It was about three months after this conversation that Amine and Philip were again seated upon the mossy bank which we have mentioned, and which had become their favourite resort.  Father Mathias had contracted a great intimacy with Father Seysen, and the two priests were almost as inseparable as were Philip and Amine.  Having determined to wait a summons previous to Philip’s again entering upon his strange and fearful task; and, happy in the possession of each other, the subject was seldom revived.  Philip, who had, on his return, expressed his wish to the Directors of the Company for immediate employment, and, if possible, to have the command of a vessel, had, since that period, taken no further steps, nor had any communication with Amsterdam.

“I am fond of this bank, Philip,” said Amine; “I appear to have formed an intimacy with it.  It was here, if you recollect, that we debated the subject of the lawfulness of inducing dreams; and it was here, dear Philip, that you told me your dream, and that I expounded it.”

“You did so, Amine; but if you ask the opinion of Father Seysen, you will find that he would give rather a strong decision against you—­he would call it heretical and damnable.”

“Let him, if he pleases.  I have no objection to tell him.”

“I pray not, Amine; let the secret remain with ourselves only.”

“Think you Father Mathias would blame me?”

“I certainly do.”

“Well, I do not; there is a kindness and liberality about the old man that I admire.  I should like to argue the question with him.”

As Amine spoke, Philip felt something touch his shoulder, and a sudden chill ran through his frame.  In a moment his ideas reverted to the probable cause:  he turned round his head, and, to his amazement, beheld the (supposed to be drowned) mate of the Ter Schilling, the one-eyed Schriften, who stood behind him, with a letter in his hand.  The sudden appearance of this malignant wretch induced Philip to exclaim, “Merciful heaven! is it possible?”

Amine, who had turned her head round at the exclamation of Philip, covered up her face, and burst into tears.  It was not fear that caused this unusual emotion on her part, but the conviction that her husband was never to be at rest but in the grave.

“Philip Vanderdecken,” said Schriften, “he! he!  I’ve a letter for you—­it is from the Company.”

Philip took the letter, but, previous to opening it, he fixed his eyes upon Schriften.  “I thought,” said he, “that you were drowned when the ship was wrecked in False Bay.  How did you escape?”

“How did I escape?” replied Schriften.  “Allow me to ask how did you escape?”

“I was thrown up by the waves,” replied Philip; “but—­”

“But,” interrupted Schriften, “he! he! the waves ought not to have thrown me up.”

“And why not, pray?  I did not say that.”

“No! but I presume you wish it had been so; but, on the contrary, I escaped in the same way that you did—­I was thrown up by the waves—­he! he! but I can’t wait here.  I have done my bidding.”