CHAPTER FOUR.
If the reader can imagine the feelings of a man who, sentenced to death,and having resigned himself to his fate, finds himself unexpectedlyreprieved; who, having recomposed his mind after the agitation arisingfrom a renewal of those hopes and expectations which he had abandoned,once more dwells upon future prospects, and indulges in pleasinganticipations: we say, that if the reader can imagine this, and thenwhat would be that man's feelings when he finds that the reprieve isrevoked, and that he is to suffer, he may then form some idea of thestate of Philip's mind when he quitted the cottage.
Long did he walk, careless in which direction, with the letter in hisclenched hand, and his teeth firmly set. Gradually he became morecomposed: and out of breath with the rapidity of his motion, he sat downupon a bank, and there he long remained, with his eyes riveted upon thedreaded paper, which he held with both his hands upon his knees.
Mechanically he turned the letter over; the seal was black. Philipsighed:--"I cannot read it now," thought he, and he rose and continuedhis devious way.
For another half-hour did Philip keep in motion, and the sun was notmany degrees above the horizon. Philip stopped and looked at it tillhis vision failed. "I could imagine that it was the eye of God,"thought Philip, "and perhaps it may be. Why, then, merciful Creator, amI thus selected from so many millions to fulfil so dire a task?"
Philip looked about him for some spot where he might be concealed fromobservation--where he might break the seal, and read this mission from aworld of spirits. A small copse of brushwood, in advance of a grove oftrees, was not far from where he stood. He walked to it, and sat down,so as to be concealed from any passers by. Philip once more looked atthe descending orb of day, and by degrees he became composed.
"It is thy will," exclaimed he; "it is my fate, and both must beaccomplished."
Philip put his hand to the seal,--his blood thrilled when he called tomind that it had been delivered by no mortal hand, and that it containedthe secret of one in judgment. He remembered that that one was hisfather; and that it was only in the letter that there was hope,--hopefor his poor father, whose memory he had been taught to love, and whoappealed for help.
"Coward that I am, to have lost so many hours!" exclaimed Philip; "yonsun appears as if waiting on the hill, to give me light to read."
Philip mused a short time; he was once more the daring Vanderdecken.Calmly he broke the seal, which bore the initials of his father's name,and read as follows:--
"To CATHERINE.
"One of those pitying spirits whose eyes rain tears for mortal crimes has been permitted to inform me by what means alone my dreadful doom may be averted.
"Could I but receive on the deck of my own ship the holy relic upon which I swore the fatal oath, kiss it in all humility, and shed one tear of deep contrition on the sacred wood, I then might rest in peace.
"How this may be effected, or by whom so fatal a task will be undertaken, I know not. O Catherine, we have a son--but, no, no, let him not hear of me. Pray for me, and now, farewell.
"I. VANDERDECKEN."
"Then it is true, most horribly true," thought Philip; "and my father iseven now IN LIVING JUDGMENT. And he points to me,--to whom else shouldhe? Am I not his son, and is it not my duty?"
"Yes, father," exclaimed Philip aloud, falling on his knees, "you havenot written these lines in vain. Let me peruse them once more."
Philip raised up his hand; but although it appeared to him that he hadstill hold of the letter, it was not there--he grasped nothing. Helooked on the grass to see if it had fallen--but no, there was noletter, it had disappeared. Was it a vision?--no, no, he had read everyword. "Then it must be to me, and me alone, that the mission wasintended. I accept the sign.
"Hear me, dear father,--if thou art so permitted,--and deign to hear me,gracious Heaven--hear the son who, by this sacred relic, swears that hewill avert your doom, or perish. To that will he devote his days; andhaving done his duty, he will die in hope and peace. Heaven, thatrecorded my rash father's oath, now register his son's upon the samesacred cross, and may perjury on my part be visited with punishment moredire than his! Receive it, Heaven, as at the last I trust that in thymercy thou wilt receive the father and the son: and if too bold, Opardon my presumption."
Philip threw himself forward on his face, with his lips to the sacredsymbol. The sun went down, and the twilight gradually disappeared;night had, for some time, shrouded all in darkness, and Philip yetremained in alternate prayer and meditation!
