“Well, Philip, what did you hear me say?” enquired his mother with tremulous anxiety.

“You said, mother, that there was money in that room which would save us; and then you screamed and raved, and said that you preferred death.  Now, mother, what is there in that chamber, and why has it been so long shut up?  Either I know that, or I go to sea.”

At the commencement of this address of Philip, his mother appeared to be transfixed, and motionless as a statue; gradually her lips separated, and her eyes glared; she seemed to have lost the power of reply; she put her hand to her right side, as if to compress it, then both her hands, as if to relieve herself from excruciating torture:  at last she sank, with her head forward, and the blood poured out of her mouth.

Philip sprang from the table to her assistance, and prevented her from falling on the floor.  He laid her on the couch, watching with alarm the continued effusion.

“Oh! mother—­mother, what is this?” cried he, at last, in great distress.

For some time his mother could make him no reply; she turned further on her side, that she might not be suffocated by the discharge from the ruptured vessel, and the snow-white planks of the floor were soon crimsoned with her blood.

“Speak, dearest mother, if you can,” repeated Philip, in agony; “what shall I do? what shall I give you?  God Almighty! what is this?”

“Death, my child, death!” at length replied the poor woman, sinking into a state of unconsciousness.

Philip, now much alarmed, flew out of the cottage, and called the neighbours to his mother’s assistance.  Two or three hastened to the call; and as soon as Philip saw them occupied in restoring his mother, he ran as fast as he could to the house of a medical man, who lived about a mile off—­one Mynheer Poots, a little, miserable, avaricious wretch, but known to be very skilful in his profession.  Philip found Poots at home, and insisted upon his immediate attendance.

“I will come—­yes, most certainly,” replied Poots, who spoke the language but imperfectly; “but Mynheer Vanderdecken, who will pay me?”

“Pay you! my uncle will, directly that he comes home.”

“Your uncle de Skipper Van Brennen:  no, he owes me four guilders, and he has owed me for a long time.  Besides, his ship may sink.”

“He shall pay you the four guilders, and for this attendance also,” replied Philip, in a rage; “come directly, while you are disputing my mother may be dead.”

“But, Mr Philip, I cannot come, now I recollect; I have to see the child of the burgomaster at Terneuse,” replied Mynheer Poots.

“Look you, Mynheer Poots,” exclaimed Philip, red with passion; “you have but to choose,—­will you go quietly, or must I take you there?  You’ll not trifle with me.”

Here Mynheer Poots was under considerable alarm, for the character of Philip Vanderdecken was well known.