“And that pistol was intended for me,” said Amine, smiling, repeating Philip’s words of the night before.

“For you, Amine?—­yes, to defend you, if ’twere necessary, once more.”

“I know it would—­how kind of you to watch this tedious night after so much exertion and fatigue! but it is now broad day.”

“Until I saw the dawn, Amine, I kept a faithful watch.”

“But now retire and take some rest.  My father is risen—­you can lie down on his bed.”

“I thank you, but I feel no wish for sleep.  There is much to do.  We must to the burgomaster and state the facts, and these bodies must remain where they are until the whole is known.  Will your father go, Amine, or shall I?”

“My father surely is the more proper person, as the proprietor of the house.  You must remain; and if you will not sleep, you must take some refreshment.  I will go in and tell my father; he has already taken his morning’s meal.”

Amine went in, and soon returned with her father, who had consented to go to the burgomaster.  He saluted Philip kindly as he came out; shuddered as he passed on one side to avoid stepping over the dead bodies, and went off at a quick pace to the adjacent town, where the burgomaster resided.

Amine desired Philip to follow her, and they went into her father’s room, where, to his surprise, he found some coffee ready for him—­at that time a rarity, and one which Philip did not expect to find in the house of the penurious Mynheer Poots; but it was a luxury which, from his former life, the old man could not dispense with.

Philip, who had not tasted food for nearly twenty-four hours, was not sorry to avail himself of what was placed before him.  Amine sat down opposite to him, and was silent during his repast.

“Amine,” said Philip at last, “I have had plenty of time for reflection during this night, as I watched at the door.  May I speak freely?”

“Why not?” replied Amine.  “I feel assured that you will say nothing that you should not say, or should not meet a maiden’s ear.”

“You do me justice, Amine.  My thoughts have been upon you and your father.  You cannot stay in this lone habitation.”

“I feel it is too lonely; that is, for his safety—­perhaps for mine—­but you know my father—­the very loneliness suits him, the price paid for rent is little, and he is careful of his money.”

“The man who would be careful of his money should place it in security—­here it is not secure.  Now hear me, Amine.  I have a cottage surrounded, as you may have heard, by many others, which mutually protect each other.  That cottage I am about to leave—­perhaps for ever; for I intend to sail by the first ship to the Indian seas.”

“The Indian seas! why so?—­did you not last night talk of thousands of guilders?”

“I did, and they are there; but, Amine, I must go—­it is my duty.  Ask me no more, but listen to what I now propose.  Your father must live in my cottage; he must take care of it for me in my absence; he will do me a favour by consenting; and you must persuade him.  You will there be safe.  He must also take care of my money for me.  I want it not at present—­I cannot take it with me.”