attempts of human voices.  Although the time appeared an age to all who awaited the result, scarcely five minutes had elapsed since the accident occurred and the hurricane had reached them.  There was still hope, therefore, for those who yet remained in the water.  Maso felt the eagerness of one who had already been successful beyond his hopes, and, in his desire to catch some guiding signal, he leaned forward, till the rolling lake washed into his face.

“Ha! gallant—­gallant Nettuno!”

Men certainly spoke, and that near him.  But the sounds resembled words uttered beneath a cover.  The wind whistled, too, though but for a moment, and then it seemed to sail upward into the dark vault of the heavens.  Nettuno barked audibly, and his master answered with another shout, for the sympathy of man in his kind is inextinguishable.

“My brave, my noble Nettuno!”

The stillness was now imposing, and Maso heard the dog growl.  This ill-omened signal was undeniably followed by smothered voices.  The latter became clearer, as if the mocking winds were willing that a sad exhibition of human frailty should be known, or, what is more probable, violent passion had awakened stronger powers of speech.  This much the mariner understood.

“Loosen thy grasp, accursed Baptiste!”

“Wretch, loosen thine own!”

“Is God naught with thee?”

“Why dost throttle so, infernal Nicklaus?”

“Thou wilt die damned!”

“Thou chokest—­villain—­pardon!—­pardon!”

He heard no more.  The merciful elements interposed to drown the appalling strife.  Once or twice the dog howled, but the tempest came across the Leman again in its might, as if the short pause had been made merely to take breath.  The winds took a new direction; and the bark, still held by its anchors, swung wide off from its former position, tending in towards the mountains of Savoy.  During the first burst of this new blast, even Maso was glad to crouch to the deck, for millions of infinitely fine particles were lifted from the lake, and driven on with the atmosphere with a violence to take away his breath.  The danger of being swept before the furious tide of the driving element was also an accident not impossible.  When the lull returned, no exertion of his faculties could catch a single sound foreign to the proper character of the scene, such as the plash of the water, and the creaking of the long, swinging yards.

The mariner now felt a deep concern for his dog.  He called to him until he grew hoarse, but fruitlessly.  The change of position, with the constant and varying drift of the vessel, had carried them beyond the reach of the human voice.  More time was expended in summoning “Nettuno! gallant Nettuno!” than had been consumed in the passage of all the events which it has been necessary to our object to relate so minutely, and always with the same want of success.  The mind of Maso was pitched to a degree far above the opinions and habits of those with whom his life brought him ordinarily in contact, but as even fine gold will become tarnished by exposure to impure air, he had not entirely escaped the habitual weaknesses of the Italians of his class.  When he found that no cry could recall his faithful companion, he threw himself upon the deck in a paroxysm of passion, tore his hair, and wept audibly.