“The Papooses I have just left do no worse than worship their idols, and are termed idolaters,” muttered Amine.  “What then are these Christians?”

“Would you not be better below?” said Father Mathias, coming over to Amine; “this is no time for women to be on deck—­they would be better employed in offering up prayers for safety.”

“Nay, Father, I can pray better here; I like this conflict of the elements; and as I view, I bow down in admiration of the Deity who rules the storm; who sends the winds forth in their wrath, or soothes them into peace.”

“It is well said, my child,” replied Father Mathias; “but the Almighty is not only to be worshipped in His works, but, in the closet, with meditation, self-examination, and faith.  Hast thou followed up the precepts which thou hast been taught? hast thou reverenced the sublime mysteries which have been unfolded to thee?”

“I have done my best, Father,” replied Amine, turning away her head, and watching the rolling wave.

“Hast thou called upon the Holy Virgin, and upon the saints—­those intercessors for mortals erring like thyself?”

Amine made no answer; she did not wish to irritate the priest, neither would she tell an untruth.

“Answer me, child,” continued the priest with severity.

“Father,” replied Amine, “I have appealed to God alone—­the God of the Christians—­the God of the whole universe!”

“Who believes not everything, believes nothing, young woman.  I thought as much!  I saw thee smile with scorn just now; why didst thou smile?”

“At my own thoughts, good Father.”

“Say rather, at the true faith shown by others.”

Amine made no answer.

“Thou art still an unbeliever, and a heretic.  Beware, young woman! beware!”

“Beware of what, good Father? why should I beware?  Are there not millions in these climes more unbelieving, and more heretic, perhaps, than I?  How many have you converted to your faith?  What trouble, what toil, what dangers have you not undergone to propagate that creed—­and why do you succeed so ill?  Shall I tell you, Father?  It is because the people have already had a creed of their own:  a creed taught to them from their infancy, and acknowledged by all who live about them.  Am I not in the same position?  I was brought up in another creed:  and can you expect that that can be dismissed, and the prejudices of early years at once eradicated?  I have thought much of what you have told me—­have felt that much is true—­that the tenets of your creed are god-like—­is not that much? and yet you are not content.  You would have blind acknowledgment, blind obedience—­I were then an unworthy convert.  We shall soon be in port, then teach me, and convince me, if you will; I am ready to examine and confess, but on conviction only.  Have patience, good Father, and the time may come when I may feel, what now I do not;—­that yon bit of painted wood is a thing to bow down to and adore.”