But he was disturbed by the voices of some men, who sat down upon theturf but a few yards from where he was concealed. The conversation helittle heeded; but it had roused him and his first feeling was to returnto the cottage, that he might reflect over his plans; but although themen spoke in a low tone, his attention was soon arrested by the subjectof their conversation, when he heard the name mentioned of MynheerPoots. He listened attentively, and discovered that they were fourdisbanded soldiers, who intended that night to attack the house of thelittle doctor, who had, they knew, much money in his possession.
"What I have proposed is the best," said one of them; "he has no onewith him but his daughter."
"I value her more than his money," replied another; "so, recollectbefore we go, it is perfectly understood that she is to be my property."
"Yes, if you choose to purchase her, there's no objection," replied athird.
"Agreed; how much will you in conscience ask for a paling girl?"
"I say five hundred guilders," replied another.
"Well, be it so, but on this condition, that if my share of the bootydoes not amount to so much, I am to have her for my share, whatever itmay be."
"That's very fair," replied the other: "but I'm much mistaken if wedon't turn more than two thousand guilders out of the old man's chest."
"What do you two say--is it agreed--shall Baetens have her?"
"O yes," replied the others.
"Well, then," replied the one who had stipulated for Mynheer Poots'sdaughter, "now I am with you heart and soul. I loved that girl, andtried to get her,--I positively offered to marry her, but the old hunksrefused me, an ensign, an officer; but now I'll have revenge. We mustnot spare him."
"No, no," replied the others.
"Shall we go now, or wait till it is later? In an hour or more the moonwill be up,--we may be seen."
"Who is to see us? unless, indeed, some one is sent for him. The laterthe better, I say."
"How long will it take us to get there? Not half an hour if we walk.Suppose we start in half an hour hence, we shall just have the moon tocount the guilders by."
"That's all right. In the meantime, I'll put a new flint in my lock,and have my carbine loaded. I can work in the dark."
"You are used to it, Jan."
"Yes, I am,--and I intend this ball to go through the old rascal'shead."
"Well, I'd rather you should kill him than I," replied one of theothers, "for he saved my life at Middleburgh, when every one made sureI'd die."
Philip did not wait to hear any more; he crawled behind the bushes untilhe gained the grove of trees, and passing through them, made a detour,so as not to be seen by these miscreants. That they were disbandedsoldiers, many of whom were infesting the country, he knew well. Allhis thoughts were now to save the old doctor and his daughter from thedanger which threatened them; and for a time he forgot his father, andthe exciting revelations of the day. Although Philip had not been awarein what direction he had walked when he set off from the cottage, heknew the country well; and now that it was necessary to act, heremembered the direction in which he should find the lonely house ofMynheer Poots: with the utmost speed he made his way for it, and in lessthan twenty minutes he arrived there out of breath.
As usual, all was silent, and the door fastened. Philip knocked, butthere was no reply. Again and again he knocked, and became impatient.Mynheer Poots must have been summoned, and was not in the house; Philipt
herefore called out so as to be heard within, "Maiden, if your fatheris out, as I presume he must be, listen to what I have to say--I amPhilip Vanderdecken. But now I overheard four wretches, who haveplanned to murder your father, and rob him of his gold. In one hour, orless, they will be here, and I have hastened to warn and to protect you,if I may. I swear upon the relic that you delivered to me this morning,that what I state is true."
Philip waited a short time, but received no answer.
"Maiden," resumed he, "answer me, if you value that which is more dearto you than even your father's gold to him. Open the casement above,and listen to what I have to say. In so doing there is no risk; andeven if it were not dark, already have I seen you."
A short time after this second address, the casement of the upper windowwas unbarred, and the slight form of the fair daughter of Mynheer Pootswas to be distinguished by Philip through the gloom.
"What wouldst thou young sir, at this unseemly hour? and what is it thouwouldst impart, but imperfectly heard by me, when thou spokest thisminute at the door?"
Philip then entered into a detail of all that he had overheard, andconcluded by begging her to admit him, that he might defend her.
"Think, fair maiden, of what I have told you. You have been sold to oneof those reprobates, whose name I think they mentioned was Baetens. Thegold, I know, you value not; but think of thine own dear self--suffer meto enter the house, and think not for one moment that my story isfeigned. I swear to thee, by the soul of my poor dear mother, now, Itrust, in heaven, that every word is true."
"Baetens, did you say, sir?"
"If I mistook them not, such was the name; he said he loved you once."
