are many
who would pity you, Philip, but I envy you."

"Envy me?" cried Philip.

"Yes! envy you: and gladly would I take the burden of your doom on my
own shoulders, were it only possible. Is it not a splendid thought
that you are summoned to so great a purpose,--that instead of roaming
through the world as we all do in pursuit of wealth, which possibly we
may lose after years of cost and hardship, by the venture of a day,
and which, at all events, we must leave behind us,--you are selected
to fulfil a great and glorious work--the work of angels, I may
say--that of redeeming the soul of a father, _suffering_ indeed, for
his human frailties, but not doomed to perish for eternity; you have,
indeed, an object of pursuit worthy of all the hardships and dangers
of a maritime life. If it ends in your death, what then? Where else
end our futile cravings, our continual toil, after nothing? We all
must die--but how few--who indeed besides yourself--was ever permitted
before his death to ransom the soul of the author of his existence!
Yes, Philip, I envy you!"

"You think and speak like Amine. She too is of a wild and ardent
soul, that would mingle with the beings of the other world, and hold
intelligence with disembodied spirits."

"She is right," replied Krantz; "there are events in my life, or
rather connected with my family, which have often fully convinced me
that this is not only possible but permitted. Your story has only
corroborated what I already believed."

"Indeed! Krantz?"

"Indeed, yes; but of that hereafter: the night is closing in, we must
again put our little bark in safety for the night, and there is a cove
which I think appears suited for the purpose."

Before morning, a strong breeze right on shore had sprung up, and the
surf became so high as to endanger the raft; to continue their course
was impossible; they could only haul up their raft to prevent its
being dashed to pieces by the force of the waves, as the seas broke
on the shore. Philip's thoughts were, as usual, upon Amine, and as he
watched the tossing waters, as the sunbeams lightened up their crests,
he exclaimed, "Ocean! hast thou my Amine? If so, give up thy dead!
What is that?" continued he, pointing to a speck on the horizon.

"The sail of a small craft of some description or another," replied
Krantz; "and apparently coming down before the wind to shelter herself
in the very nook we have selected."

"You are right; it is the sail of a