nd 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 his 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 of his
own treachery) stood by your bedside, 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 upstairs.

Father Seysen looked at the body and perceived that his offices were
needless, and then turned to Amine, who had not yet checked her tears.

"Weep, my child, weep! for you have cause," said the priest. "The
loss of a father's love must be a severe trial to a dutiful and
affectionate child. But yield not too much to your grief, Amine; you
have other duties, other ties, my child--you have your husband."

"I know it, father," replied Amine; "still must I weep, for I was
_his_ daughter."

"Did he not go to bed last night, then, that his clothes are still
upon him? When did he first complain?"

"The last time that I saw him, father," replied Philip, "he came into
my room, and gave me some medicine, and th