Well then, let us
wait for a new sign of the Divine will--if so it must be;" and Philip
walked on, occasionally thinking on the arguments of Father Seysen,
and oftener thinking of Amine. It was now evening, and the sun was fast descending. Philip wandered
on, until at last he arrived at the very spot where he had knelt down
and pronounced his solemn vow. He recognised it; he looked at the
distant hills. The sun was just at the same height; the whole scene,
the place, and the time were before him. Again Philip knelt down, took
the relic from his bosom and kissed it. He watched the sun; he bowed
himself to the earth. He waited for a sign; but the sun sank down and
the veil of night spread over the landscape. There was no sign; and
Philip rose and walked home towards the cottage, more inclined than
before to follow the suggestions of Father Seysen. On his return, Philip went softly upstairs and entered the room of
Amine, whom he found awake and in conversation with the priests. The
curtain was closed, and he was not perceived. With a beating heart he
remained near the wall at the head of the bed. "Reason to believe that my husband has arrived!" said Amine, in a
faint voice. "Oh tell me, why so?" "His ship is arrived, we know; and one who had seen her said that all
were well." "And why is he not here, then? Who should bring the news of his return
but himself? Father Seysen, either he has not arrived or he is here--I
know he must be, if he is safe and well. I know my Philip too well. Say! is he not here? Fear not, if you say yes; but if you say no, you
kill me!" "He is here, Amine," replied Father Seysen--"here and well." "O God! I thank you; but where is he? If he is here, he must be in
this room, or else you deceive me. Oh, this suspense is death!" "I am here," cried Philip, opening the curtains. Amine rose with a shriek, held out her arms, and then fell senseless
back. In a few seconds, however, she was restored, and proved the
truth of the good Father's assertion, "that joy does not kill." We must now pass over the few days during which Philip watched the
couch of his Amine, who rapidly regained her strength. As soon as she
was well enough to enter upon the subject, Philip narrated all that
had passed since his departure; the confession which he had made to
Father Seysen, and the result. Amine, too glad that Philip should
remain with her, added her persuasions to those of the priests, and,
for some little time, Philip talked no more of going to sea. Chapter XIV


Six weeks had flown away, and Amine, restored to health, wandered over
the country, hanging on the arm of her adored Philip, or nestled by
his side in their comfortable home. Father Mathias still remained
their guest; the masses for the repose of the soul of Vanderdecken had
been paid for, and more money had been confided to the care of Father
Seysen to relieve the sufferings of the afflicted poor. It may be
easily supposed that one of the chief topics of conversation between
Philip and Amine was the decision of the two priests relative to the
conduct of Philip. He had been absolved from his oath, but, at the
same time that he submitted to his clerical advisers, he was by no
means satisfied. His love for Amine, her wishes for his remaining
at home, certainly added weight to the fiat of Father Seysen; but,
although he in consequence obeyed it more willingly, his doubts of the
propriety of his conduct remained the same. The arguments of Amine,
who, now that she was supported by the opinion of the priests, had
become opposed to Philip's departure; even her caresses, with which
those arguments were mingled, were effective but for the moment. No
sooner was Philip left to himself, no sooner was the question, for
a time, dismissed, than he felt an inward accusation that he was
neglecting a sacred duty. Amine perceived how often the cloud was
upon his brow; she knew too well the cause, and constantly did she
recommence her arguments and caresses, until Philip forgot that there
was aught but Amine in the world. One morning, as they were seated upon a green bank picking the flowers
that blossomed round them, and tossing them away in pure listlessness,
Amine took the opportunity that she had often waited for, to enter
upon a subject hitherto unmentioned. "Philip," said she, "do you believe in dreams? think you that we may
have supernatural communications by such means?" "Of course we may," replied Philip; "we have proof abundant of it in
the holy writings." "Why, then, do you not satisfy your scruples by a dream?" "My dearest Amine, dreams come unbidden; we cannot command or prevent
them--"

"We can command them, Philip; say that you would dream upon the
subject nearest to your heart, and you _shall_!" "I shall?" "Yes! I have that power, Philip, although I have not spoken of it. I had it from my mother, with much more that of late I have never
thought of. You know, Philip, I never say that which is not. I tell
you, that, if you choose, you shall dream upon it." "And to what good, Amine? If you have power to make me dream, that
power must be from somewhere." "It is, of course: there are agencies you little think of, which, in
my country, are still called into use. I have a charm, Philip, which
never fails." "A charm, Amine! do you, then, deal in sorcery? for such powers cannot
be from Heaven." "I cannot tell. I only know the power is given." "It must be from the devil, Amine." "And why so, Philip? May I not use the argument of your own priests,
who say, 'that the power of the devil is only permitted to be used
by Divine intelligence, and that it cannot be used without that
permission?' Allow it then to be sorcery, or what you please, unless
by Heaven permitted, it would fail. But I cannot see why we should
suppose that it is from an evil source. We ask for a warning in a
dream to guide our conduct in doubtful circumstances. Surely the evil
one would rather lead us wrong than right!" "Amine, we may be warned in a dream, as the patriarchs were of old;
but to use mystic or unholy charms to procure a vision, is making a
compact with the devil." "Which compact the devil could not fulfil if not permitted by a higher
power. Philip, your reasoning is false. We are told that, by certain
means, duly observed, we may procure the dreams we wish. Our
observance of these means is certainly the least we can attend to, to
prove our sincerity. Forgive me, Philip, but are not observances as
necessary in your religion--which I have embraced? Are we not told
that the omission of the mere ceremony of water to the infant will
turn all future chance of happiness to misery eternal?" Philip answered not for some time. "I am afraid, Amine," said he, at
last, in a low tone; "I--"

"I fear nothing, Philip, when my intentions are good," replied Amine. "I follow certain means to obtain an end. What is that end? It is
to find out (if possible) what may be the will of Heaven in this
perplexing case.