We must now pass over two months, during which Mynheer Poots continued
to labour at his vocation, and was seldom within doors, and our two
young friends were left for hours together. Philip's love for Amine was
fully equal to hers for him. It was more than love,--it was a devotion
on both sides, each day increasing. Who indeed could be more charming,
more attractive in all ways than the high-spirited, yet tender Amine?
Occasionally the brow of Philip would be clouded when he reflected upon
the dark prospect before him; but Amine's smile would chase away the
gloom and as he gazed on her, all would be forgotten. Amine made no
secret of her attachment; it was shown in every word, every look, and
every gesture. When Philip would take her hand, or encircle her waist
with his arm, or even when he pressed her coral lips, there was no
pretence of coyness on her part. She was too noble, too confiding; she
felt that her happiness was centred in his love, and she lived but in
his presence. Two months had thus passed away, when Father Seysen, who
often called, and had paid much attention to Amine's instruction, one
day came in as Amine was encircled in Philip's arms.

"My children," said he, "I have watched you for some time:--this is not
well. Philip, if you intend marriage, as I presume you do, still it is
dangerous. I must join your hands."

Philip started up.

"Surely I am not deceived in thee, my son," continued the priest in a
severe tone.

"No, no, good Father; but I pray you leave me now: to-morrow you may
come, and all will be decided. But I must talk with Amine."

The priest quitted the room, and Amine and Philip were again alone. The
colour in Amine's cheek varied and her heart beat, for she felt how much
her happiness was at stake.

"The priest is right, Amine," said Philip sitting down by her. "This
cannot last;--would that I could ever stay with you; how hard a fate is
mine! You know I love the very ground you tread upon, yet I dare not
ask thee to wed to misery."

"To wed with thee would not be wedding misery, Philip," replied Amine,
with downcast eyes.

"'Twere not kindness on my part, Amine. I should indeed be selfish."

"I will speak plainly, Philip," replied Amine. "You say you love me,--I
know not how men love,--but this I know, how I can love. I feel that to
leave me now were indeed unkind and selfish on your part; for, Philip,
I--I should die. You say that you must go away--that