But the demand for water became imperious; she seized one of the bottles, and drank.  “Yet why should I drink or eat?  Why should I wish to preserve life?” She rose, and looked round the horizon—­“Sky and water, nothing more.  Is this the death I am to die—­the cruel death prophesied by Schriften—­a lingering death under a burning sun, while my vitals are parched within?  Be it so!  Fate I dare thee to thy worst—­we can die but once—­and without him, what care I to live!  But yet I may see him again,” continued Amine, hurriedly, after a pause.  “Yes!  I may—­who knows?  Then welcome life, I’ll nurse thee for that bare hope—­bare indeed with nought to feed on.  Let me see, is it here still?” Amine looked at her zone, and perceived her dagger was still in it.  “Well then, I will live since death is at my command, and be guardful of life for my dear husband’s sake.”  And Amine threw herself on her resting-place that she might forget everything.  She did:  from that morning till the noon of the next day, she remained in a state of torpor.

When she again rose, she was faint; again she looked round her—­there was but sky and water to be seen.  “Oh! this solitude—­it is horrible! death would be a release—­but no, I must not die—­I must live for Philip.”  She refreshed herself with water and a few pieces of biscuit, and folded her arms across her breast.  “A few more days without relief, and all must be over.  Was ever woman situated as I am, and yet I dare to indulge hope?  Why, ’tis madness!  And why am I thus singled out:  because I have wedded with Philip?  It may be so; if so, I welcome it.  Wretches! who thus severed me from my husband; who, to save their own lives, sacrificed a helpless woman!  Nay! they might have saved me, if they had had the least pity;—­but no, they never felt it.  And these are Christians!  The creed that the old priests would have had me—­yes! that Philip would have had me embrace.  Charity and good-will!  They talk of it, but I have never seen them practise it!  Loving one another!—­forgiving one another!—­say rather hating and preying upon one another!  A creed never practised:  why, if not practised, of what value is it?  Any creed were better—­I abjure it, and if I be saved, will abjure it still for ever.  Shade of my mother! is it that I have listened to these men—­that I have, to win my husband’s love, tried to forget that which thou taughtest, even when a child at thy feet—­that faith which our forefathers for thousands of years lived and died in—­that creed proved by works, and obedience to the prophet’s will—­is it for this that I am punished?  Tell me, mother—­oh! tell me in my dreams.”

The night closed in, and with the gloom rose heavy clouds; the lightning darted through the firmament, ever and anon lighting up the raft.  At last, the flashes were so rapid, not following each other—­but darting down from every quarter at once, that the whole firmament appeared as if on fire, and the thunder rolled along the heavens, now near and loud, then rumbling in the distance.  The breeze rose up fresh, and the waves tossed the raft, and washed occasionally even to Amine’s feet, as she stood in the centre of it.