As Amine spoke, Philip felt something touch his shoulder, and a sudden chill ran through his frame. In a moment his ideas reverted to the probable cause: he turned round his head, and, to his amazement, beheld the (supposed to be drowned) mate of the _Ter Schilling_, the one-eyed Schriften, who stood behind him, with a letter in his hand. The sudden appearance of this malignant wretch induced Philip to exclaim, "Merciful heaven! is it possible?" Amine, who had turned her head round at the exclamation of Philip, covered up her face, and burst into tears. It was not fear that caused this unusual emotion on her part, but the conviction that her husband was never to be at rest but in the grave. "Philip Vanderdecken," said Schriften, "he! he! I've a letter for you--it is from the Company." Philip took the letter, but, previous to opening it, he fixed his eyes upon Schriften. "I thought," said he, "that you were drowned when the ship was wrecked in False Bay. How did you escape?" "How did I escape?" replied Schriften. "Allow me to ask how did you escape?" "I was thrown up by the waves," replied Philip; "but--" "But," interrupted Schriften, "he! he! the waves ought _not_ to have thrown me up." "And why not, pray? I did not say that." "No! but I presume you wish it had been so; but, on the contrary, I escaped in the same way that you did--I was thrown up by the waves--he! he! but I can't wait here. I have done my bidding." "Stop," replied Philip; answer me one question. "Do you sail in the same vessel with me this time?" "I'd rather be excused," replied Schriften; "I am not looking for the Phantom Ship, Mynheer Vanderdecken;" and, with this reply, the little man turned round and went away at a rapid pace. "Is not this a summons, Amine?" said Philip, after a pause, still holding the letter in his hand, with the seal unbroken. "I will not deny it, dearest Philip. It is most surely so; the hateful messenger appears to have risen from the grave that he might deliver it. Forgive me, Philip; but I was taken by surprise. I will not again annoy you with a woman's weakness." "My poor Amine," replied Philip, mournfully. "Alas! why did I not perform my pilgrimage alone? It was selfish of me to link you with so much wretchedness, and join you with me in bearing the fardel of never-ending anxiety and suspense." "And who should bear it with you, my dearest Philip, if it is not the wife of your bosom? You little know my heart if you think I shrink from the duty. No, Philip, it is a pleasure, even in its most acute pangs; for I consider that I am, by partaking with, relieving you of a portion of your sorrow, and I feel proud that I am the wife of one who has been selected to be so peculiarly tried. But, dearest, no more of this. You must read the letter."