s holy Father as well as of
myself, that, allowing the facts to be as you suppose, the revelations
made to you are not from on high, but the suggestions of the devil to
lead you into danger and ultimately to death; for if it were your task,
as you suppose, why did not the vessel appear on this last voyage, and
how can you (allowing that you met her fifty times) have communication
with that, or with those which are but phantoms and shadows, things not
of this world? Now, what we propose is, that you should spend a
proportion of the money left by your father in masses for the repose of
his soul, which your mother, in other circumstances, would certainly
have done; and that, having so done, you should remain quietly on shore
until some new sign should be given to you which may warrant our
supposing that you are really chosen for this strange pursuit?"

"But my oath, Father--my recorded vow!"

"From that, my son, the holy Church hath power to absolve you; and that
absolution you shall receive. You have put yourself into our hands, and
by our decision you must be guided. If there be wrong, it is we, and
not you, who are responsible; but, at present, let us say no more. I
will now go up, and so soon as your wife awakens, prepare her for your
meeting."

When Father Seysen had quitted the room, Father Mathias debated the
matter with Philip. A long discussion ensued, in which similar
arguments were made use of by the priest; and Philip, although not
convinced, was at least doubtful and perplexed. He left the cottage.

"A new sign--a corroborative sign," thought Philip; "surely there have
been signs and wonders enough. Still it may be true that masses for my
father's soul may relieve him from his state of torture. At all events,
if they decide for me I am not to blame. Well, then, let us wait for a
new sign of the divine will--if so it must be;" and Philip walked on,
occasionally thinking on the arguments of Father Seysen, and oftener
thinking of Amine.

It was now evening, and the sun was fast descending. Philip wandered
on, until at last he arrived at the very spot where he had knelt down
and pronounced his solemn vow. He recognised it: he looked at the
distant hills. The sun was just at the same height; the whole scene,
the place, and the time were before him. Again Philip knelt down, took
the relic from his bosom and kissed it. He watched the sun--he bowed
himself to the earth. He waited for a sign, but th