gain
made sail and prosecuted their voyage. Krantz was steering with the
long sweep they had fitted for the purpose, when he observed Philip, who
had been for some time silent, take from his breast the relic which he
wore, and gaze attentively upon it.

"Is that your picture, Philip?" observed Krantz.

"Alas! no, it is my destiny," replied Philip, answering without
reflection.

"Your destiny! What mean you?"

"Did I say my destiny? I hardly know what I said," replied Philip,
replacing the relic in his bosom.

"I rather think you said more than you intended," replied Krantz; "but
at the same time something near the truth. I have often perceived you
with that trinket in your hand, and I have not forgotten how anxious
Schriften was to obtain it and the consequences of his attempt upon it.
Is there not some secret--some mystery attached to it? Surely, if so,
you must now sufficiently know me as your friend to feel me worthy of
your confidence."

"That you are my friend, Krantz, I feel; my sincere and much-valued
friend, for we have shared much danger together and that is sufficient
to make us friends; that I could trust you, I believe, but I feel as if
I dare not trust any one. There is a mystery attached to this relic
(for a relic it is), which as yet has been confided to my wife and holy
men alone."

"And if trusted to holy men, surely it may be trusted to sincere
friendship, than which nothing is more holy."

"But I have a presentiment that the knowledge of my secret would prove
fatal to you. Why I feel such a presentiment I know not; but I feel it,
Krantz; and I cannot afford to lose you, my valued friend."

"You will not then make use of my friendship, it appears," replied
Krantz. "I have risked my life with you before now and I am not to be
deterred from the duties of friendship by a childish foreboding on your
part, the result of an agitated mind and a weakened body. Can anything
be more absurd than to suppose that a secret confided to me can be
pregnant with danger, unless it be, indeed, that my zeal to assist you
may lead me into difficulties. I am not of a prying disposition; but we
have been so long connected together, and are now so isolated from the
rest of the world, that it appears to me it would be a solace to you,
were you to confide in one whom you can trust, what evidently has long
preyed upon your mind. The consolation and advice of a friend, Philip,
are not to be despised, and you