“Father,” said Amine, “you promised to go and see the child of the burgomaster; it is time you went.”

“Yes, yes—­by-and-bye—­all in good time; but I must wait the pleasure of Mr Philip first—­he has much to tell me before he goes.”

Philip could not help smiling when he remembered what had passed when he first summoned Mynheer Poots to the cottage, but the remembrance ended in sorrow and a clouded brow.

Amine, who knew what was passing in the minds of both her father and Philip, now brought her father’s hat, and led him to the door of the cottage; and Mynheer Poots, very much against his inclination, but never disputing the will of his daughter, was obliged to depart.

“So soon, Philip?” said Amine, returning to the room.

“Yes, Amine, immediately.  But I trust to be back once more before I sail; if not, you must now have my instructions.  Give me the keys.”

Philip opened the cupboard below the buffet, and the doors of the iron safe.

“There, Amine, is my money; we need not count it, as your father would propose.  You see that I was right when I asserted that I had thousands of guilders.  At present they are of no use to me, as I have to learn my profession.  Should I return some day, they may help me to own a ship.  I know not what my destiny may be.”

“And should you not return?” replied Amine, gravely.

“Then they are yours—­as well as all that is in this cottage, and the cottage itself.”

“You have relations, have you not?”

“But one, who is rich; an uncle, who helped us but little in our distress, and who has no children.  I owe him but little, and he wants nothing.  There is but one being in this world who has created an interest in this heart, Amine, and it is you.  I wish you to look upon me as a brother—­I shall always love you as a dear sister.”

Amine made no reply.  Philip took some more money out of the bag which had been opened, for the expenses of his journey, and then locking up the safe and cupboard, gave the keys to Amine.  He was about to address her, when there was a slight knock at the door, and in entered Father Seysen, the priest.

“Save you, my son; and you, my child, whom as yet I have not seen.  You are, I suppose, the daughter of Mynheer Poots?”

Amine bowed her head.

“I perceive, Philip, that the room is now opened, and I have heard of all that has passed.  I would now talk with thee, Philip, and must beg this maiden to leave us for awhile alone.”

Amine quitted the room, and the priest, sitting down on the couch, beckoned Philip to his side.  The conversation which ensued was too long to repeat.  The priest first questioned Philip relative to his secret, but on that point he could not obtain the information which he wished; Philip stated as much as he did to Amine, and no more.  He also declared his intention of going to sea, and that, should he not return, he