tic relic by which the mission is to be accomplished?"

"I would prevent his further search, for reasons which must not be told.
Does that prove that I am his enemy? Would it not be better that he
should remain on shore with competence and you, than be crossing the
wild seas on this mad search? Without the relic it is not to be
accomplished. It were a kindness, then, to take it from him."

Amine answered not, for she was lost in thought.

"Lady," continued Schriften, after a time, "I wish you well. For your
husband I care not, yet do I wish him no harm. Now, hear me; if you
wish for your future life to be one of ease and peace--if you wish to
remain long in this world with the husband of your choice, of your first
and warmest love--if you wish that he should die in his bed at a good
old age, and that you should close his eyes, with children's tears
lamenting, and their smiles reserved to cheer their mother--all this I
see, and can promise is in futurity, if you will take that relic from
his bosom and give it up to me. But if you would that he should suffer
more than man has ever suffered, pass his whole life in doubt anxiety,
and pain, until the deep wave receive his corpse, then let him keep it.
If you would that your own days be shortened, and yet those remaining be
long in human suffering--if you would be separated from him, and die a
cruel death--then let him keep it. I can read futurity and such must be
the destiny of both. Lady, consider well; I must leave you now.
To-morrow I will have your answer."

Schriften walked away and left Amine to her own reflections. For a long
while she repeated to herself the conversation and denunciations of the
man, whom she was now convinced was not of this world, and was in some
way or another deeply connected with her husband's fate. "To me he
wishes well, no harm to my husband, and would prevent his search. Why
would he?--that he will not tell. He has tempted me tempted me most
strangely. How easy 'twere to take the relic whilst Philip sleeps upon
my bosom--but how treacherous! And yet a life of competence and ease, a
smiling family, a good old age; what offers to a fond and doting wife!
And if not, toil, anxiety, and a watery grave; and for me! Pshaw!
that's nothing. And yet to die separated from Philip, is that nothing?
Oh, no, the thought is dreadful.--I do believe him. Yes he has foretold
the future, and told it truly. Could I persuade Philip? No! I kno