For some minutes, Amine leant against the wall in a state of bewilderment; her brain whirled; at last she recovered herself.

“’Tis to be proved at once,” thought she, as she went up to the table, and looked into the silver cup in which she had mixed the powder—­it was empty!  “The God of Righteousness hath punished him!” exclaimed Amine; “but, O! that this man should have been my father!  Yes! it is plain.  Frightened at his own wicked, damned intentions, he poured out more wine from the flagon, to blunt his feelings of remorse; and not knowing that the powder was still in the cup, he filled it up, and drank himself—­the death he meant for another!  For another!—­and for whom? one wedded to his own daughter!—­Philip! my husband!  Wert thou not my father,” continued Amine, looking at the dead body, “I would spit upon thee, and curse thee! but thou art punished, and may God forgive thee! thou poor, weak, wicked creature!”

Amine then left the room, and went upstairs, where she found Philip still fast asleep, and in a profuse perspiration.  Most women would have awakened their husbands, but Amine thought not of herself; Philip was ill, and Amine would not arouse him to agitate him.  She sat down by the side of the bed, and with her hands pressed upon her forehead, and her elbows resting on her knees, she remained in deep thought until the sun had risen and poured his bright beams through the casement.

She was roused from her reflections by another summons at the door of the cottage.  She hastened down to the entrance, but did not open the door.

“Mynheer Poots is required immediately,” said the girl, who was the messenger.

“My good Therese,” replied Amine, “my father has more need of assistance than the poor woman; for his travail in this world, I fear, is well over.  I found him very ill when I went to call him, and he has not been able to quit his bed.  I must now entreat you to do my message, and desire Father Seysen to come hither; for my poor father is, I fear, in extremity.”

“Mercy on me!” replied Therese.  “Is it so?  Fear not but I will do your bidding, Mistress Amine.”

The second knocking had awakened Philip, who felt that he was much better, and his headache had left him.  He perceived that Amine had not taken any rest that night, and he was about to expostulate with her, when she at once told him what had occurred.

“You must dress yourself, Philip,” continued she, “and must assist me to carry up his body, and place it in his bed, before the arrival of the priest.  God of mercy! had I given you that powder, my dearest Philip—­but let us not talk about it.  Be quick, for Father Seysen will be here soon.”

Philip was soon dressed, and followed Amine down into the parlour.  The sun shone bright, and his rays were darted upon the haggard face of the old man, whose fists were clenched, and his tongue fixed between the teeth on one side of his mouth.