“All is safe now, young lady,” said Philip.  “God forgive me that I should have risked a life so precious.  I thought but to wreak my vengeance upon Mynheer Poots.”

“And what cause can Mynheer Poots have given for such dreadful vengeance?” replied the maiden calmly.

“What cause, young lady?  He came to my house—­despoiled the dead—­took from my mother’s corpse a relic beyond price.”

“Despoiled the dead!—­he surely cannot—­you must wrong him, young sir.”

“No, no.  It is the fact, lady,—­and that relic—­forgive me—­but that relic I must have.  You know not what depends upon it.”

“Wait, young sir,” replied the maiden; “I will soon return.”

Philip waited several minutes, lost in thought and admiration:  so fair a creature in the house of Mynheer Poots!  Who could she be?  While thus ruminating, he was accosted by the silver voice of the object of his reveries, who, leaning out of the window, held in her hand the black ribbon to which was attached the article so dearly coveted.

“Here is your relic, sir,” said the young female; “I regret much that my father should have done a deed which well might justify your anger:  but here it is,” continued she, dropping it down on the ground by Philip; “and now you may depart.”

“Your father, maiden! can he be your father?” said Philip, forgetting to take up the relic which lay at his feet.

She would have retired from the window without reply, but Philip spoke again—­

“Stop, lady, stop one moment, until I beg your forgiveness for my wild, foolish act.  I swear by this sacred relic,” continued he, taking it from the ground and raising it to his lips, “that had I known that any unoffending person had been in this house, I would not have done the deed, and much do I rejoice that no harm hath happened.  But there is still danger, lady; the door must be unbarred, and the jambs, which still are glowing, be extinguished, or the house may yet be burnt.  Fear not for your father, maiden, for had he done me a thousand times more wrong, you will protect each hair upon his head.  He knows me well enough to know I keep my word.  Allow me to repair the injury I have occasioned, and then I will depart.”

“No, no; don’t trust him,” said Mynheer Poots, from within the chamber.

“Yes, he may be trusted,” replied the daughter; “and his services are much needed, for what could a poor weak girl like me, and a still weaker father, do in this strait?  Open the door, and let the house be made secure.”  The maiden then addressed Philip—­“He shall open the door, sir, and I will thank you for your kind service.  I trust entirely to your promise.”

“I never yet was known to break my word, maiden,” replied Philip; “but let him be quick, for the flames are bursting out again.”

The door was opened by the trembling hands of Mynheer Poots, who then made a hasty retreat upstairs.  The truth of what Philip had said was then apparent.  Many were the buckets of water which he was obliged to fetch before the fire was subdued; but during his exertions neither the daughter nor the father made their appearance.