With religious awe
Grief heard the voice of Virtue. No complaint
The solemn silence broke. Tears ceased to flow.
GLOVER.
Hope is the most treacherous of all human fancies. So long as there is a
plausible ground to expect relief from any particular quarter, men will
relax their exertions in the face of the most imminent danger, and they
cling to their expectations long after reason has begun to place the
chances of success on the adverse side of the scale. Thus it was with the
party in the Montauk. Two or three precious hours were lost in the idle
belief that the gun would be heard by Captain Truck, and that they might
momentarily look for the appearance of, at least, one of the boats.
Paul Blunt was the first to relinquish this delusion. He knew that, if it
reached their friends at all, the report must have been heard in a few
seconds, and he knew, also, that it peculiarly belonged to the profession
of a seaman to come to quick decisions. An hour of smart rowing would
bring the cutter from the wreck to the headland, where it would be
visible, by means of a glass, from the fore-top. Two hours had now passed
away and no signs of any boat were to be discovered, and the young man
felt reluctantly compelled to yield all the strong hopes of timely aid
that he had anticipated from this quarter. John Effingham, who had much
more energy of character than his kinsman, though not more personal
fortitude and firmness, was watching the movements of their young leader,
and he read the severe disappointment in his face, as he descended the
last time from the top, where he had often been since the consultation,
to look out for the expected succour.
"I see it in your countenance," said that gentleman, "we have nothing to
look for from the boats. Our signal has not been heard."
"There is no hope, and we are now thrown altogether on our own exertions,
aided by the kind providence of God."
"This calamity is so sudden and so dire, that I can scarcely credit it!
Are we then truly in danger of becoming prisoners to barbarians? Is Eve
Effingham, the beautiful, innocent, good, angelic daughter of my cousin,
to be their victim!--perhaps the inmate of a seraglio!"
"There is the pang! Had I a thousand bodies, a thousand lives, I could
give all of the first to unmitigated suffering, lay down all the last to
avert so shocking a calamity. Do you think the ladies are sensible of
their real situation?"
"They are uneasy rather than terrified. In common with us all, they have
strong hopes from the boats, though the continued arrival of the
barbarians, who are constantly coming into their camp, has helped to
render them a little more conscious of the true nature of the danger."
Here Mr. Sharp, who stood on the hurricane-house, called out for the
glass, in order to ascertain what a party of the Arabs, who were collected
near the in-shore end of the reef, were about. Paul Blunt went up to him,
and made the examination. His countenance fell as he gazed, and an
expression like that of hopelessness was again apparent on his fine
features, when he lowered the glass.
"Here is some new cause of uneasiness!"
"The wretches have got a number of spars, and are lashing them together to
form a raft. They are bent on our capture, and I see no means of
preventing it."
"Were we alone, men only, we might have the bitter consolation of selling
our lives dearly; but it is terrible to have those with us whom we can
neither save nor yet devote to a common destruction with our enemies!"
"It is indeed terrible, and the helplessness of our situation adds to its
misery."
"Can we not offer terms?--Might not a promise of ransom, with hostages, do
something? I would cheerfully remain in the hands of the barbarians, in
order to effect the release of the rest of the party."
Mr. Blunt grasped his hand, and for a moment he envied the other the
generous thought. But smiling bitterly, he shook his head, as if conscious
of the futility of even this desperate self-devotion.
"Gladly would I be your companion; but the project is, in every sense,
impracticable. Ransom they might consent to receive with us all in their
power, but not on the condition of our being permitted to depart. Indeed,
no means of quitting them would be left; for, once in possession of the
ship, as in a few hours they must be, Captain Truck, though having the
boats, will be obliged to surrender for want of food, or to run the
frightful hazard of attempting to reach the islands, on an allowance
scarcely sufficient to sustain life under the most favourable
circumstances. These flint-hearted monsters are surrounded by the
desolation of their desert, and they are aware of all their appalling
advantages."
"The real state of things ought to be communicated to our friends, in
order that they may be prepared for the worst."
To this Mr. Blunt agreed, and they went together to inform John Effingham
of the new discovery. This stern-minded man was, in a manner, prepared for
the worst, and he now agreed on the melancholy propriety of letting his
kinsman know the actual nature of the new danger that threatened them.
