“To the beautiful Amine Vanderdecken,” followed Philip. “But, commandant, are you not afraid to trust her at Goa, where there are so many enticements for a woman, so many allurements held out for her sex?”
“No, not in the least—I am convinced that she loves me—nay, between ourselves, that she doats upon me.”
“Liar!” exclaimed Philip.
“How, signor! is that addressed to me?” cried the commandant, seizing his sword, which lay on the table.
“No, no,” replied Philip, recovering himself; “it was addressed to her. I have heard her swear to her husband, that she would exist for no other but him.”
“Ha! ha! Is that all?” replied the commandant; “my friend, you do not know women.”
“No, nor is he very partial to them either,” replied Krantz, who then leant over to the commandant and whispered, “He is always so when you talk of women. He was cruelly jilted once, and hates the whole sex.”
“Then we must be merciful to him,” replied the little officer: “suppose we change the subject.”
When they repaired to their own room, Krantz pointed out to Philip the necessity for his commanding his feelings, as otherwise they would again be immured in the dungeon. Philip acknowledged his rashness, but pointed out to Krantz, that the circumstance of Amine having promised to marry the commandant, if he procured certain intelligence of his death, was the cause of his irritation. “Can it be so? Is it possible that she can have been so false?” exclaimed Philip; “yet his anxiety to procure that document seems to warrant the truth of his assertion.”
“I think, Philip, that in all probability it is true,” replied Krantz, carelessly; “but of this you may be assured, that she has been placed in a situation of great peril, and has only done so to save herself for your sake. When you meet, depend upon it she will fully prove to you that necessity had compelled her to deceive him in that way and that if she had not done so, she would, by this time, have fallen a prey to his violence.”