“It was thoughtful of you, Philip, and I thank you for your kind feeling towards me; but I wish you had said nothing on the subject.  You do not know my father; I must now watch him as an enemy.”

“We have little to fear from an infirm old man,” replied Philip, laughing.  But Amine thought otherwise, and was ever on her guard.

The spring and summer passed rapidly away, for they were happy.  Many were the conversations between Philip and Amine, relative to what had passed—­the supernatural appearance of his father’s ship, and the fatal wreck.

Amine felt that more dangers and difficulties were preparing for her husband, but she never once attempted to dissuade him from renewing his attempts in fulfilment of his vow.  Like him, she looked forward with hope and confidence, aware that, at some time, his fate must be accomplished, and trusting only that that hour would be long delayed.

At the close of the summer, Philip again went to Amsterdam, to procure for himself a berth in one of the vessels which were to sail at the approach of winter.

The wreck of the Ter Schilling was well known; and the circumstances attending it, with the exception of the appearance of the Phantom Ship, had been drawn up by Philip on his passage home, and communicated to the Court of Directors.  Not only on account of the very creditable manner in which that report had been prepared, but in consideration of his peculiar sufferings and escape, he had been promised by the Company a berth, as second mate, on board of one of their vessels, should he be again inclined to sail to the East Indies.

Having called upon the Directors, he received his appointment to the Batavia, a fine vessel of about 400 tons burden.  Having effected his purpose, Philip hastened back to Terneuse, and, in the presence of Mynheer Poots, informed Amine of what he had done.

“So you go to sea again?” observed Mynheer Poots.

“Yes, but not for two months, I expect,” replied Philip.

“Ah!” replied Poots, “in two months!” and the old man muttered to himself.

How true it is that we can more easily bear up against a real evil than against suspense!  Let it not be supposed that Amine fretted at the thought of her approaching separation from her husband; she lamented it, but feeling his departure to be an imperious duty, and having it ever in her mind, she bore up against her feelings, and submitted, without repining, to what could not be averted.  There was, however, one circumstance, which caused her much uneasiness—­that was the temper and conduct of her father.  Amine, who knew his character well, perceived that he already secretly hated Philip, whom he regarded as an obstacle to his obtaining possession of the money in the house; for the old man was well aware that, if Philip were dead, his daughter would care little who had possession of, or what became of it.  The thought that Philip was about to take that money with him had almost turned the brain of the avaricious old man.  He had been watched by Amine, and she had seen him walk for hours muttering to himself, and not, as usual, attending to his profession.