CHAPTER SIX.
"This, then, is the chamber, which has so long been closed," said Amine,on entering it the next morning long before Philip had awakened from thesound sleep produced by the watching of the night before. "Yes, indeed,it has the air of having long been closed." Amine looked around her,and then examined the furniture. Her eyes were attracted to thebirdcages: she looked into them:--"Poor little things!" continued she,"and here it was his father appeared unto his mother. Well, it may beso,--Philip saith that he hath proofs; and why should he not appear?Were Philip dead, I should rejoice to see his spirit,--at least it wouldbe something. What am I saying--unfaithful lips, thus to betray mysecret?--The table thrown over:--that looks like the work of fear; aworkbox, with all its implements scattered,--only a woman's fear: amouse might have caused all this; and yet there is something solemn inthe simple fact that, for so many years, not a living being has crossedthese boards. Even that a table thus overthrown could so remain foryears seems scarcely natural, and therefore has its power on the mind.I wonder not that Philip feels there is so heavy a secret belonging tothis room--but it must not remain in this condition--it must be occupiedat once."
Amine, who had long been accustomed to attend upon her father, andperform the household duties, now commenced her intended labours.
Every part of the room, and every piece of furniture in it, werecleaned; even the cobwebs and dust were cleared away, and the sofa andtable brought from the corner to the centre of the room; the melancholylittle prisons were removed; and when Amine's work of neatness wascomplete, and the sun shone brightly into the opened window, the chamberwore the appearance of cheerfulness.
Amine had the intuitive good sense to feel that strong impressions wearaway when the objects connected with them are removed. She resolved,then, to make Philip more at ease; for, with all the fire and warmth ofblood inherent in her race, she had taken his image to her heart, andwas determined to win him. Again and again did she resume her labour,until the pictures about the room, and every other article, looked freshand clean.
Not only the birdcages, but the workbox and all the implements, wereremoved; and the piece of embroidery, the taking up of which had madePhilip recoil as if he had touched an adder, was put away with the rest.Philip had left the keys on the floor. Amine opened the buffets,cleaned the glazed doors, and was busy rubbing up the silver flagons,when her father came into the room.
"Mercy on me!" exclaimed Mynheer Poots; "and is all that silver?--thenit must be true, and he has thousands of guilders; but where are they?"
"Never do you mind, father; yours are now safe, and for that you have tothank Philip Vanderdecken."
"Yes, very true; but as he is to live here--does he eat much--what willhe pay me? He ought to pay well, as he has so much money."
Amine's lips were curled with a contemptuous smile, but she made noreply.
"I wonder where he keeps his money; and he is going to sea as soon as hecan get a ship? Who will have charge of his money when he goes?"
"I shall take charge of it, father," replied Amine.
"Ah--yes--well--we will take charge of it. The ship may be lost."
"No, _we_ will not take charge of it, father: you will have nothing todo with it. Look after your own."
Amine placed the silver in the buffets, locked the doors, and took thekeys with her when she went out to prepare breakfast, leaving the oldman gazing through the glazed doors at the precious metal within. Hiseyes were rivetted upon it, and he could not remove them. Every minutehe muttered, "Yes, all silver."
Philip came down stairs; and as he passed by the room, intending to gointo the kitchen, he perceived Mynheer Poots at the buffet, and hewalked into the room. He was surprised as well as pleased with thealteration. He felt why and by whom it was done, and he was grateful.Amine came in with the breakfast, and their eyes spoke more than theirlips could have done; and Philip sat down to his meal with less ofsorrow and gloom upon his brow.
"Mynheer Poots," said Philip, as soon as he had finished, "I intend toleave you in possession of my cottage, and I trust you will findyourself comfortable. What little arrangements are necessary, I willconfide to your daughter previous to my departure."
"Then you leave us, Mr Philip, to go to sea? It must be pleasant to goand see strange countries--much better than staying at home. When doyou go?"
"I shall leave this evening for Amsterdam," replied Philip, "to make myarrangements about a ship; but I shall return, I think, before I sail."
"Ah! you will return. Yes--you have your money and your goods to seeto; you must count your money. We will take good care of it. Where isyour money, Mr Vanderdecken?"
"That I will communicate to your daughter this forenoon, before I leave.In three weeks, at the furthest, you may expect me back."
"Father," said Amine, "you promised to go and see the child of theburgomaster; it is time you went."
"Yes, yes--by-and-by--all in good time; but I must wait the pleasure ofMr Philip first: he has much to tell me before he goes."
Philip could not help smiling when he remembered what had passed when hefirst summoned Mynheer Poots to the cottage; but the remembrance endedin sorrow and a clouded brow.