"I will undertake this unpleasant office," he said, "though I could, in my
inmost soul, pray that the necessity for it might pass away. Should the
worst arrive, I have still hopes of effecting something by means of a
ransom; but what will have been the fate of the youthful, and delicate,
and lovely, ere we can make ourselves even comprehended by the barbarians?
A journey in the desert, as these journeys have been described to me,
would be almost certain death to all but the strongest of our party, and
even gold may fail of its usual power, when weighed against the evil
nature of savages."
"Is there no hope, then, really left us?" demanded Mr. Sharp, when the
last speaker had left them to descend to the cabins. "Is it not possible
to get the boat into the water, and to make our escape in that?"
"That is an expedient of which I have thought, but it is next to
impracticable. As anything is better than capture, however, I will make
one more close examination of the proceedings of the demons, and look
nearer into our own means."
Paul Blunt now got a lead and dropped it over the side of the ship, in the
almost forlorn hope that possibly she might lie over some hole on the
bottom. The soundings proved to be, as indeed he expected, but a little
more than three fathoms.
"I had no reason to expect otherwise," he said, as he drew in the line,
though he spoke like a disappointed man. "Had there been sufficient water
the ship might have been scuttled, and the launch would have floated off
the deck; but as it is, we should lose the vessel without a sufficient
object. It would appear heroic were you and I to contrive to get on the
reef, and to proceed to the shore with a view to make terms with the
Arabs; but there could be no real use in it, as the treachery of their
character is too well established to look for any benefit from such
a step."
"Might they not be kept in play, until our friends returned? Providence
may befriend us in some unexpected manner in our uttermost peril."
"We will examine them once more with the glass. By a movement among the
Arabs, there has probably been a new accession to their numbers."
The two gentlemen now ascended to the top of the hurricane-house again, in
feverish haste, and once more they applied the instrument. A minute of
close study induced Mr. Blunt to drop the glass, with an expression that
denoted increased concern.
"Can any thing possibly make our prospects worse?" eagerly inquired his
companion.
"Do you not remember a flag that was on board the Dane--that by which we
identified his nation?"
"Certainly: it was attached to the halyards, and lay on the quarter-deck."
"That flag is now flying in the camp of these barbarians! You may see it,
here, among the tents last pitched by the party that arrived while we were
conversing forward."
"And from this, you infer--"
"That our people are captives! That flag was in the ship when we left it;
had the Arabs returned before our party got there, the captain would have
been back long ere this; and in order to obtain this ensign they must have
obtained possession of the wreck, after the arrival of the boats; an event
that could scarcely occur without a struggle; I fear the flag is a proof
on which side the victory has fallen."
"This then would seem to consummate our misfortunes!"
"It does indeed; for the faint hope that existed, of being relieved by the
boats, must now be entirely abandoned."
"In the name of God, look again, and see in what condition the wretches
have got their raft!"
A long examination followed, for on this point did the fate of all in the
ship now truly seem to depend.
"They work with spirit," said Mr. Blunt, when his examination had
continued a long time; "but it seems less like a raft than before--they
are lashing spars together lengthwise--here is a dawning of hope, or what
would be hope, rather, if the boats had escaped their fangs!"
"God bless you for the words!--what is there encouraging?"
"It is not much," returned Paul Blunt, with a mournful smile; "but trifles
become of account in moments of extreme jeopardy. They are making a
floating stage, doubtless with the intention to pass from the reef to the
ship, and by veering on the chains we may possibly drop astern
sufficiently to disappoint them in the length of their bridge. If I saw a
hope of the final return of the boats, this expedient would not be without
its use, particularly if delayed to the last moment, as it might cause the
Arabs to lose another tide, and a reprieve of eight or ten hours is an age
to men in our situation."
Mr. Sharp caught eagerly at this suggestion and the young men walked the
deck together for half an hour, discussing its chances, and suggesting
various means of turning it to the best account. Still, both felt
convinced that the trifling delay which might thus be obtained, would, in
the end, be perfectly useless, should Captain Truck and his party have
really fallen into the hands of the common enemy. They were thus engaged,
sometimes in deep despondency, and sometimes buoyant with revived
expectations, when Saunders, on the part of Mr. Effingham summoned
them below.
On reaching the cabin, whither both immediately hastened, the two
gentlemen found the family party in the distress that the circumstances
would naturally create. Mr. Effingham was seated, his daughter's head
resting on a knee, for she had thrown herself on the carpet, by his side.
