Notwithstanding this taunt at the close of this speech, there was so much truth in the observations of Amine, that Father Mathias felt their power.  As the wife of a Catholic, he had been accustomed to view Amine as one who had backslided from the church of Rome—­not as one who had been brought up in another creed.  He now recalled to mind, that she had never yet been received into the church, for Father Seysen had not considered her as in a proper state to be admitted, and had deferred her baptism until he was satisfied of her full belief.

“You speak boldly; but you speak as you feel, my child,” replied Father Mathias after a pause.  “We will, when we arrive at Goa, talk over these things, and with the blessing of God, the new faith shall be made manifest to you.”

“So be it,” replied Amine.

Little did the priest imagine that Amine’s thoughts were at that moment upon a dream she had had at New Guinea, in which her mother appeared, and revealed to her her magic arts—­and that Amine was longing to arrive at Goa that she might practise them.

Every hour the gale increased, and the vessel laboured and leaked; the Portuguese sailors were frightened, and invoked their saints.  Father Mathias, and the other passengers, gave themselves up for lost, for the pumps could not keep the vessel free; and their cheeks blanched as the waves washed furiously over the vessel:  they prayed and trembled.  Father Mathias gave them absolution; some cried like children, some tore their hair, some cursed, and cursed the saints they had but the day before invoked.  But Amine stood unmoved; and as she heard them curse, she smiled in scorn.

“My child,” said Father Mathias, checking his tremulous voice that he might not appear agitated before one whom he saw so calm and unmoved amidst the roaring of the elements—­“My child, let not this hour of peril pass away.  Before thou art summoned, let me receive thee into the bosom of our church—­give thee pardon for thy sins, and certainty of bliss hereafter.”

“Good Father, Amine is not to be frightened into belief, even if she feared the storm,” replied she; “nor will she credit your power to forgive her sins, merely because she says, in fear, that which in her calm reason she might reject.  If ever fear could have subjected me, it was when I was alone upon the raft—­that was indeed a trial of my strength of mind, the bare recollection of which is, at this moment, more dreadful than the storm now raging, and the death which may await us.  There is a God on high in whose mercy I trust—­in whose love I confide—­to whose will I bow.  Let Him do His will.”

“Die not, my child, in unbelief!”

“Father,” replied Amine, pointing to the passengers and seamen who were on the deck crying and wailing:  “these are Christians—­these men have been promised by you, but now, the inheritance of perfect bliss.  What is their faith, that it does not give them strength to die like men?  Why is it that a woman quails not, while they lie grovelling on the deck?”