"That name I have in memory--I know not what to do, or what to say: myfather has been summoned to a birth, and may be yet away for many hours.Yet how can I ope the door to you--at night--he not at home--I alone?I ought not--cannot--yet do I believe you. You surely never could be sobase as to invent this tale."
"No--upon my hopes of future bliss I could not, maiden! you must nottrifle with your life and honour, but let me in."
"And if I did, what could you do against such numbers?"
"They are four to one--would soon overpower you, and one more life wouldbe lost."
"Not if you have arms; and I think your father would not be left withoutthem. I fear them not--you know that I am resolute."
"I do indeed--and now you'd risk your life for those you did assail. Ithank you, thank you kindly, sir--but dare not ope the door."
"Then, maiden, if you'll not admit me, here will I now remain; withoutarms, and but ill able to contend with four armed villains; but still,here will I remain and prove my truth to one I will protect 'gainst anyodds--yes, even here!"
"Then shall I be thy murderer!--but that must not be. Oh! sir--swear,swear by all that's holy, and by all that's pure, that--you do notdeceive me."
"I swear by thyself, maiden, than all to me more sacred!"
The casement closed, and in a short time a light appeared above. In aminute or two more the door was opened to Philip by the fair daughter ofMynheer Poots. She stood with the candle in her right hand, the colourin her cheeks varying--now flushing red, and again deadly pale. Herleft hand was down by her side, and in it she held a pistol halfconcealed. Philip perceived this precaution on her part, but took nonotice of it; he wished to re-assure her.
"Maiden!" said he, not entering, "if you still have doubts--if you thinkyou have been ill advised in giving me admission--there is yet time toclose the door against me; but for your own sake I entreat you not.Before the moon is up, the robbers will be here. With my life I willprotect you, if you will but trust me. Who indeed could injure one likeyou?"
She was indeed (as she stood irresolute and perplexed from thepeculiarity of her situation, yet not wanting in courage when it was tobe called forth) an object well worthy of gaze and admiration. Herfeatures thrown into broad light and shade by the candle which at timeswas half extinguished by the wind--her symmetry of form and thegracefulness and singularity of her attire--were matter of astonishmentto Philip. Her head was without covering, and her long hair fell inplaits behind her shoulders; her stature was rather under the middlesize, but her form perfect; her dress was simple but becoming, and verydifferent from that usually worn by the young women of the district.Not only her features but her dress would at once have indicated to atraveller that she was of Arab blood, as was the fact.
She looked in Philip's face as he spoke--earnestly, as if she would havepenetrated into his inmost thoughts; but there was a frankness andhonesty in his bearing, and a sincerity in his manly countenance, whichre-assured her. After a moment's hesitation she replied--
"Come in, sir; I feel that I can trust you."
Philip entered. The door was then closed and made secure.
"We have no time to lose, maiden," said Philip: "but tell me your name,that I may address you as I ought."
"My name is Amine," replied she, retreating a little.
"I thank you for that little confidence; but I must not dally. Whatarms have you in the house, and have you ammunition?"
"Both. I wish that my father would come home."
"And so do I," replied Philip, "devoutedly wish he would, before thesemurderers come; but not, I trust, while the attack is making, forthere's a carbine loaded expressly for his head, and if they make himprisoner, they will not spare his life, unless his gold and your personare given in ransom. But the arms, maiden--where are they?"
"Follow me," replied Amine, leading Philip to an inner room on the upperfloor. It was the sanctum of her father, and was surrounded withshelves filled with bottles and boxes of drugs. In one corner was aniron chest, and over the mantelpiece were a brace of carbines and threepistols.
"They are all loaded," observed Amine, pointing to them, and laying onthe table the one which she had held in her hand.
Philip took down the arms and examined all the primings. He then tookup from the table the pistol which Amine had laid there, and threw openthe pan. It was equally well prepared. Philip closed the pan, and witha smile observed:--
"So this was meant for me, Amine?"
"No--not for you--but for a traitor, had one gained admittance."
"Now, maiden," observed Philip, "I shall station myself at the casementwhich you opened, but without a light in the room. You may remain here,and can turn the key for your security."
"You little know me," replied Amine. "In that way at least I am notfearful: I must remain near you and reload the arms--a task in which Iam well practised."
"No, no," replied Philip, "you might be hurt."
