Both Amine and Father Mathias started, and drew back with surprise, at
this unexpected meeting. Amine was the first to extend her hand; she
had almost forgotten at the moment how they had parted, in the pleasure
she experienced in meeting with a well-known face.
Father Mathias coldly took her hand, and laying his own upon her head,
said; "May God bless thee, and forgive thee, my daughter, as I have long
done." Then the recollection of what had passed rushed into Amine's
mind, and she coloured deeply.
Had Father Mathias forgiven her? The event would show; but this is
certain, he now treated her as an old friend, listened with interest to
her history of the wreck, and agreed with her upon the propriety of her
accompanying him to Goa.
In a few days the vessel sailed, and Amine quitted the factory and its
enamoured commandant. They ran through the Archipelago in safety, and
were crossing the mouth of the Bay of Bengal, without having had any
interruption to fine weather.
Father Mathias had returned to Lisbon when he quitted Ternicore, and,
tired of idleness, had again volunteered to proceed as a missionary to
India. He had arrived at Formosa, and, shortly after his arrival, had
received directions from his superior to return, on important business,
to Goa; and thus it was that he fell in with Amine at Tidore.
It would be difficult to analyse the feelings of Father Mathias towards
Amine--they varied so often. At one moment he would call to mind the
kindness shown to him by her and Philip, the regard he had for the
husband, and the many good qualities which he acknowledged that she
possessed; and _now_ he would recollect the disgrace, the unmerited
disgrace, he had suffered through her means and he would then canvass
whether she really did believe him an intruder in her chamber for other
motives than those which actuated him or whether she had taken advantage
of his indiscretion. These accounts were nearly balanced in his mind:
he could have forgiven all if he had thought that Amine was a sincere
convert to the Church; but his strong conviction that she was not only
an unbeliever, but that she practised forbidden arts, turned the scale
against her. He watched her narrowly and when in her conversation she
showed any religious feeling, his heart warmed towards her: but when, on
the contrary, any words escaped her lips which seemed to show that she
thought lightly of his creed, then the full tide of indignation and
vengeance poured into his bosom.
It was in crossing the Bay of Bengal, to pass round the southern cape of
Ceylon, that they first met with bad weather; and when the storm
increased, the superstitious seamen lighted candles before the small
image of the saint which was shrined on deck. Amine observed it, and
smiled with scorn; and as she did so, almost unwittingly, she perceived
that the eye of Father Mathias was earnestly fixed upon her.
"The Papooses I have just left do no worse than worship their idols, and
are termed idolaters," muttered Amine. "What, then, are these
Christians?"
"Would you not be better below?" said Father Mathias, coming over to
Amine. "This is no time for women to be on deck; they would be better
employed in offering up prayers for safety."
"Nay, father, I can pray better here. I like this conflict of the
elements; and as I view, I bow down in admiration of the Deity who rules
the storm--who sends the winds forth in their wrath, or soothes them
into peace."
"It is well said, my child," replied Father Mathias; "but the Almighty
is not only to be worshipped in his works, but in the closet, with
meditation, self-examination and faith. Hast thou followed up the
precepts which thou hast been taught?--hast thou reverenced the sublime
mysteries which have been unfolded to thee?"
"I have done my best, father," replied Amine, turning away her head, and
watching the rolling wave.
"Hast thou called upon the Holy Virgin, and upon the saints--those
intercessors for mortals erring like thyself?"
Amine made no answer; she did not wish to irritate the priest, neither
would she tell an untruth.
"Answer me, child," continued the priest with severity.
"Father," replied Amine, "I have appealed to God alone--the God of the
Christians--the God of the whole universe!"
"Who believes not everything, believes nothing, young woman. I thought
as much! I saw thee smile with scorn just now. Why didst thou smile?"
"At my own thoughts, good father."
"Say rather at the true faith shown by others."
Amine made no answer.
"Thou art still an unbeliever and a heretic. Beware, young woman!--
beware!"