Mademoiselle Viefville paced the cabin, occasionally stopping to utter a
few words of consolation to her young charge, and then again reverting in
her mind to the true dangers of their situation, with a force that
completely undid all she had said, by betraying the extent of her own
apprehensions. Ann Sidley knelt near her young mistress, sometimes praying
fervently, though in silence, and at other moments folding her beloved in
her arms, as if to protect her from the ruffian grasp of the barbarians.
The _femme de chambre_ was sobbing in a state-room, while John Effingham
leaned, with his arms folded against a bulk-head, a picture of stern
submission rather than of despair. The whole party was now assembled, with
the exception of the steward, whose lamentations throughout the morning
had not been noiseless, but who was left on deck to watch the movements of
the Arabs.
The moment was not one of idle forms, and Eve Effingham, who would have
recoiled, under other circumstances, at being seen by her fellow
travellers in her present situation, scarce raised her head, in
acknowledgement of their melancholy salute, as they entered. She had been
weeping, and her hair had fallen in profusion around her shoulders. The
tears fell no longer, but a warm flushed look, one which denoted that a
struggle of the mind had gotten the better of womanly emotions, had
succeeded to deadly paleness, and rendered her loveliness of feature and
expression bright and angelic. Both of the young men thought she had never
seemed so beautiful, and both felt a secret pang, as the conviction forced
itself on them, at the same instant, that this surpassing beauty was now
likely to prove her most dangerous enemy.
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Effingham, with apparent calmness, and a dignity
that no uneasiness could disturb, "my kinsman has acquainted us with the
hopeless nature of our condition, and I have begged the favour of this
visit on your own account. _We_ cannot separate; the ties of blood and
affection unite us, and our fate must be common; but, on _you_ there is no
such obligation. Young, bold, and active, some plan may suggest itself, by
which you may possibly escape the barbarians, and at least save
yourselves, I know that generous temperaments like yours will not be
disposed to listen, at first, to such a suggestion: but reflection will
tell you that it is for the interest of us all. You may let our fate be
known, earlier than it otherwise would be, to those who will take
immediate measures to procure our ransoms."
"This is impossible!" Mr. Sharp said firmly. "We can never quit you; could
never enjoy a moment's peace under the consciousness of having been guilty
of an act so selfish!"
"Mr. Blunt is silent," continued Mr. Effingham, after a short pause, in
which he looked from one of the young men to the other. "He thinks better
of my proposition, and will listen to his own best interests."
Eve raised her head quickly, but without being conscious of the anxiety
she betrayed, and gazed with melancholy intentness at the subject of
this remark.
"I do credit to the generous feelings of Mr. Sharp," Paul Blunt now
hurriedly answered, "and should be sorry to admit that my own first
impulses were less disinterested; but I confess I have already thought of
this, and have reflected on all the chances of success or failure. It
might be practicable for one who can swim easily to reach the reef; thence
to cross the inlet, and possibly to gain the shore under cover of the
opposite range of rocks, which are higher than those near us; after which,
by following the coast, one might communicate with the boats by signal, or
even go quite to the wreck if necessary. All of this I have deliberated
on, and once I had determined to propose it; but--"
"But what?" demanded Eve quickly. "Why not execute this plan, and save
yourself? Is it a reason, because case is hopeless, that you should
perish?" Go, then, at once, for the moments are precious; an hour hence,
it may be too late."
"Were it merely to save myself, Miss Effingham, do you really think me
capable of this baseness?"
"I do not call it baseness. Why should we draw you down with us in our
misery? You have already served us, Powis, in a situation of terrible
trial, and it is not just that you should always devote yourself in behalf
of those who seem fated never to do you good. My father will tell you he
thinks it your duty now to save yourself if possible."
"I think it the duty of every man," mildly resumed Mr. Effingham, "when no
imperious obligation requires otherwise, to save the life and liberty
which God has bestowed. These gentlemen have doubtless ties and claims on
them that are independent of us, and why should they inflict a pang on
those who love them, in order to share in our disaster?"
"This is placing useless speculations before a miserable certainty,"
observed John Effingham. "As there can be no hope of reaching the boats,
it is vain to discuss the propriety of the step."
"Is this true, Powis? Is there truly no chance of your escaping. You will
not deceive us--deceive yourself--on a vain point of empty pride!"
