will feel relieved if able to talk over
with him a subject which evidently oppresses you. If, therefore, you
value my friendship, let me share with you in your sorrows."

There are few who have passed through life so quietly, as not to
recollect how much grief has been assuaged by confiding its cause to,
and listening to the counsels and consolations of some dear friend. It
must not, therefore appear surprising that, situated as he was, and
oppressed with the loss of Amine, Philip should regard Krantz as one to
whom he might venture to confide his important secret. He commenced his
narrative with no injunctions, for he felt that if Krantz could not
respect his secret for his secret's sake, or from good will towards him,
he was not likely to be bound by any promise; and as, during the day,
the raft passed by the various small capes and headlands of the island,
he poured into Krantz's ear the history which the reader is acquainted
with. "Now you know all," said Philip, with a deep sigh, as the
narrative was concluded. "What think you? Do you credit my strange
tale, or do you imagine as some well would, that it is a mere phantom of
a disordered brain?"

"That it is not so, Philip, I believe," replied Krantz; "for I too have
had ocular proof of the correctness of a part of your history. Remember
how often I have seen this Phantom Ship--and if your father is permitted
to range over the seas, why should you not be selected and permitted to
reverse his doom? I fully believe every word that you have told me, and
since you have told me this, I can comprehend much that in your
behaviour at times appeared unaccountable; there are many who would pity
you, Philip, but I envy you."

"Envy me?" cried Philip.

"Yes! envy you: and gladly would I take the burden of your doom on my
own shoulders, were it only possible. Is it not a splendid thought that
you are summoned to so great a purpose,--that instead of roaming through
the world as we all do in pursuit of wealth, which possibly we may lose
after years of cost and hardship, by the venture of a day, and which, at
all events, we must leave behind us,--you are selected to fulfil a great
and glorious work--the work of angels, I may say--that of redeeming the
soul of a father, _suffering_ indeed for his human frailties, but not
doomed to perish for eternity; you have, indeed, an object of pursuit
worthy of all the hardships and dangers of a maritime life. If it ends
in your