"I may. But think you I will remain here idly, when I can assist onewho risks his life for me? I know my duty, sir, and I shall performit."
"You must not risk your life, Amine," replied Philip; "my aim will notbe steady if I know that you're in danger. But I must take the armsinto the other chamber, for the time is come."
Philip, assisted by Amine, carried the carbines and pistols into theadjoining chamber; and Amine then left Philip, carrying with her thelight. Philip, as soon as he was alone, opened the casement and lookedout--there was no one to be seen; he listened, but all was silent. Themoon was just rising above the distant hill, but her light was dimmed byfleecy clouds, and Philip watched for a few minutes; at length he hearda whispering below. He looked out, and could distinguish through thedark the four expected assailants, standing close to the door of thehouse. He walked away softly from the window, and went into the nextroom to Amine, whom he found busy preparing the ammunition.
"Amine, they are at the door, in consultation. You can see them nowwithout risk. I thank them, for they will convince you that I have toldthe truth."
Amine, without reply, went into the front room and looked out of thewindow. She returned, and laying her hand upon Philip's arm, shesaid--"Grant me your pardon for my doubts. I fear nothing now but thatmy father may return too soon, and they seize him."
/> Philip left the room again, to make his reconnoissance. The robbers didnot appear to have made up their mind--the strength of the door defiedtheir utmost efforts, so they attempted stratagem. They knocked, and asthere was no reply, they continued to knock louder and louder: notmeeting with success, they held another consultation, and the muzzle ofa carbine was then put to the keyhole, and the piece discharged. Thelock of the door was blown off, but the iron bars which crossed the doorwithin, above and below, still held it fast.
Although Philip would have been justified in firing upon the robberswhen he first perceived them in consultation at the door, still there isthat feeling in a generous mind which prevents the taking away of life,except from stern necessity; and this feeling made him withhold his fireuntil hostilities had actually commenced. He now levelled one of thecarbines at the head of the robber nearest to the door, who was busyexamining the effect which the discharge of the piece had made, and whatfurther obstacles intervened. The aim was true, and the man fell dead,while the others started back with surprise at the unexpectedretaliation. But in a second or two a pistol was discharged at Philip,who still remained leaning out of the casement, fortunately withouteffect; and the next moment he felt himself drawn away, so as to beprotected from their fire. It was Amine, who, unknown to Philip, hadbeen standing by his side.
"You must not expose yourself, Philip," said she, in a low tone.
"She called me Philip," thought he, but made no reply.
"They will be watching for you at the casement now," said Amine. "Takethe other carbine, and go below in the passage. If the lock of the dooris blown off, they may put their arms in, perhaps, and remove the bars.I do not think they can, but I'm not sure; at all events, it is thereyou should now be, as there they will not expect you."
"You are right," replied Philip, going down.
"But you must not fire more than once there; if another fall, there willbe but two to deal with, and they cannot watch the casement and forceadmittance too. Go--I will reload the carbine."
Philip descended softly and without a light. He went up to the door,and perceived that one of the miscreants, with his arm through the holewhere the lock was blown off, was working at the upper iron bar, whichhe could just reach. He presented his carbine, and was about to firethe whole charge into the body of the man under his raised arm, whenthere was a report of fire-arms from the robbers outside.
"Amine has exposed herself," thought Philip, "and may be hurt."
The desire of vengeance prompted him first to fire his piece through theman's body, and then he flew up the stairs to ascertain the state ofAmine. She was not at the casement; he darted into the inner room, andfound her deliberately loading the carbine.
"My God! how you frightened me, Amine. I thought by their firing thatyou had shown yourself at the window."
"Indeed I did not; but I thought that when you fired through the doorthey might return your fire, and you be hurt; so I went to the side ofthe casement and pushed out on a stick some of my father's clothes, andthey who were watching for you fired immediately."
"Indeed, Amine! who could have expected such courage and such coolnessin one so young and beautiful?" exclaimed Philip, with surprise.
"Are none but ill-favoured people brave, then?" replied Amine, smiling.
"I did not mean that, Amine--but I am losing time. I must to the dooragain. Give me that carbine, and reload this."
Philip crept down stairs that he might reconnoitre, but before he hadgained the door he heard at a distance the voice of Mynheer Poots.Amine, who also heard it, was in a moment at his side with a loadedpistol in each hand.
