The Phantom Ship. Фредерик Марриет

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      “Now, miserable despoiler of the dead—now, wretched thief, now you shall feel my vengeance,” cried Philip, with a loud voice. “If you remain within, you perish in the flames; if you attempt to come out, you shall die by my hands. Do you hear, Mynheer Poots—do you hear?”

      Hardly had Philip concluded this address, when the window of the upper floor furthest from the burning door was thrown open.

      “Ay—you come now to beg and to entreat;—but no—no,” cried Philip—who stopped as he beheld at the window what seemed to be an apparition, for instead of the wretched little miser, he beheld one of the loveliest forms Nature ever deigned to mould—an angelic creature, of about sixteen or seventeen, who appeared calm and resolute in the midst of the danger by which she was threatened. Her long black hair was braided and twined round her beautifully-formed head; her eyes were large, intensely dark, yet soft; her forehead high and white, her chin dimpled, her ruby lips arched and delicately fine, her nose small and straight. A lovelier face could not be well imagined; it reminded you of what the best of painters have sometimes, in their more fortunate moments, succeeded in embodying, when they would represent a beauteous saint. And as the flames wreathed and the smoke burst out in columns and swept past the window, so might she have reminded you in her calmness of demeanour of some martyr at the stake.

      “What wouldst thou, violent young man? Why are the inmates of this house to suffer death by your means?” said the maiden, with composure.

      For a few seconds Philip gazed, and could make no reply; then the thought seized him that in his vengeance, he was about to sacrifice so much loveliness. He forgot everything but her danger, and seizing one of the large poles which he had brought to feed the flame, he threw off and scattered in every direction the burning masses, until nothing was left which could hurt the building but the ignited door itself; and this, which as yet—for it was of thick oak plank—had not suffered very material injury, he soon reduced, by beating it, with clods of earth, to a smoking and harmless state. During these active measures on the part of Philip, the young maiden watched him in silence.

      “All is safe now, young lady,” said Philip. “God forgive me that I should have risked a life so precious. I thought but to wreak my vengeance upon Mynheer Poots.”

      “And what cause can Mynheer Poots have given for such dreadful vengeance?” replied the maiden, calmly.

      “What cause, young lady? He came to my house—despoiled the dead—took from my mother’s corpse a relic beyond price.”

      “Despoiled the dead!—he surely cannot—you must wrong him, young sir.”

      “No, no. It is the fact, lady—and that relic—forgive me—but that relic I must have. You know not what depends upon it.”

      “Wait, young sir,” replied the maiden; “I will soon return.”

      Philip waited several minutes, lost in thought and admiration: so fair a creature in the house of Mynheer Poots! Who could she be? While thus ruminating, he was accosted by the silver voice of the object of his reveries, who, leaning out of the window held in her hand the black ribbon to which was attached the article so dearly coveted.

      “Here is your relic, sir,” said the young female; “I regret much that my father should have done a deed which well might justify your anger: but here it is,” continued she, dropping it down on the ground by Philip; “and now you may depart.”

      “Your father, maiden! can he be your father?” said Philip, forgetting to take up the relic which lay at his feet.

      She would have retired from the window without reply, but Philip spoke a again—

      “Stop, lady, stop one moment, until I beg your forgiveness for a wild, foolish act. I swear by this sacred relic,” continued he, taking it from the ground and raising it to his lips, “that had I known that any unoffending person had been in this house, I would not have done the deed, and much do I rejoice that no harm hath happened. But there is still danger, lady; the door must be unbarred, and the jambs, which still are glowing, be extinguished, or the house may yet be burnt. Fear not for your father, maiden; for had he done me a thousand times more wrong, you will protect each hair upon his head. He knows me well enough to know I keep my word. Allow me to repair the injury I have occasioned, and then I will depart.”

      “No, no; don’t trust him,” said Mynheer Poots, from within the chamber.

      “Yes, he may be trusted,” replied the daughter; “and his services are much needed for what could a poor weak girl like me, and a still weaker father, do in this strait? Open the door, and let the house be made secure.” The maiden then addressed Philip—“He shall open the door, sir, and I will thank you for your kind service. I trust entirely to your promise.”

      “I never yet was known to break my word, maiden,” replied Philip; “but let him be quick, for the flames are bursting out again.”

      The door was opened by the trembling hands of Mynheer Poots, who then made a hasty retreat upstairs. The truth of what Philip had said was then apparent. Many were the buckets of water which he was obliged to fetch before the fire was quite subdued; but during his exertions neither the daughter nor the father made their appearance.

      When all was safe, Philip closed the door, and again looked up at the window. The fair girl made her appearance, and Philip, with a low obeisance, assured her that there was then no danger.

      “I thank you, sir,” replied she—“I thank you much. Your conduct, although hasty at the first, has yet been most considerate.”

      “Assure your father, maiden, that all animosity on my part hath ceased, and that in a few days I will call and satisfy the demand he hath against me.”

      The window closed, and Philip, more excited but with feelings altogether different from those with which he had set out, looked at it for a minute, and then bent his steps to his own cottage.

Chapter Three.

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      The discovery of the beautiful daughter of Mynheer Poots had made a strong impression upon Philip Vanderdecken, and now he had another excitement to combine with those which already overcharged his bosom. He arrived at his own house, went upstairs, and threw himself on the bed from which he had been roused by Mynheer Poots. At first, he recalled to his mind the scene we have just described, painted in his imagination the portrait of the fair girl, her eyes, her expression, her silver voice, and the words which she had uttered; but her pleasing image was soon chased away by the recollection that his mother’s corpse lay in the adjoining chamber, and that his father’s secret was hidden in the room below.

      The funeral was to take place the next morning, and Philip, who, since his meeting with the daughter of Mynheer Poots, appeared even to himself not so anxious for immediate examination of the room, resolved that he would not open it until after the melancholy ceremony. With this resolution he fell asleep; and, exhausted with bodily and mental excitement, he did not wake until the next morning, when he was summoned by the priest to assist at the funeral rites. In an hour all was over; the crowd dispersed, and Philip, returning to the cottage, bolted the door that he might not be interrupted, and felt happy that he was alone.

      There is a feeling in our nature which will arise when we again find ourselves in the СКАЧАТЬ