hed against
the side of the vessel--all was in repose and beauty, as the bright
southern constellations sparkled over their heads.

"Whose destinies can be in these stars, which appear not to those who
inhabit the northern regions?" said Amine, as she cast her eyes above,
and watched them in their brightness; "and what does that falling
meteor portend? what causes its rapid descent from heaven?"

"Do you, then, put faith in stars, Amine?"

"In Araby we do; and why not? They were not spread over the sky to
give light--for what then?"

"To beautify the world. They have their uses, too."

"Then you agree with me--they have their uses, and the destinies of
men are there concealed. My mother was one of those who could read
them well. Alas! for me they are a sealed book."

"Is it not better so, Amine?"

"Better!--say better to grovel on this earth with our selfish,
humbled race, wandering in mystery, and awe, and doubt, when we can
communicate with the intelligences above! Does not the soul leap at
her admission to confer with superior powers? Does not the proud heart
bound at the feeling that its owner is one of those more gifted than
the usual race of mortals? Is it not a noble ambition?"

"A dangerous one--most dangerous."

"And therefore most noble. They seem as if they would speak to me:
look at yon bright star--it beckons to me."

For some time Amine's eyes were raised aloft; she spoke not, and
Philip remained at her side. She walked to the gangway of the vessel,
and looked down upon the placid wave, pierced by the moonbeams far
below the surface.

"And does your imagination, Amine, conjure up a race of beings gifted
to live beneath that deep blue wave, who sport amid the coral rocks,
and braid their hair with pearls?" said Philip, smiling.

"I know not, but it appears to me that it would be sweet to live
there. You may call to mind your dream, Philip; I was then, according
to your description, one of those same beings."

"You were," replied Philip, thoughtfully.

"And yet I feel as if water would reject me, even if the vessel were
to sink. In what manner this mortal frame of mine may be resolved
into its elements, I know not; but this I do feel, that it never will
become the sport of, or be tossed by, the mocking waves. But come in,
Philip, dearest; it is late, and the decks are wet with dew."

When the day dawned, the look-out man at the mast-head reported that
he perceived something floating on the