"Fear not, Amine," said Philip, as he unbarred the door, "there are buttwo, and your father shall be saved."
The door was opened, and Philip, seizing his carbine, rushed out; hefound Mynheer Poots on the ground between the two men, one of whom hadraised his knife to plunge it into his body, when the ball of thecarbine whizzed through his head. The last of the robbers closed withPhilip, and a desperate struggle ensued--it was however, soon decided byAmine stepping forward and firing one of the pistols through therobber's body.
We must here inform our readers that Mynheer Poots, when coming home,had heard the report of fire-arms in the direction of his own house.The recollection of his daughter and of his money--for to do him justicehe did love her best--had lent him wings; he forgot that he was a feebleold man and without arms; all he thought of was to gain his habitation.On he came, reckless, frantic, and shouting, and rushed into the arms ofthe two robbers, who seized and would have despatched him, had notPhilip so opportunely come to his assistance.
As soon as the last robber fell, Philip disengaged himself and went tothe assistance of Mynheer Poots, whom he raised up in his arms andcarried into the house as if he were an infant. The old man was stillin a state of delirium from fear and previous excitement.
In a few minutes, Mynheer Poots was more coherent.
"My daughter!" exclaimed he--"my daughter! where is she?"
"She is here father, and safe," replied Amine.
"Ah! my child is safe," said he, opening his eyes and staring. "Yes, itis even so--and my money--my money--where is my money?" continued he,starting up.
"Quite safe, father."
"Quite safe--you say quite safe--are you sure of it?--let me see."
"There it is, father, as you may perceive, quite safe--thanks to onewhom you have not treated so well."
"Who--what do you mean?--Ah, yes, I see him now--'tis PhilipVanderdecken--he owes me three guilders and a half, and there is aphial--did he save you--and my money, child?"
"He did, indeed at the risk of his life."
"Well, well, I will forgive him the whole debt--yes, the whole of it;but--the phial is of no use to him--he must return that. Give me somewater."
It was some time before the old man could regain his perfect reason.Philip left him with his daughter, and, taking a brace of loadedpistols, went out to ascertain the fate of the four assailants. Themoon, having climbed above the bank of clouds which had obscured her,was now high in the heavens, shining bright, and he could distinguishclearly. The two men lying across the threshold of the door were quitedead. The others, who had seized upon Mynheer Poots, were still alive,but one was expiring and the other bled fast. Philip put a fewquestions to the latter, but he either would not or could not make anyreply; he removed their weapons and returned to the house, where hefound the old man attended by his daughter, in a state of comparativecomposure.
"I thank you, Philip Vanderdecken--I thank you much. You have saved mydear child, and my money--that is little, very little--for I am poor.May you live long and happily!"
Philip mused; the letter and his vow were, for the first time since hefell in with the robbers, recalled to his recollection, and a shadepassed over his countenance.
"Long and happily--no, no," muttered he, with an involuntary shake ofthe head.
"And I must thank you," said Amine, looking inquiringly in Philip'sface. "O, how much have I to thank you for!--and indeed I am grateful."
"Yes, yes, she is very grateful," interrupted the old man; "but we arepoor--very poor. I talked about my money because I have so little, andI cannot afford to lose it; but you shall not pay me the three guildersand a half--I am content to lose that, Mr Philip."
"Why should you lose even that, Mynheer Poots?--I promised to pay you,and will keep my word. I have plenty of money--thousands of guilders,and know not what to do with them."
"You--you--thousands of guilders!" exclaimed Poots. "Pooh, nonsense,that won't do."
"I repeat to you, Amine," said Philip, "that I have thousands ofguilders: you know I would not tell you a falsehood."
"I believed you when you said so to my father," replied Amine.
"Then, perhaps, as you have so much, and I am so very poor, MrVanderdecken--"
But Amine put her hand upon her father's lips, and the sentence was notfinished.
"Father," said Am
ine, "it is time that we retire. You must leave us forto-night, Philip."
"I will not," replied Philip; "nor, you may depend upon it, will Isleep. You may both to bed in safety. It is indeed time that youretire--good night, Mynheer Poots. I will but ask a lamp, and then Ileave you--Amine, good night."
"Good night," said Amine, extending her hand, "and many, many thanks."
"Thousands of guilders!" muttered the old man, as Philip left the roomand went below.