrors of a cruel
death stared them in the face! Another hall, similar to the one in which the men had been
collected, was occupied by female culprits. The same ceremonies were
observed--the same doubt, fear, and agony were depicted upon every
countenance.