"I must finish this voyage, at all events," replied Philip to Amine,
"whatever I may do afterwards. I have suffered much, and so have you,
Schriften. You have been twice wrecked; now tell me what do you wish
to do? Go home in the first ship, or go ashore at the Cape--or--"

"Or do anything, so I get out of this ship--he! he!" "Not so. If you prefer sailing with me, as I know you are a good
seaman, you shall have your rating and pay of pilot--that is, if you
choose to follow my fortunes." "Follow?--Must follow. Yes! I'll sail with you, Mynheer Vanderdecken,
I wish to be always near you--he! he!" "Be it so, then: as soon as you are strong again, you will go to your
duty; till then, I will see that you want for nothing." "Nor I, my good fellow. Come to me if you do, and I will be your
help," said Amine. "You have suffered much, but we will do what we can
to make you forget it." "Very good! very kind!" replied Schriften, surveying the lovely face
and figure of Amine. After a time, shrugging up his shoulders, he
added--"A pity! Yes it is!--Must be, though." "Farewell," continued Amine, holding out her hand to Schriften. The man took it, and a cold shudder went to her heart; but she,
expecting such a result, would not appear to feel it. Schriften held
her hand for a second or two in his own, looking at it earnestly, and
then at Amine's face.--"So fair, so good! Mynheer Vanderdecken, I
thank you. Lady, may Heaven preserve you!" --Then, squeezing the hand
of Amine which he had not released, Schriften hastened out of the
cabin. So great was the sudden icy shock which passed through Amine's frame
when Schriften pressed her hand, that when with difficulty she gained
the sofa she fell upon it. After remaining with her hand pressed
against her heart for some time, during which Philip bent over her,
she said in a breathless voice, "That creature must be supernatural,
I am sure of it, I am now convinced.--Well," continued she, after a
pause of some little while, "all the better, if we can make him a
friend; and if I can I will." "But think you, Amine, that those who are not of this world have
feelings of kindness, gratitude, and ill-will, as we have? Can they be
made subservient?" "Most surely so. If they have ill-will, as we know they have, they
must also be endowed with the better feelings. Why are there good and
evil intelligences? They may have disencumbered themselves of their
mortal clay, but the soul must be the same. A soul without feeling
were no soul at all. The soul is active in this world and must be so
in the next. If angels can pity, they must feel like us. If demons can
vex, they must feel like us. Our feelings change, then why not theirs? Without feelings, there were no heaven, no hell. Here our souls are
confined, cribbed, and overladen, borne down by the heavy flesh by
which they are, for the time, polluted; but the soul that has winged
its flight from clay is, I think, not one jot more pure, more bright,
or more perfect than those within ourselves. Can they be made
subservient, say you! Yes! they can; they can be forced, when mortals
possess the means and power. The evil-inclined may be forced to good,
as well as to evil. It is not the good and perfect spirits that we
subject by art, but those that are inclined to wrong. It is over them
that mortals have the power. Our arts have no power over the perfect
spirits, but over those which are ever working evil, and which are
bound to obey and do good, if those who master them require it." "You still resort to forbidden arts, Amine. Is that right?" "Right! If we have power given to us, it is right to use it." "Yes, most certainly, for good--but not for evil." "Mortals in power, possessing nothing but what is mundane, are
answerable for the use of that power; so those gifted by superior
means, are answerable as they employ those means. Does the God above
make a flower to grow, intending that it should not be gathered? No! neither does He allow supernatural aid to be given, if He did not
intend that mortals should avail themselves of it." As Amine's eyes beamed upon Philip's, he could not for the moment
subdue the idea rising in his mind, that she was not like other
mortals, and he calmly observed, "Am I sure, Amine, that I am wedded
to one mortal as myself?" "Yes! yes! Philip, compose yourself, I am but mortal; would to Heaven
I were not. Would to Heaven I were one of those who could hover over
you, watch you in all your perils, save and protect you in this your
mad career; but I am but a poor weak woman, whose heart beats fondly,
devotedly for you--who, for you, would dare all and everything--who,
changed in her nature, has become courageous and daring from her love;
and who rejects all creeds which would prevent her from calling upon
heaven, or earth, or hell, to assist her in retaining with her her
soul's existence?" "Nay! nay! Amine, say not you reject the creed. Does not this,"--and
Philip pulled from his bosom the holy relic, "does not this, and the
message sent by it, prove our creed is true?" "I have thought much of it, Philip. At first it startled me almost
into a belief, but even your own priests helped to undeceive me. They
would not answer you; they would have left you to guide yourself; the
message and the holy word, and the wonderful signs given were not in
unison with their creed, and they halted. May I not halt, if they
did? The relic may be as mystic, as powerful as you describe; but
the agencies may be false and wicked, the power given to it may have
fallen into wrong hands--the power remains the same, but it is applied
to uses not intended." "The power, Amine, can only be exercised by those who are friends to
Him who died upon it." "Then is it no power at all; or if a power, not half so great as that
of the arch-fiend; for his can work for good and evil both. But on
this point, dear Philip, we do not well agree, nor can we convince
each other. You have been taught in one way, I another. That which
our childhood has imbibed, which has grown up with our growth, and
strengthened with our years, is not to be eradicated. I have seen my
mother work great charms, and succeed. You have knelt to priests: I
blame not you!--blame not then your Amine. We both mean well--I trust,
do well." "If a life of innocence and purity were all that were required, my
Amine would be sure of future bliss." "I think it is; and thinking so, it is my creed. There are many
creeds: who shall say which is the true one? And what matters it? they
all have the same end in view--a future Heaven." "True, Amine, true," replied Philip, pacing the cabin thoughtfully;
"and yet our priests say otherwise." "What is the basis of their creed, Philip?" "Charity, and good-will." "Does charity condemn to eternal misery those who have never heard
this creed, who have lived and died worshipping the Great Being after
their best endeavours, and little knowledge?" "No, surely."