“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.