Paolo stood by himself, leaning over the quarter-rail, and gazing, with a vacant listlessness, at the sea; no one speaking to him, and he noticing no one.
Zappa slowly paced the deck, every now and then stopping to watch the progress of the vessel, and to issue his orders to the helmsman or sail trimmers, who were at their stations ready for any emergency; but though every sail, to her royals, were set, with that light wind, a few hands only were required to box about the yards, as it became necessary to keep the vessel away, or haul her more up, to avoid the rocks and shoals as they presented themselves.
Looking at that beautiful fabric, as she floated proudly on the waters, and observing the skill with which she was handled, it was difficult to suppose that danger of any kind, beyond what I have mentioned, could menace her.
Zappa himself felt secure, for he knew that none of his enemies could here approach him unawares; or, if they daringly ventured into that labyrinth of dangers, he could easily elude them, or entice them to their destruction. However, a strict look out for the appearance of any sail was, as usual, kept; but all his attention was occupied in conning the vessel through the intricate passage he had selected, in order thus to make some progress on his voyage.
“If this dreadful state of uncertainty endure much longer, I feel that it will kill me,” said Nina, taking Ada’s hand, and looking into her face, as if to read the effect her words produced. Her dim, sunken eye, and the hectic spot on her faded cheek, gave sad token that her words were too likely to be fulfilled. “For your sake, dear friend, I will try to live, and for his sake also. I would not quit him, even for another and a better world, till I was assured that he had forsaken the sinful and dangerous path he has, alas, so long followed. It is an awful thing to think that he whom one loves, better far than one’s-self, may be speedily hurried to his eternal doom, without a prayer for forgiveness—a hope in the future. I would not be separated from him, and yet I dare not wish to bear him company; though I feel that, black as are his crimes, my guilt is even greater. I deserted a fond father—I broke his heart, Ada, and can such a one as I hope for Heaven? Will the suffering, the agony of heart, I have endured, be any atonement in the sight of God? Oh, promise me, Ada, that should death claim me as his own, you will strive, by every means in your power, to lead him back to virtue—to preserve him from the ignominy, the punishment which, even I acknowledge, he has deserved at the hands of his fellow-men.”
Ada Garden roused herself from her own despondency, to soothe the feelings of her friend. She endeavoured to persuade her that her prognostications regarding her own death were probably groundless; and though she did not seek to lessen her horror of the crime she had committed, she pointed out to her the merciful promises held forth in the sacred writings, that her repentance was of more value than her sufferings; that the latter was sent by a kind Heaven to produce the former feeling, and that, trusting in Him who died for all, she might hope confidently for pardon, and remission of her sins. She assured her of her own belief, that Heaven is not deaf to those who pray that those they love may be made to repent; and she entreated her, if on that account alone, to live for her husband’s sake.
“And, Nina,” she continued, “what a weak girl—what one situated as I am can do, I will do for your husband; and more, I will entreat Captain Fleetwood, not only to save him from punishment, but to use every means in order to persuade him to repent of the past, and to follow a noble and virtuous course of life.”
In this manner the two lovely girls had conversed for some time in tones not above a whisper, lest it should be heard by him whom it most concerned, when an exclamation of terror escaped the lips of Nina, and, seizing Ada’s arm with a convulsive grasp, she pointed over the larboard side of the vessel, where a sight met their view, which was, indeed, sufficient to make the stoutest heart quail.
Meantime the captain stood near the weather gangway, directing, as I said, the course of the vessel, with his first mate by his side, whom he had called to him to point out the danger yet to be passed; while, as a precautionary, and, indeed, usual measure on such occasions, hands were stationed at the jib-boom end, and at the weather foreyard-arm, to give timely notice of any rocks which might lie in their course beneath the water, from the beautiful clearness of which they were discernable, even though many feet from the surface, at a considerable distance. The brig’s head was to the southward, and all eyes were thus turned to windward, or in the direction towards which she was drifting with the current, and no one thought of looking on the lee side, from which no possible danger was apprehended.
“We have done well to come here, Baldo,” observed Zappa to his mate. “We are here far more secure than in any harbour in the world; for no one but a mariner of our own islands would venture his ship among these reefs. See yonder black ledge, which shows its threatening summit a few feet only above the water—there is a passage between it and another reef further to the southward, through which we shall easily pass, provided the wind does not fail us altogether; and if so, we must rouse the hands up and take to our sweeps.”