Amine, who knew what was passing in the minds of both her father andPhilip, now brought her father's hat, and led him to the door of thecottage; and Mynheer Poots, very much against his inclination--but neverdisputing 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 Isail; if not, you must now have my instructions. Give me the keys."
Philip opened the cupboard below the buffet, and the doors of the ironsafe.
"There, Amine, is my money. We need not count it, as your father wouldpropose. You see that I was right when I asserted that I had thousandsof guilders. At present they are of no use to me, as I have to learn myprofession. 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 thecottage itself."
"You have relations, have you not?"
"But one, who is rich--an uncle, who helped us but little in ourdistress, and who has no children. I owe him but little--and he wantsnothing. There is but one being in this world who has created aninterest in this heart, Amine, and it is you. I wish you to look uponme 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 whichhad been opened, for the expenses of his journey, and then locking upthe safe and cupboard, gave the keys to Amine. He was about to addressher when there was a slight knock at the door, and in entered FatherSeysen, the priest.
"Save you my son; and you, my child, whom as yet I have not seen. Youare, I suppose, the daughter of Mynheer Poots?"
Amine bowed her head.
"I perceive, Philip, that the room is now opened; and I have heard ofall that has passed. I would now talk with thee, Philip, and must begthis maiden to leave us for a while alone."
Amine quitted the room; and the priest, sitting down on the couch,beckoned Philip to his side. The conversation which ensued was too longto 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 declaredhis intention of going to sea, and that, should he not return, he hadbequeathed his property--the extent of which he did not make known--tothe doctor and his daughter. The priest then made inquiries relative toMynheer Poots, asking Philip whether he knew what his creed was, as hehad never appeared at any church, and report said that he was aninfidel. To this Philip, as usual, gave his frank answer, and intimatedthat the daughter, at least, was anxious to be enlightened, begging thepriest to undertake a task to which he himself was
not adequate. Tothis request Father Seysen, who perceived the state of Philip's mindwith regard to Amine, readily consented. After a conversation of nearlytwo hours, they were interrupted by the return of Mynheer Poots, whodarted out of the room the instant he perceived Father Seysen. Philipcalled Amine, and having begged her as a favour to receive the priest'svisits, the good old man blessed them both and departed.
"You did not give him any money, Mr Philip?" said Mynheer Poots, whenFather Seysen had left the room.
"I did not," replied Philip; "I wish I had thought of it."
"No, no--it is better not--for money is better than what he can giveyou; but he must not come here."
"Why not, father," replied Amine, "if Mr Philip wishes it? It is hisown house."
"O yes, if Mr Philip wishes it; but you know he is going away."
"Well, and suppose he is--why should not the Father come here? He shallcome here to see me."
"See you, my child!--what can he want with you? Well, then, if hecomes, I will not give him one stiver--and then he'll soon go away."
Philip had no opportunity of further converse with Amine; indeed he hadnothing more to say. In an hour he bade her farewell in presence of herfather, who would not leave them, hoping to obtain from Philip somecommunication about the money which he was to leave behind him.
In two days Philip arrived at Amsterdam, and having made the necessaryinquiries, found that there was no chance of vessels sailing for theEast Indies for some months. The Dutch East India Company had long beenformed, and all private trading was at an end. The Company's vesselsleft only at what was supposed to be the most favourable season forrounding the Cape of Storms, as the Cape of Good Hope was designated bythe early adventurers. One of the ships which were to sail with thenext fleet was the Ter Schilling, a three-masted vessel, now laid up andunrigged.
Philip found out the captain, and stated his wishes to sail with him, tolearn his profession as a seaman; the captain was pleased with hisappearance, and as Philip not only agreed to receive no wages during thevoyage, but to pay a premium as an apprentice learning his duty, he waspromised a berth on board as the second mate, to mess in the cabin; andhe was told that he should be informed whenever the vessel was to sail.Philip having now done all that he could in obedience to his vow,determined to return to the cottage; and once more he was in the companyof Amine.
We must now pass over two months, during which Mynheer Poots continuedto labour at his vocation, and was seldom within doors, and our twoyoung friends were left for hours together. Philip's love for Amine wasfully equal to hers for him. It was more than love,--it was a devotionon both sides, each day increasing. Who indeed could be more charming,more attractive in all ways than the high-spirited, yet tender Amine?Occasionally the brow of Philip would be clouded when he reflected uponthe dark prospect before him; but Amine's smile would chase away thegloom and as he gazed on her, all would be forgotten. Amine made nosecret of her attachment; it was shown in every word, every look, andevery gesture. When Philip would take her hand, or encircle her waistwith his arm, or even when he pressed her coral lips, there was nopretence of coyness on her part. She was too noble, too confiding; shefelt that her happiness was centred in his love, and she lived but inhis presence. Two months had thus passed away, when Father Seysen, whooften called, and had paid much attention to Amine's instruction, oneday came in as Amine was encircled in Philip's arms.
