“But there are others on board, wild, reckless men whose passions—”
“I understand, father,” she said smiling. “Do not fear for me. Never was empress encompassed with more observance than I. The men are very superstitious; they look upon me as a sort of tutelary genius, the luck of the vessel. But he is their god; they worship him. Once, and once only, one of the crew showed disrespect, mere words,” she added, laughing; “but before Victor knew of it, the others flung the offender overboard, although I forgave him. They love me as their good angel; I nurse them when they are ill; several times I have been so fortunate as to save a life, by constant care such as a woman can give. Poor fellows, they are giants, but they are children at the same time.”
“And when there is fighting overhead?”
“I am used to it now; I quaked for fear during the first engagement, but never since.—I am used to such peril, and—I am your daughter,” she said; “I love it.”
“But how if he should fall?”
“I should die with him.”
“And your children?”
“They are children of the sea and of danger; they share the life of their parents. We have but one life, and we do not flinch from it. We have but one life, our names are written on the same page of the book of Fate, one skiff bears us and our fortunes, and we know it.”
“Do you so love him that he is more to you than all beside?”
“All beside?” echoed she. “Let us leave that mystery alone. Yet stay! there is this dear little one—well, this too is he,” and straining Abel to her in a tight clasp, she set eager kisses on his cheeks and hair.