Towards evening they had neared the large island, and they soon ran down it close to the beach.  Philip’s eyes wandered in every direction to ascertain whether anything on the shore indicated the presence of Amine’s raft, but he could perceive nothing of the kind, nor did he see any inhabitants.

That they might not pass the object of their search during the night, they ran their raft on shore, in a small cove, where the waters were quite smooth, and remained there until the next morning, when they again made sail and prosecuted their voyage.  Krantz was steering with the long sweep they had fitted for the purpose, when he observed Philip, who had been for some time silent, take from his breast the relic which he wore, and gaze attentively upon it.

“Is that your picture, Philip?” observed Krantz.

“Alas!  No, it is my destiny,” replied Philip, answering without reflection.

“Your destiny!  What mean you?”

“Did I say my destiny?  I hardly know what I said,” replied Philip, replacing the relic in his bosom.

“I rather think you said more than you intended,” replied Krantz, “but at the same time, something near the truth.  I have often perceived you with that trinket in your hand, and I have not forgotten how anxious Schriften was to obtain it, and the consequences of his attempt upon it.  Is there not some secret—­some mystery attached to it?  Surely, if so, you must now sufficiently know me as your friend, to feel me worthy of your confidence.”

“That you are my friend, Krantz, I feel—­my sincere and much valued friend, for we have shared much danger together, and that is sufficient to make us friends—­that I could trust you, I believe, but I feel as if I dare not trust anyone.  There is a mystery attached to this relic (for a relic it is), which as yet has been confided to my wife and holy men alone.”

“And if trusted to holy men, surely it may be trusted to sincere friendship, than which nothing is more holy.”

“But I have a presentiment that the knowledge of my secret would prove fatal to you.  Why I feel such a presentiment I know not; but I feel it, Krantz; and I cannot afford to lose you, my valued friend.”

“You will not, then, make use of my friendship, it appears,” replied Krantz.  “I have risked my life with you before now, and I am not to be deterred from the duties of friendship by a childish foreboding on your part, the result of an agitated mind and a weakened body.  Can anything be more absurd than to suppose, that a secret confided to me can be pregnant with danger, unless it be, indeed, that my zeal to assist you may lead me into difficulties.  I am not of a prying disposition; but we have been so long connected together, and are now so isolated from the rest of the world, that it appears to me it would be a solace to you, were you to confide in one whom you can trust, what evidently has long preyed upon your mind.  The consolation and advice of a friend, Philip, are not to be despised, and you will feel relieved if able to talk over with him a subject which evidently oppresses you.  If, therefore, you value my friendship, let me share with you in your sorrows.”