“Be it so; he has spoken, but not plainly.  He has promised me what I have long been prepared for—­what I vowed to Heaven to suffer.  Already have I suffered much, and am prepared to suffer more.  I have long looked upon this world as a pilgrimage, and (selected as I have been) trust that my reward will be in the other.  But, Amine, you are not bound by oath to Heaven, you have made no compact.  He advised you to go home.  He talked of a cruel death.  Follow his advice and avoid it.”

“I am not bound by oath, Philip; but hear me; as I hope for future bliss, I now bind myself—­”

“Hold, Amine!”

“Nay, Philip, you cannot prevent me; for if you do now, I will repeat it when you are absent.  A cruel death were a charity to me, for I shall not see you suffer.  Then may I never expect future bliss, may eternal misery be my portion, if I leave you as long as fate permits us to be together.  I am yours—­your wife; my fortunes, my present, my future, my all are embarked with you, and destiny may do its worst, for Amine will not quail.  I have no recreant heart to turn aside from danger or from suffering.  In that one point, Philip, at least, you chose, you wedded well.”

Philip raised her hand to his lips in silence, and the conversation was not resumed.  The next evening, Schriften came up again to Amine.  “Well, lady?” said he.

“Schriften, it cannot be,” replied Amine; “yet do I thank you much.”

“Lady, if he must follow up his mission, why should you?”

“Schriften, I am his wife—­his for ever, in this world, and the next.  You cannot blame me.”

“No,” replied Schriften, “I do not blame, I admire you.  I feel sorry.  But, after all, what is death?  Nothing.  He! he!” and Schriften hastened away, and left Amine to herself.

Chapter XXII

The Utrecht sailed from Gambroon, touched at Ceylon, and proceeded on her voyage in the Eastern Seas.  Schriften still remained on board, but since his last conversation with Amine he had kept aloof, and appeared to avoid both her and Philip; still there was not, as before, any attempt to make the ship’s company disaffected, nor did he indulge in his usual taunts and sneers.  The communication he had made to Amine had also its effect upon her and Philip; they were more pensive and thoughtful; each attempted to conceal their gloom from the other; and when they embraced, it was with the mournful feeling that perhaps it was an indulgence they would soon be deprived of:  at the same time, they steeled their hearts to endurance and prepared to meet the worst.  Krantz wondered at the change, but of course could not account for it.  The Utrecht was not far from the Andaman Isles, when Krantz, who had watched the barometer, came in early one morning and called Philip.

“We have every prospect of a typhoon, sir,” said Krantz; “the glass and the weather are both threatening.”