"No, no, still warm in flesh and blood, Amine--still your fond and doting husband," replied Philip, catching her in his arms, and pressing her to his heart. Amine sank from his embrace down upon the sofa, and fortunately was relieved by a burst of tears, while Philip, kneeling by her, supported her. "O God! O God! I thank thee," replied Amine, at last. "I thought it was your spirit, Philip. O I was glad to see even that," continued she, weeping on his shoulder. "Can you listen to me, dearest?" said Philip, after a silence of a few moments. "O speak, speak, love; I can listen for ever." In a few words Philip then recounted what had taken place, and the occasion of his unexpected return, and felt himself more than repaid for all that he had suffered by the fond endearments of his still agitated Amine. "And your father, Amine?" "He is well--we will talk of him to-morrow." "Yes," thought Philip, as he awoke next morning, and dwelt upon the lovely features of his still slumbering wife: "yes, God is merciful. I feel that there is still happiness in store for me; nay more, that that happiness also depends upon my due performance of my task, and that I should be punished if I were to forget my solemn vow. Be it so,--through danger and to death will I perform my duty, trusting to his mercy for a reward both here below and in heaven above. Am I not repaid for all that I have suffered? O yes, more than repaid," thought Philip, as, with a kiss, he disturbed the slumber of his wife, and met her full dark eyes fixed upon him, beaming with love and joy. Before Philip Went downstairs, he inquired about Mynheer Poots. "My father has indeed troubled me much," replied Amine. "I am obliged to lock the parlour when I leave it, for more than once I have found him attempting to force the locks of the buffets. His love of gold is insatiable: he dreams of nothing else. He has caused me much pain, insisting that I never should see you again, and that I should surrender to him all your wealth. But he fears me, and he fears your return much more." "Is he well in health?" "Not ill, but still evidently wasting away,--like a candle burnt down to the socket, flitting and flaring alternately; at one time almost imbecile, at others, talking and planning as if he were in the vigour of his youth. O what a curse it must be--that love of money! I believe--I'm shocked to say so, Philip,--that that poor old man, now on the brink of a grave into which he can take nothing, would sacrifice your life and mine to have possession of those guilders, the whole of which I would barter for one kiss from thee." "Indeed, Amine, has he then attempted anything in my absence?"