“Life is sweet, my child—­they leave their wives, their children, and they dread hereafter.  Who is prepared to die?”

“I am,” replied Amine.  “I have no husband—­at least I fear I have no husband.  For me life has no sweets; yet, one little hope remains—­a straw to the sinking wretch.  I fear not death, for I have nought to live for.  Were Philip here, why, then indeed—­but he is gone before me, and now to follow him is all I ask.”

“He died in the faith, my child—­if you would meet him, do the same.”

“He never died like these,” replied Amine, looking with scorn at the passengers.

“Perhaps he lived not as they have lived,” replied Father Mathias.  “A good man dies in peace, and hath no fear.”

“So die the good men of all creeds, Father,” replied Amine; “and in all creeds death is equally terrible to the wicked.”

“I will pray for thee, my child,” said Father Mathias, sinking on his knees.

“Many thanks—­thy prayers will be heard, even though offered for one like me,” replied Amine, who, clinging to the man-ropes, made her way up to the ladder, and gained the deck.

“Lost! signora, lost!” exclaimed the captain, wringing his hands as he crouched under the bulwark.

“No!” replied Amine, who had gained the weather side, and held on by a rope; “not lost this time.”

“How say you, signora?” replied the captain, looking with admiration at Amine’s calm and composed countenance.  “How say you, signora?”

“Something tells me, good captain, that you will not be lost, if you exert yourselves—­something tells it to me here,” and Amine laid her hand to her heart.  Amine had a conviction that the vessel would not be lost, for it had not escaped her observation that the storm was less violent, although, in their terror, this had been unnoticed by the sailors.

The coolness of Amine, her beauty, perhaps, the unusual sight of a woman so young, calm and confiding, when all others were in despair, had its due effect upon the captain and seamen.  Supposing her to be a Catholic they imagined that she had had some warrant for her assertion, for credulity and superstition are close friends.  They looked upon Amine with admiration and respect, recovered their energies, and applied to their duties.  The pumps were again worked; the storm abated during the night, and the vessel was, as Amine had predicted, saved.

The crew and passengers looked upon her almost as a saint, and talked of her to Father Mathias, who was sadly perplexed.  The courage which she had displayed was extraordinary; even when he trembled, she showed no sign of fear.  He made no reply, but communed with his own mind, and the result was unfavourable to Amine.  What had given her such coolness? what had given her the spirit of prophecy?  Not the God of the Christians, for she was no believer.  Who then? and Father Mathias thought of her chamber at Terneuse, and shook his head.