“I will not,” replied Philip; “nor, you may depend upon it, will I sleep.  You may both to bed in safety.  It is indeed time that you retire—­good-night, Mynheer Poots.  I will but ask a lamp, and then I leave you—­Amine, good-night.”

“Good-night,” said Amine, extending her hand, “and many, many thanks.”

“Thousands of guilders!” muttered the old man, as Philip left the room and went below.

Chapter V

Philip Vanderdecken sat down at the porch of the door; he swept his hair from his forehead, which he exposed to the fanning of the breeze; for the continued excitement of the last three days had left a fever on his brain which made him restless and confused.  He longed for repose, but he knew that for him there was no rest.  He had his forebodings—­he perceived in the vista of futurity a long-continued chain of danger and disaster, even to death; yet he beheld it without emotion and without dread.  He felt as if it were only three days that he had begun to exist; he was melancholy, but not unhappy.  His thoughts were constantly recurring to the fatal letter—­its strange supernatural disappearance seemed pointedly to establish its supernatural origin, and that the mission had been intended for him alone; and the relic in his possession more fully substantiated the fact.

It is my fate, my duty, thought Philip.  Having satisfactorily made up his mind to these conclusions, his thoughts reverted to the beauty, the courage, and presence of mind shown by Amine.  And, thought he, as he watched the moon soaring high in the heavens, is this fair creature’s destiny to be interwoven with mine?  The events of the last three days would almost warrant the supposition.  Heaven only knows, and Heaven’s will be done.  I have vowed, and my vow is registered, that I will devote my life to the release of my unfortunate father—­but does that prevent my loving Amine?—­No, no; the sailor on the Indian seas must pass months and months on shore before he can return to his duty.  My search must be on the broad ocean, but how often may I return? and why am I to be debarred the solace of a smiling hearth?—­and yet—­do I right in winning the affections of one who, if she loves, would, I am convinced, love so dearly, fondly, truly—­ought I to persuade her to mate herself with one whose life will be so precarious? but is not every sailor’s life precarious, daring the angry waves, with but an inch of plank ’tween him and death?  Besides, I am chosen to fulfil a task—­and if so, what can hurt me, till in Heaven’s own time it is accomplished? but then how soon, and how is it to end? in death!  I wish my blood were cooler, that I might reason better.

Such were the meditations of Philip Vanderdecken, and long did he revolve such chances in his mind.  At last the day dawned, and as he perceived the blush upon the horizon, less careful of his watch he slumbered where he sat.  A slight pressure on the shoulder made him start up and draw the pistol from his bosom.  He turned round and beheld Amine.