"Beware of what, good father? Why should I beware? Are there not
millions in these climes more unbelieving and more heretic, perhaps,
than I? How many have you converted to your faith? What trouble, what
toil, what dangers have you not undergone to propagate that creed; and
why do you succeed so ill? Shall I tell you, father? It is because the
people have already had a creed of their own--a creed taught to them
from their infancy, and acknowledged by all who live about them. Am I
not in the same position? I was brought up in another creed; and can
you expect that that can be dismissed, and the prejudices of early years
at once eradicated? I have thought much of what you have told me--have
felt that much is true--that the tenets of your creed are godlike: is
not that much? and yet you are not content. You would have blind
acknowledgment, blind obedience: I were then an unworthy convert. We
shall soon be in port: then teach me, and convince me, if you will. I
am ready to examine and confess, but on conviction only. Have patience,
good father, and the time may come when I _may_ feel what now I _do
not_--that yon bit of painted wood is a thing to bow down to and adore."
Notwithstanding this taunt at the close of this speech, there was so
much truth in the observations of Amine, that Father Mathias felt their
power. As the wife of a Catholic he had been accustomed to view Amine
as one who had backslided from the Church of Rome--not as one who had
been brought up in another creed. He now recalled to mind that she had
never yet been received into the Church, for Father Seysen had not
considered her as in a proper state to be admitted, and had deferred her
baptism until he was satisfied of her full belief.
"You speak boldly; but you speak as you feel, my child," replied Father
Mathias, after a pause. "We will, when we arrive at Goa, talk over
these things, and, with the blessing of God, the new faith shall be made
manifest to you."
"So be it," replied Amine.
Little did the priest imagine that Amine's thoughts were at that moment
upon a dream she had had at New Guinea, in which her mother appeared,
and revealed to her her magic arts, and that Amine was longing to arrive
at Goa that she might practise them.
Every hour the gale increased, and the vessel laboured and leaked. The
Portuguese sailors were frightened, and invoked their saints. Father
Mathias and the other passengers gave themselves up for lost, for the
pumps could not keep the vessel free; and their cheeks blanched as the
waves washed furiously over the vessel: they prayed and trembled.
Father Mathias gave them absolution. Some cried like children, some
tore their hair, some cursed, and cursed the saints they had but the day
before invoked. But Amine stood unmoved; and as she heard them curse,
she smiled in scorn.
"My child," said Father Mathias, checking his tremulous voice, that he
might not appear agitated before one whom he saw so calm and unmoved
amidst the roaring of the elements--"my child, let not this hour of
peril pass away. Before thou art summoned, let me receive thee into the
bosom of our Church--give thee pardon for thy sins, and certainty of
bliss hereafter."
"Good father, Amine is not to be frightened into belief, even if she
feared the storm," replied she; "nor will she credit your power to
forgive her sins merely because she says in fear that which in her calm
reason she might reject. If ever fear could have subjected me, it was
when I was alone upon the raft--that was, indeed a trial of my strength
of mind, the bare recollection of which is, at this moment, more
dreadful than the storm now raging, and the death which may await us.
There is a God on high in whose mercy I trust--in whose love I confide--
to whose will I bow. Let him do his will."
"Die not, my child, in unbelief."
"Father," replied Amine, pointing to the passengers and seamen, who were
on the deck crying and wailing, "these are Christians--these men have
been promised by you, but now, the inheritance of perfect bliss. What
is their faith, that it does not give them strength to die like men?
Why is it that a woman quails not, while they lie grovelling on the
deck?"
"Life is sweet, my child--they leave their wives, their children, and
they dread hereafter. Who is prepared to die?"
"I am," replied Amine. "I have no husband--at least, I fear I have no
husband. For me life has no sweets; yet, one little hope remains--a
straw to the sinking wretch. I fear not death, for I have nought to
live for. Were Philip here, why, then indeed--but he is gone before me,
and now, to follow him is all I ask."
"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.
The coolness of Amine, her beauty, perhaps, the unusual sight of a woman
so young, calm and confiding, when all others were in despair, had its
due effect upon the captain and sea men. Supposing her to be a
Catholic, they imagined that she had had some warrant for her assertion,
for credulity and superstition are close friends. They looked upon
Amine with admiration and respect, recovered their energies, and applied
to their duties. The pumps were again worked; the storm abated during
the night, and the vessel was, as Amine had predicted, saved.
The crew and passengers looked upon her almost as a saint, and talked of
her to Father Mathias, who was sadly perplexed. The courage which she
had displayed was extraordinary; even when he trembled, she showed no
sign of fear. He made no reply, but communed with his own mind, and the
result was unfavourable to Amine. What had given her such coolness?
What had given her the spirit of prophecy? Not the God of the
Christians, for she was no believer. Who then? and Father Mathias
thought of her chamber at Terneuse, and shook his head.