"My children," said he, "I have watched you for some time:--this is notwell. Philip, if you intend marriage, as I presume you do, still it isdangerous. I must join your hands."
Philip started up.
"Surely I am not deceived in thee, my son," continued the priest in asevere tone.
"No, no, good Father; but I pray you leave me now: to-morrow you maycome, and all will be decided. But I must talk with Amine."
The priest quitted the room, and Amine and Philip were again alone. Thecolour in Amine's cheek varied and her heart beat, for she felt how muchher happiness was at stake.
"The priest is right, Amine," said Philip sitting down by her. "Thiscannot last;--would that I could ever stay with you; how hard a fate ismine! You know I love the very ground you tread upon, yet I dare notask thee to wed to misery."
"To wed with thee would not be wedding misery, Philip," replied Amine,with downcast eyes.
"'Twere not kindness on my part, Amine. I should indeed be selfish."
"I will speak plainly, Philip," replied Amine. "You say you love me,--Iknow not how men love,--but this I know, how I can love. I feel that toleave me now were indeed unkind and selfish on your part; for, Philip,I--I should die. You say that you must go away--that fate demands it,--and your fatal secret. Be it so;--but cannot I go with you?"
"Go with me, Amine--unto death?"
"Yes, death; for what is death but a release? I fear not death, Philip;I fear but losing thee. Nay, more; is not your life in the hands of Himwho made all? then why so sure to die? You have hinted to me that youare chosen--selected for a task;--if chosen, there is less chance ofdeath; for until the end be fulfilled, if chosen, you must live. Iwould I knew your secret, Philip: a woman's wit might serve you well:and if it did not serve you, is there no comfort, no pleasure in sharingsorrow as well as joy with one you say you dote upon?"
"Amine, dearest Amine, it is my love, my ardent love alone, which makesme pause; for, O Amine, what pleasure should I feel if we were this hourunited? I hardly know what to say, or what to do. I could not withholdmy secret from you if you were my wife, nor will I wed you till you knowit. Well, Amine, I will cast my all upon the die. You shall know thissecret, learn what a doomed wretch I am, though from no fault of mine,and then you yourself shall decide. But remember my oath is registeredin heaven, and I must not be dissuaded from it: keep that in mind, andhear my tale,--then if you choose to wed with one whose prospects are sobitter, be it so,--a short-lived happiness will then be mine, but foryou, Amine--"
"At once the secret, Philip," cried Amine, impatiently.
Philip then entered into a detail of what our readers are acquaintedwith. Amine listened in silence; not a change of feature was to beobserved in her countenance during the narrative. Philip wound up withstating the oath which he had taken. "I have done," said Philip,mournfully.
"'Tis a strange story, Philip," replied Amine: "and now hear me;--butgive me first that relic,--I wish to look upon it. And can there besuch virtue--I had nigh said, such mischief--in this little thing?Strange; forgive me, Philip,--but I've still my doubts upon this tale of_Eblis_. You know I am not yet strong in the new belief which you andthe good priest have lately taught me. I do not say that it _cannot_ betrue: but still, one so unsettled as I am may be allowed to waver. But,Philip, I'll assume that all is true. Then, if it be true, without theoath you would be doing but your duty; and think not so meanly of Amineas to suppose she would restrain you from what is right. No, Philip,seek your father, and, if you can, and he requires your aid, then savehim. But, Philip do you imagine that a task like this, so high, is tobe accomplished at one trial? O! no; if you have been so chosen tofulfil it, you will be preserved through difficulty and danger until youhave worked out your end. You will be preserved and you will again andagain return;--be comforted--consoled--be cherished--and be loved byAmine as your wife. And when it pleases Him to call you from thisworld, your memory, if she survive you, Philip, will equally becherished in her bosom. Philip, you have given me to decide;--dearestPhilip, I am thine."
Amine extended her arms, and Philip pressed her to his bosom. Thatevening Philip demanded his daughter of the father, and Mynheer Poots,as soon as Philip opened the iron safe and displayed the guilders, gavehis immediate consent.
Father Seysen called the next day and received his answer--and threedays afterwards, the bells of the little church of Terneuse were ringinga merry peal for the union of Amine Poots and Philip Vanderdecken.
The Phantom Ship Page 6