"I can say with truth, almost with joy, for I thank God I am spared the
conflict of judging between my duty and my feelings, that there can no
longer be any chance of finding the wreck in the possession of our
friends," returned Paul fervently. "There were moments when I thought the
attempt should be made; and it would perhaps have properly fallen to my
lot to be the adventurer; but we have now proof that the Arabs are
masters, and if Captain Truck has escaped at all, it is under
circumstances that scarcely admit the possibility of his being near the
land. The whole coast must be watched and in possession of the barbarians,
and one passing along it could hardly escape being seen."
"Might you not escape into the interior, notwithstanding?" asked Eve,
impetuously.
"With what motive? To separate myself from those who have been my fellows
in misfortune, only to die of want, or to fall into the hands of another
set of masters? It is every way our interest to keep together, and to let
those already on the coast become our captors, as the booty of two ships
may dispose them to be less exacting with their prisoners."
"Slaves!" muttered John Effingham.
His cousin bowed his head over the delicate form of Eve, which he folded
with his arms, as if to shield it from the blasts and evils of the desert.
"As we may be separated immediately on being taken," resumed Paul Blunt,
"it will be well to adopt some common mode of acting, and a uniform
account of ourselves, in order that we may impress the barbarians with the
policy of carrying us, as soon as possible, into the vicinity of Mogadore,
with a view to obtaining a speedy ransom."
"Can any thing be better than the holy truth?" exclaimed Eve. "No, no, no!
Let us not deform this chastening act of God by colouring any thought or
word with deception."
"Deception in our case will hardly be needed; but by understanding those
facts which will most probably influence the Arabs, we may dwell the most
on them. We cannot do better than by impressing on the minds of our
captors the circumstance that this is no common ship, a fact their own
eyes will corroborate, and that we are not mere mariners, but passengers,
who will be likely to reward their forbearance and moderation."
"I think, sir," interrupted Ann Sidley, looking up with tearful eyes from
the spot where she still knelt, "that if these people knew how much Miss
Eve is sought and beloved, they might be led to respect her as she
deserves, and this at least would 'temper the wind to the shorn lamb!'"
"Poor Nanny!" murmured Eve, stretching forth a hand towards her old nurse,
though her face was still buried in her own hair, "thou wilt soon learn
that there is another leveller beside the grave!"
"Ma'am!"
"Thou wilt find that Eve, in the hands of barbarians, is not thy Eve. It
will now become my turn to become a handmaiden, and to perform for others
offices a thousand times more humiliating than any thou hast ever
performed for me."
Such a consummation of their misery had never struck the imagination of
the simple-minded Ann, and she gazed at her child with tender concern, as
if she distrusted her senses.
"This is too improbable, dear Miss Eve," she said, "and you will distress
your father by talking so wildly. The Arabs are human beings though they
are barbarians, and they will never dream of anything so wicked as this."
Mademoiselle Viefville made a rapid and fervent ejaculation in her own
language, that was keenly expressive of her own sense of misery, and Ann
Sidley, who always felt uneasiness when anything was said affecting Eve
that she could not understand, looked from one to the other, as if she
demanded an explanation.
"I'm sure Mamerzelle cannot think any such thing likely to take place,"
she continued more positively; "and, sir, you at least will not permit
Miss Eve to torment herself with any notions as unreasonable, as
monstrous as this!"
"We are in the hands of God, my worthy Ann, and you may live to see all
your fixed ideas of propriety violated," returned Mr. Effingham. "Let us
pray that we may not be separated, for there will at least be a tender
consolation in being permitted to share our misery in company. Should we
be torn asunder, then indeed will the infliction be one of
insupportable agony!"
"And who will think of such a cruelty, sir? _Me_ they cannot separate from
Miss Eve, for I am her servant, her own long-tried, faithful attendant,
who first held her in arms, and nursed her when a helpless infant; and you
too, sir, you are her father, her own beloved revered parent; and Mr.
John, is he not her kinsman, of her blood and name? And even Mamerzelle
also has claims to remain with Miss Eve, for she has taught her many
things, I dare say, that it is good to know. Oh! no, no, no! no one has a
right to tear us asunder, and no one will have the heart to do it."
"Nanny, Nanny," murmured Eve, "you do not, cannot know the cruel Arabs!"
