es from which he is cut off. Be assured, my love, that it was
nothing more."

"And even if my conjecture were correct, what does it matter?" replied
Amine. "There can be nothing more, nothing which can render your
position more awful, and more desperate. As your wife, Philip, I feel
less courage than I did when I gave my willing hand. I knew not then
what would be the extent of my loss; but fear not, much as I feel here,"
continued Amine, putting her hand to her heart--"I am prepared, and
proud that he who is selected for such a task is my husband." Amine
paused. "You cannot, surely, have been mistaken, Philip?"

"No! Amine, I have not been mistaken, either in the summons, or in my
own courage, or in my selection of a wife," replied Philip, mournfully,
as he embraced her. "It is the will of Heaven."

"Then may its will be done," replied Amine, rising from her seat. "The
first pang is over. I feel better now, Philip. Your Amine knows her
duty."

Philip made no reply; when, after a few moments, Amine continued--

"But one short week, Philip--"

"I would it had been but one day," replied he; "it would have been long
enough. He has come too soon--the one-eyed monster."

"Nay, not so, Philip. I thank him for the week--'tis but a short time
to wean myself from happiness. I grant you, that were I to teaze, to
vex, to unman you with my tears, my prayers, or my upbraidings (as some
wives would do, Philip), one day would be more than sufficient for such
a scene of weakness on my part, and misery on yours. But, no, Philip,
your Amine knows her duty better. You must go like some knight of old
to perilous encounter, perhaps to death; but Amine will arm you, and
show her love by closing carefully each rivet to protect you in your
peril, and will see you depart full of hope and confidence, anticipating
your return. A week is not too long, Philip, when employed as I trust I
shall employ it--a week to interchange our sentiments, to hear your
voice, to listen to your words (each of which will be engraven on my
heart's memory), to ponder on them, and feed my love with them is your
absence and in my solitude. No! no! Philip; I thank God that there is
yet a week."

"And so do I, then, Amine! and, after all, we knew that this must come."

"Yes! but my love was so potent, that it banished memory."

"And yet, during our separation, your love must feed on memory, Amine."

Amine sighed. Here their conversation was