The priest looked at Philip; he perceived that his thoughts were elsewhere; there was a vacancy and appearance of mental stupefaction, and as he turned away, the good man shook his head.

“He is right,” thought Philip, when once more alone; and he took up the cabinet, and placed it upon the stand.  “A few hours more can make no difference:  I will lay me down, for my head is giddy.”

Philip went into the adjoining room, threw himself upon his bed, and in a few minutes was in a sleep as sound as that permitted to the wretch a few hours previous to his execution.

During his slumbers the neighbours had come in, and had prepared everything for the widow’s interment.  They had been careful not to wake the son, for they held as sacred the sleep of those who must wake up to sorrow.  Among others, soon after the hour of noon arrived Mynheer Poots; he had been informed of the death of the widow, but having a spare hour, he thought he might as well call, as it would raise his charges by another guilder.  He first went into the room where the body lay, and from thence he proceeded to the chamber of Philip, and shook him by the shoulder.

Philip awoke, and, sitting up, perceived the doctor standing by him.

“Well, Mynheer Vanderdecken,” commenced the unfeeling little man, “so it’s all over.  I knew it would be so, and recollect you owe me now another guilder, and you promised faithfully to pay me; altogether, with the potion, it will be three guilders and a half—­that is, provided you return my phial.”

Philip, who at first waking was confused, gradually recovered his senses during this address.

“You shall have your three guilders and a half, and your phial to boot, Mr Poots,” replied he, as he rose from off the bed.

“Yes, yes; I know you mean to pay me—­if you can.  But look you, Mynheer Philip, it may be some time before you sell the cottage.  You may not find a customer.  Now, I never wish to be hard upon people who have no money, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do.  There is a something on your mother’s neck.  It is of no value, none at all, but to a good Catholic.  To help you in your strait, I will take that thing, and then we shall be quits.  You will have paid me, and there will be an end of it.”

Philip listened calmly:  he knew to what the little miser had referred,—­the relic on his mother’s neck—­that very relic upon which his father swore the fatal oath.  He felt that millions of guilders would not have induced him to part with it.

“Leave the house,” answered he abruptly.  “Leave it immediately.  Your money shall be paid.”

Now, Mynheer Poots, in the first place, knew that the setting of the relic, which was in a square frame of pure gold, was worth much more than the sum due to him:  he also knew that a large price had been paid for the relic itself, and as at that time such a relic was considered very valuable, he had no doubt but that it would again fetch a considerable sum.  Tempted by the sight of it when he entered the chamber of death, he had taken it from the neck of the corpse, and it was then actually concealed in his bosom, so he replied—­