But this one’s beauty had no similitude to that of the departed deity. As the maiden gazed she discerned that the man was the one her heart called lover, the woman the one she had enshrined as the ideal of her soul, Mary. The twain stood above her, on a plain, apparently of clouds very bright, rising in graceful curve from the earth and stretching away in measureless vistas, filled with flowered parks, silvery rivers and stately mountains. Along the rivers, amid the flowery plains and on the verdant mountains, there were numerous buildings; but these latter were inviting; not palatial, nor stately. They were homes surrounded by family groups. And the dreamer discerned true love triumphant and fruitful. She lingered in this presence, anon longing for a presentment of her self amid the scenes of pleasure, until all was suddenly dissolved by a mighty lurch of the ship that awakened her. She started from her couch and all immediately before the dream came back to her mind.
“We’re in a storm on the Mediterranean, and the captain is anxious!” Her nerves were now unstrung; a woman’s timorousness was upon her. She could hear confused noises aloft, but no voices. For a moment she questioned: “What if all but myself have been swept away?” Then she thought of herself as drifting about in a ship, sailless, helmless, alone! The thought was suffocating. The noises aloft continued, and she gave strained attention to catch the sound of a voice. There was nothing to be heard but the creaking of timbers, the dashing of waves, the shrieking of winds and vague thumpings, as if parts of the vessel were beating each other to pieces.
“I’ll not lie still in this coffin!” she exclaimed, and with a bound she made her way to the deck. As she arrived there she thought she saw dark forms, some crouching as if for shelter, and others as if engaged in a great struggle. Were these demons, or the crew in a struggle for life? She could not say. Then there came a cry from the direction of the forward part of the ship; she thought it was her father’s voice, but it was very hoarse and scarcely recognizable.
She listened again to the cry: “Ho, ho; ye Olympian demons! tear up the sea, charge now! Ha, ha; have at us!” The cry thrilled her. Again the wild voice rose above the storm:
“Bury her, my darling, if ye dare! What matter! her white soul has eternal wings!”
She was certain it was her father. She longed to rush to his side, but she doubted whether she could find him in the darkness; then, too, even in the terrors of the moment, her maiden modesty asserted itself. She remembered that she was but partly clad.
Again came that voice, wilder than before: “Ye billows, dare ye smite a knight in the face? I’ll meet your challenge, and single-handed, in your midst, fight!”
Miriamne’s heart was almost paralyzed by the thought, “The boisterousness has overcome my father. He’s contemplating leaping into the sea!”
Just then a vivid flash of lightning made every thing visible. It seemed to cut under the clouds, which, rain-charged, were running near the billow crests, and at the same time enswathed the ship from the mast tips to the partially exposed keel, in flame.