The Utrecht was the name of the vessel to which he had been appointed, a ship of 400 tons, newly launched, and pierced for twenty-four guns.  Two more months passed away, during which Philip superintended the fitting and loading of the vessel, assisted by his favourite Krantz, who served in her as first mate.  Every convenience and comfort that Philip could think of was prepared for Amine; and in the month of May he started, with orders to stop at Gambroon and Ceylon, run down the Straits of Sumatra, and from thence to force his way into the China seas, the Company having every reason to expect from the Portuguese the most determined opposition to the attempt.  His ship’s company was numerous, and he had a small detachment of soldiers on board to assist the supercargo, who carried out many thousand dollars to make purchases at ports in China, where their goods might not be appreciated.  Every care had been taken in the equipment of the vessel, which was perhaps the finest, the best manned, and freighted with the most valuable cargo, which had been sent out by the India Company.

The Utrecht sailed with a flowing sheet, and was soon clear of the English Channel; the voyage promised to be auspicious, favouring gales bore them without accident to within a few hundred miles of the Cape of Good Hope, when, for the first time, they were becalmed.  Amine was delighted:  in the evenings she would pace the deck with Philip; then all was silent, except the splash of the wave as it washed against the side of the vessel—­all was in repose and beauty, as the bright southern constellations sparkled over their heads.

“Whose destinies can be in these stars, which appear not to those who inhabit the northern regions?” said Amine, as she cast her eyes above, and watched them in their brightness; “and what does that falling meteor portend? what causes its rapid descent from heaven?”

“Do you, then, put faith in stars, Amine?”

“In Araby we do; and why not?  They were not spread over the sky to give light—­for what then?”

“To beautify the world.  They have their uses, too.”

“Then you agree with me—­they have their uses, and the destinies of men are there concealed.  My mother was one of those who could read them well.  Alas! for me they are a sealed book.”

“Is it not better so, Amine?”

“Better!—­say better to grovel on this earth with our selfish, humbled race, wandering in mystery, and awe, and doubt, when we can communicate with the intelligences above!  Does not the soul leap at her admission to confer with superior powers?  Does not the proud heart bound at the feeling that its owner is one of those more gifted than the usual race of mortals?  Is it not a noble ambition?”

“A dangerous one—­most dangerous.”

“And therefore most noble.  They seem as if they would speak to me:  look at yon bright star—­it beckons to me.”

For some time Amine’s eyes were raised aloft; she spoke not, and Philip remained at her side.  She walked to the gangway of the vessel, and looked down upon the placid wave, pierced by the moonbeams far below the surface.