“There must have been some potent reasons for not opening the chamber.”

“There were.”

“What were they, Philip?” said Amine, in a soft and low tone of voice.

“I must not tell, at least I ought not.  This must satisfy you—­’twas the fear of an apparition.”

“What apparition?”

“She said that my father had appeared to her.”

“And did he, think you, Philip?”

“I have no doubt that he did.  But I can answer no more questions, Amine.  The chamber is open now, and there is no fear of his reappearance.”

“I fear not that,” replied Amine, musing.  “But,” continued she, “is not this connected with your resolution of going to sea?”

“So far will I answer you, that it has decided me to go to sea; but I pray you ask no more.  It is painful to refuse you, and my duty forbids me to speak further.”

For some minutes they were both silent, when Amine resumed—­

“You were so anxious to possess that relic, that I cannot help thinking it has connection with the mystery.  Is it not so?”

“For the last time, Amine, I will answer your question—­it has to do with it:  but now no more.”

Philip’s blunt and almost rude manner of finishing his speech was not lost upon Amine, who replied,

“You are so engrossed with other thoughts, that you have not felt the compliment shown you by my taking such interest about you, sir.”

“Yes, I do—­I feel and thank you too, Amine.  Forgive me, if I have been rude; but recollect, the secret is not mine—­at least, I feel as if it were not.  God knows, I wish I never had known it, for it has blasted all my hopes in life.”

Philip was silent; and when he raised his eyes, he found that Amine’s were fixed upon him.

“Would you read my thoughts, Amine, or my secret?”

“Your thoughts perhaps—­your secret I would not; yet do I grieve that it should oppress you so heavily as evidently it does.  It must, indeed, be one of awe to bear down a mind like yours, Philip.”

“Where did you learn to be so brave, Amine?” said Philip, changing the conversation.

“Circumstances make people brave or otherwise; those who are accustomed to difficulty and danger fear them not.”

“And where have you met with them, Amine?”

“In the country where I was born, not in this dank and muddy land.”

“Will you trust me with the story of your former life, Amine?  I can be secret, if you wish.”

“That you can be secret perhaps, against my wish, you have already proved to me,” replied Amine, smiling; “and you have a claim to know something of the life you have preserved.  I cannot tell you much, but what I can will be sufficient.  My father, when a lad on board of a trading vessel, was taken by the Moors, and sold as a slave to a Hakim, or physician, of their country.  Finding him very intelligent, the Moor brought him up as an assistant,