noy you with a woman's weakness."

"My poor Amine," replied Philip, mournfully. "Alas! why did I not
perform my pilgrimage alone? It was selfish of me to link you with
so much wretchedness, and join you with me in bearing the fardel of
never-ending anxiety and suspense."

"And who should bear it with you, my dearest Philip, if it is not the
wife of your bosom? You little know my heart if you think I shrink
from the duty. No, Philip, it is a pleasure, even in its most acute
pangs; for I consider that I am, by partaking with, relieving you of a
portion of your sorrow, and I feel proud that I am the wife of one who
has been selected to be so peculiarly tried. But, dearest, no more of
this. You must read the letter."

Philip did not answer. He broke the seal, and found that the letter
intimated to him that he was appointed as first mate to the _Vrow
Katerina_, a vessel which sailed with the next fleet; and requesting
he would join as quickly as possible, as she would soon be ready to
receive her cargo. The letter which was from the secretary, further
informed him that, after this voyage, he might be certain of having
the command of a vessel as captain, upon conditions which would be
explained when he called upon the Board.

"I thought, Philip, that you had requested the command of a vessel for
this voyage," observed Amine, mournfully.

"I did," replied Philip; "but not having followed up my application,
it appears not to have been attended to. It has been my own fault."

"And now it is too late?"

"Yes, dearest, most assuredly so: but it matters not; I would as
willingly, perhaps rather, sail this voyage as first mate."

"Philip, I may as well speak now. That I am disappointed, I must
confess; I fully expected that you would have had the command of a
vessel, and you may remember that I exacted a promise from you, on
this very bank upon which we now sit, at the time that you told me
your dream. That promise I shall still exact, and I now tell you what
I had intended to ask. It was, my dear Philip, permission to sail
with you. With you, I care for nothing. I can be happy under every
privation or danger; but to be left alone for so long, brooding over
my painful thoughts, devoured by suspense, impatient, restless, and
incapable of applying to any one thing--that, dear Philip, is the
height of misery, and that is what I feel when you are absent.
Recollect, I have your promise, Philip. As captain, you have the means
of