man; for his travail in this world I fear, is well over.
I found him very ill when I went to call him, and he has not been able
to quit his bed. I must now entreat you to do my message, and desire
Father Seysen to come hither; for my poor father is, I fear, in
extremity."

"Mercy on me!" replied Therese. "Is it so? Fear not but I will do your
bidding, Mistress Amine."

The second knocking had awakened Philip, who felt that he was much
better, and his headache had left him. He perceived that Amine had not
taken any rest that night, and he was about to expostulate with her,
when she at once told him what had occurred.

"You must dress yourself, Philip," continued she, "and must assist me to
carry up his body, and place it in his bed, before the arrival of the
priest. God of mercy! had I given you that powder, my dearest Philip--
but let us not talk about it. Be quick, for Father Seysen will be here
soon."

Philip was soon dressed, and followed Amine down into the parlour. The
sun shone bright, and its rays were darted upon the haggard face of the
old man, whose fists were clenched, and his tongue fixed between the
teeth on one side of his mouth.

"Alas! this room appears to be fatal. How many more scenes of horror
are to pass within it?"

"None, I trust," replied Amine; "this is not, to my mind, the scene of
horror. It was when that old man (now called away--and a victim to his
own treachery) stood by your bed-side, and with every mark of interest
and kindness, offered you the cup--_that_ was the scene of horror," said
Amine, shuddering--"one which long will haunt me."

"God forgive him! as I do," replied Philip, lifting up the body, and
carrying it up the stairs to the room which had been occupied by Mynheer
Poots.

"Let it at least be supposed that he died in his bed, and that his death
was natural," said Amine. "My pride cannot bear that this should be
known, or that I should be pointed at as the daughter of a murderer! O
Philip!"

Amine sat down, and burst into tears.

Her husband was attempting to console her, when Father Seysen knocked at
the door. Philip hastened down to open it.

"Good morning, my son. How is the sufferer?"

"He has ceased to suffer, father."

"Indeed!" replied the good priest, with sorrow in his countenance; "am I
then too late? yet have I not tarried."

"He went off suddenly, father, in a convulsion," replied Philip, leading
the way up stairs.

Father Seysen loo