“To take them with you! for what, pray?” replied Poots, in alarm.
“To purchase goods where I go, and make more money.”
“But you may be wrecked again and then the money will be all lost. No, no; go yourself, Mynheer Philip; but you must not take your guilders.”
“Indeed I will,” replied Philip; “when I leave this, I shall take all my money with me.”
During this conversation it occurred to Philip that, if Mynheer Poots could only be led to suppose that he took away his money with him, there would be more quiet for Amine who was now obliged, as she had informed him, to be constantly on the watch. He determined, therefore, when he next departed, to make the doctor believe that he had taken his wealth with him.
Mynheer Poots did not renew the conversation, but sank into gloomy thought. In a few minutes he left the parlour, and went up to his own room, when Philip stated to his wife what had induced him to make the old man believe that he should embark his property.
“It was thoughtful of you, Philip, and I thank you for your kind feeling towards me; but I wish you had said nothing on the subject. You do not know my father; I must now watch him as an enemy.”
“We have little to fear from an infirm old man,” replied Philip, laughing. But Amine thought otherwise, and was ever on her guard.
The spring and summer passed rapidly away, for they were happy. Many were the conversations between Philip and Amine, relative to what had passed—the supernatural appearance of his father’s ship, and the fatal wreck.
Amine felt that more dangers and difficulty were preparing for her husband, but she never once attempted to dissuade him from renewing his attempts in fulfilment of his vow. Like him, she looked forward with hope and confidence, aware that, at some time, his fate must be accomplished, and trusting only that that hour would be long delayed.