"They cannot be crueller and more unforgiving than our own savages, ma'am,
and they keep the mother with the child; and when they spare life, they
take the prisoners into their huts, and treat them as they treat their
own. God has caused so many of the wicked to perish for their sins, in
these eastern lands, that I do not think a man can be left that is wretch
enough to harm one like Miss Eve. Take courage then, sir, and put your
trust in his Holy Providence. I know the trial is hard to a tender
father's heart, but should their customs require them to keep the men and
women asunder, and to separate you from your daughter, for a short time,
remember that I shall be with her, as I was in her childhood, when, by the
mercy of God, we carried her through so many mortal diseases in safety,
and have got her, in the pride of her youth, without a blemish or a
defect, the perfect creature she is."
"If the world had no other tenants but such as you, devoted and
simple-hearted woman, there would indeed be little cause for apprehension;
for you are equally unable to imagine wrong yourself, or to conceive it in
others. It would remove a mountain from my heart, could I indeed believe
that even you will be permitted to remain near this dependent and fragile
girl during the months of suffering and anguish that are likely to occur."
"Father," said Eve, hurriedly drying her eyes, and rising to her feet with
a motion so easy, and an effort so slight, that it appeared like the power
of mere volition,--the superiority of the spirit over her light
frame,--"father, do not let a thought of me distress you at this awful
moment. You have known me only in happiness and prosperity,--an indulged
and indolent girl; but I feel a force which is capable of sustaining me,
even in this blank desert. The Arabs can have no other motive than to
preserve us all, as captives likely to repay their care with a rich
ransom. I know that a journey, according to their habits, will be painful
and arduous, but it may be borne. Trust, then, more to my spirit than to
my feeble body, and you will find that I am not as worthless as I fear
you fancy."
Mr. Effingham passed his arm round the slender waist of his child, and
folded her almost frantically to his bosom. But Eve was aroused, and
gently extricating herself, with bright tearless eyes, she looked round at
her companions, as if she would reverse the order of their sympathies,
and drive them to their own wants and hazards.
"I know you think me the most exposed by this dreadful disaster," she
said; "that I may not be able to bear up against the probable suffering,
and that I shall sink first, because I am the feeblest and frailest in
frame; but God permits the reed to bend, when the oak is destroyed. I am
stronger, able to bear more than you imagine, and we shall all live to
meet again, in happier scenes, should it be our present hard fortune to be
separated."
As Eve spoke, she cast affectionate looks on those dear to her by habit,
and blood, and services; nor did she permit an unnecessary reserve at such
a moment to prevent glances of friendly interest towards the two young
men, whose very souls seemed wrapped in her movements. Words of
encouragement from such a source, however, only served to set the
frightful truth more vividly before the minds of her auditors, and not one
of them heard what she said who did not feel an awful presentiment that a
few weeks of the suffering of which she made so light, did she even escape
a crueller fate, would consign that form, now so winning and lovely, to
the sands. Mr. Effingham now rose, and for the first time the flood of
sensations that had been so long gathering in his bosom, seemed ready to
burst through the restraints of manhood. Struggling to command himself, he
turned to his two young male companions, and spoke with an impressiveness
and dignity that carried with them a double force, from the fact of his
ordinary manners being so tempered and calm.
"Gentlemen," he said, "we may serve each other, by coming to an
understanding in time; or at least you may confer on me a favour that a
life of gratitude would not repay. You are young and vigorous, bold and
intelligent, qualities that will command the respect of even savages. The
chances that one of you will survive to reach a Christian land are much
greater than those of a man of my years, borne down as I shall be with the
never-dying anxieties of a parent."
"Father! father!"
"Hush! darling: let me entreat these gentlemen to bear us in mind, should
they reach a place of safety; for, after all, youth may do that in your
behalf, which time will deny to John and myself. Money will be of no
account, you know, to rescue my child from a fate far worse than death,
and it may be some consolation to you, young men, to recollect, at the
close of your own careers, which I trust will yet be long and happy, that
a parent, in his last moments, found a consolation in the justifiable
hopes he had placed on your generous exertions."
"Father, I cannot bear this! For you to be the victim of these barbarians
is too much; and I would prefer trusting all to a raft on the terrible
ocean, to incurring the smallest chance of such a calamity. Mademoiselle,
you will join me in the entreaty to the gentlemen to prepare a few planks
to receive us, where we can perish together, and at least have the
consolation of knowing that our eyes will be closed by friends. The
longest survivor will be surrounded and supported by the spirits of those
who have gone before, into a world devoid of care."
"I have thought this from the first," returned Mademoiselle Viefville in
French, with an energy of manner that betokened a high and resolved
character: "I would not expose gentlewomen to the insults and outrages of
barbarians; but did not wish to make a proposition that the feelings of
others might reject."
