“Amine, dear, hear me. I have appeared unexpectedly and at an unusual hour; but throw yourself into my arms, and you will find that your Philip is not dead.”
“Not dead!” cried Amine, starting up.
“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,” relied 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.”