Amine, who knew what was passing in the minds of both her father and
Philip, now brought her father's hat, and led him to the door of the
cottage; and Mynheer Poots, very much against his inclination, but
never disputing the will of his daughter, was obliged to depart. "So soon, Philip?" said Amine, returning to the room. "Yes, Amine, immediately. But I trust to be back once more before I
sail; if not, you must now have my instructions. Give me the keys." Philip opened the cupboard below the buffet, and the doors of the iron
safe. "There, Amine, is my money; we need not count it, as your father would
propose. You see that I was right when I asserted that I had thousands
of guilders. At present they are of no use to me, as I have to learn
my profession. Should I return some day, they may help me to own a
ship. I know not what my destiny may be." "And should you not return?" replied Amine, gravely. "Then they are yours--as well as all that is in this cottage, and the
cottage itself." "You have relations, have you not?" "But one, who is rich; an uncle, who helped us but little in our
distress, and who has no children. I owe him but little, and he wants
nothing. There is but one being in this world who has created an
interest in this heart, Amine, and it is you. I wish you to look upon
me as a brother--I shall always love you as a dear sister." Amine made no reply. Philip took some more money out of the bag which
had been opened, for the expenses of his journey, and then locking up
the safe and cupboard, gave the keys to Amine. He was about to address
her, when there was a slight knock at the door, and in entered Father
Seysen, the priest. "Save you, my son; and you, my child, whom as yet I have not seen. You
are, I suppose, the daughter of Mynheer Poots?" Amine bowed her head. "I perceive, Philip, that the room is now opened, and I have heard of
all that has passed. I would now talk with thee, Philip, and must beg
this maiden to leave us for awhile alone." Amine quitted the room, and the priest, sitting down on the couch,
beckoned Philip to his side. The conversation which ensued was too
long to repeat. The priest first questioned Philip relative to his
secret, but on that point he could not obtain the information which he
wished; Philip stated as much as he did to Amine, and no more. He
also declared his intention of going to sea, and that, should he not
return, he had bequeathed his property--the extent of which he did
not make known--to the doctor and his daughter. The priest then made
inquiries relative to Mynheer Poots, asking Philip whether he knew
what his creed was, as he had never appeared at any church, and report
said that he was an infidel. To this Philip, as usual, gave his frank
answer, and intimated that the daughter, at least, was anxious to
be enlightened, begging the priest to undertake a task to which he
himself was not adequate. To this request Father Seysen, who perceived
the state of Philip's mind with regard to Amine, readily consented. After a conversation of nearly two hours, they were interrupted by the
return of Mynheer Poots, who darted out of the room the instant he
perceived Father Seysen. Philip called Amine, and having begged her as
a favour to receive the priest's visits, the good old man blessed them
both and departed. "You did not give him any money, Mr Philip?" said Mynheer Poots, when
Father Seysen had left the room. "I did not," replied Philip; "I wish I had thought of it." "No, no--it is better not--for money is better than what he can give
you; but he must not come here." "Why not, father," replied Amine, "if Mr Philip wishes it? It is his
own house." "O yes, if Mr Philip wishes it; but you know he is going away." "Well, and suppose he is--why should not the Father come here? He
shall come here to see me." "See you, my child!--what can he want with you? Well, then, if he
comes, I will not give him one stiver--and then he'll soon go away." Philip had no opportunity of further converse with Amine; indeed he
had nothing more to say. In an hour he bade her farewell in presence
of her father, who would not leave them, hoping to obtain from Philip
some communication about the money which he was to leave behind him. In two days Philip arrived at Amsterdam, and having made the necessary
inquiries, found that there was no chance of vessels sailing for the
East Indies for some months. The Dutch East India Company had long
been formed, and all private trading was at an end. The Company's
vessels left only at what was supposed to be the most favourable
season for rounding the Cape of Storms, as the Cape of Good Hope was
designated by the early adventurers. One of the ships which were to
sail with the next fleet was the _Ter Schilling_, a three-masted
vessel, now laid up and unrigged. Philip found out the captain, and stated his wishes to sail with him,
to learn his profession as a seaman; the captain was pleased with his
appearance, and as Philip not only agreed to receive no wages during
the voyage, but to pay a premium as an apprentice learning his duty,
he was promised a berth on board as the second mate, to mess in the
cabin; and he was told that he should be informed whenever the vessel
was to sail. Philip having now done all that he could in obedience to
his vow, determined to return to the cottage; and once more he was in
the company of Amine. We must now pass over two months, during which Mynheer Poots continued
to labour at his vocation, and was seldom within doors, and our two
young friends were left for hours together. Philip's love for Amine
was fully equal to hers for him. It was more than love--it was a
devotion on both sides, each day increasing. Who, indeed, could be
more charming, more attractive in all ways than the high-spirited, yet
tender Amine? Occasionally the brow of Philip would be clouded when he
reflected upon the dark prospect before him; but Amine's smile would
chase away the gloom, and, as he gazed on her, all would be forgotten. Amine made no secret of her attachment; it was shown in every word,
every look, and every gesture. When Philip would take her hand, or
encircle her waist with his arm, or even when he pressed her coral
lips, there was no pretence of coyness on her part. She was too noble,
too confiding; she felt that her happiness was centred in his love,
and she lived but in his presence. Two months had thus passed away,
when Father Seysen, who often called, and had paid much attention
to Amine's instruction, one day came in as Amine was encircled in
Philip's arms. "My children," said he, "I have watched you for some time: this is not
well. Philip, if you intend marriage, as I presume you do, still it is
dangerous. I must join your hands." Philip started up. "Surely I am not deceived in thee, my son," continued the priest, in a
severe tone. "No, no, good Father; but I pray you leave me now: to-morrow you may
come, and all will be decided. But I must talk with Amine."