"It is a thousand times preferable to capture, if indeed it be
practicable," said John Effingham, looking inquiringly towards Paul. The
latter, however, shook his head in the negative, for, the wind blowing on
shore, he knew it would be merely meeting captivity without the appearance
of a self-reliance and dignity, that might serve to impress their captors
favourably.
"It is impossible," said Eve, reading the meaning of the glances, and
dropping on her knees before Mr. Effingham; "well, then, may our trust be
in God! We have yet a few minutes of liberty, and let them not be wasted
idly, in vain regrets. Father, kiss me, and give me once more that holy
and cherished blessing, with which you used to consign me to sleep, in
those days when we scarce dreamed of, never realised, misfortune."
"Bless you, bless you, my babe; my beloved, my cherished Eve!" said the
father solemnly, but with a quivering lip. "May that dread Being whose
ways, though mysterious, are perfect wisdom and mercy, sustain you in this
trial, and bring you at last, spotless in spirit and person, to his own
mansions of peace. God took from me early thy sainted mother, and I had
impiously trusted in the hope that thou wert left to be my solace in age.
Bless you, my Eve; I shall pray God, without ceasing, that thou mayest
pass away as pure and as worthy of His love, as her to whom thou owest
thy being."
John Effingham groaned; the effort he made to repress his feelings causing
the out-breaking of his soul to be deep though smothered.
"Father, let us pray together. Ann, my good Ann, thou who first taught me
to lisp a thanksgiving and a request, kneel here by my side--and you, too,
mademoiselle; though of a different creed, we have a common God! Cousin
John, you pray often, I know, though so little apt to show your emotions;
there is a place for you, too, with those of your blood. I know not
whether these gentlemen are too proud to pray."
Both the young men knelt with the others, and there was a long pause in
which the whole party put up their supplications, each according to his or
her habits of thought.
"Father!" resumed Eve, looking up as she still knelt between the knees of
Mr. Effingham, and smiling fondly in the face of him she so piously loved;
"there is one precious hope of which even the barbarians cannot rob us: we
may be separated here, but our final meeting rests only with God!"
Mademoiselle Viefville passed an arm round the waist of her sweet pupil,
and pressed her against her heart.
"There is but one abode for the blessed, my dear mademoiselle, and one
expiation for us all." Then rising from her knees, Eve said with the grace
and dignity of a gentlewoman, "Cousin Jack, kiss me; we know not when
another occasion may offer to manifest to each other our mutual regard.
You have been a dear and an indulgent kinsman to me, and should I live
these twenty years a slave, I shall not cease to think of you with
kindness and regret."
John Effingham folded the beautiful and ardent girl in his arms, with the
freedom and fondness of a parent.
"Gentlemen," continued Eve, with a deepening colour, but eyes that were
kind and grateful, "I thank you, too, for lending your supplications to
ours. I know that young men in the pride of their security, seldom fancy
such a dependence on God necessary; but the strongest are overturned, and
pride is a poor substitute for the hope of the meek, I believe you have
thought better of me than I merit, and I should never cease to reproach
myself with a want of consideration, did I believe that any thing more
than accident has brought you into this ill-fated vessel. Will you permit
me to add one more obligation to the many I feel to you both?" advancing
nearer to them, and speaking lower; "you are young, and likely to endure
bodily exposure better than my father--that we shall be separated I feel
persuaded--and it might be in your power to solace a heart-broken
parent.--I see, I know, I may depend on your good offices."
"Eve--my blessed daughter--my only, my beloved child!" exclaimed Mr.
Effingham, who overheard her lowest syllable, so death-like was the
stillness of the cabin--"come to me, dearest; no power on earth shall ever
tear us asunder!"
Eve turned quickly, and beheld the arms of her parent extended. She threw
herself into them, when the pent and irresistible emotions broke loose in
both, for they wept together, as she lay on his bosom, with a violence
that in a man it was awfully painful to witness.
Mr. Sharp had advanced to take the offered hand of Eve when she suddenly
left him for the purpose just mentioned, and he now felt the grasp of
Paul's fingers on his arm, as if they were about to penetrate the bone.
Fearful of betraying the extent of their feelings, the two young men
rushed on deck together, where they paced backward and forward for many
minutes, quite unable to exchange a word, or even a look.