“So I am told,” replied Amine.

“Will you take the advice of one who wishes you well?  Return in that vessel, go back to your own cottage, and stay there till your husband comes to you once more.”

“Why is this advice given?”

“Because I forbode danger, nay, perhaps death, a cruel death, to one I would not harm.”

“To me!” replied Amine, fixing her eyes upon Schriften, and meeting his piercing gaze.

“Yes, to you.  Some people can see into futurity farther than others.”

“Not if they are mortal,” replied Amine.

“Yes, if they are mortal.  But mortal or not, I do see that which I would avert.  Tempt not destiny farther.”

“Who can avert it?  If I take your counsel, still was it my destiny to take your counsel.  If I take it not, still it was my destiny.”

“Well, then, avoid what threatens you.”

“I fear not, yet do I thank you.  Tell me, Schriften, hast thou not thy fate someway interwoven with that of my husband?  I feel that thou hast.”

“Why think you so, lady?”

“For many reasons:  twice you have summoned him, twice have you been wrecked, and miraculously reappeared and recovered.  You know, too, of his mission, that is evident.”

“But proves nothing.”

“Yes! it proves much; for it proves that you knew what was supposed to be known but to him alone.”

“It was known to you, and holy men debated on it,” replied Schriften with a sneer.

“How knew you that, again?”

“He! he!” replied Schriften; “forgive me, lady, I meant not to affront you.”

“You cannot deny that you are connected mysteriously and incomprehensibly with this mission of my husband’s.  Tell me, is it as he believes, true and holy?”

“If he thinks that it is true and holy, it becomes so.”

“Why then do you appear his enemy?”

“I am not his enemy, fair lady.”

“You are not his enemy—­why then did you once attempt to deprive him of the mystic relic by which the mission is to be accomplished?”

“I would prevent his further search, for reasons which must not be told.  Does that prove that I am his enemy?  Would it not be better that he should remain on shore with competence and you, than be crossing the wild seas on this mad search?  Without the relic it is not to be accomplished.  It were a kindness, then, to take it from him.”

Amine answered not, for she was lost in thought.

“Lady,” continued Schriften, after a time; “I wish you well.  For your husband I care not, yet do I wish him no harm.  Now hear me; if you wish for your future life to be one of ease and peace—­if you wish to remain long in this world with the husband of your choice—­of your first and warmest love—­if you wish that he should die in his bed at a good old age, and that you should close his eyes with children’s tears lamenting, and their smiles reserved to cheer