“Well, I do not; there is a kindness and liberality about the old man that I admire. I should like to argue the question with him.”
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 I 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.”