142 True Story of a Storm at Sea. [Aveusrt, 
capable, as all true and deeply-seated passion is, of turning all things to 
food and nutriment, and yet, in the absence of all things, of sustaining 
itself alone and undieted. The effect of it, in the present instance, was 
most singular, and not to be understood or believed but by those who have 
penetrated into some of the recesses, and fathomed the depths, of that 
mystery of mysteries—the human heart, as it exists in the female bosom. 
Her face was “as a book, where you might read strange matters ;” but 
matters scarcely at all connected with the strange scene and circum- 
stances about her: or, rather, it was as a glass, where you might see 
reflected, not what was before it—which any glass could have reflected— 
but things which itself alone was capable of detecting. She looked in 
her husband’s face ; and as that was, such was her’s: not as that might 
have seemed to others, but as the piercing glance of passion enabled her 
to see it, through the external mask which it wore. The raving of the 
winds—the beating of the rains—the heaving of the waters—above all, 
the scene immediately about her—the wretched, terror-stricken inmates 
of the cabin—all this was as nothing to her ; except that, now and then, 
she would turn round her sweet, calm face, to speak a word of comfort 
(which she did not feel) to a poor creature who lay near her, weeping, 
raying, and raving by turns, in the very madness of womanish fear. 
he tempest and its terrors were (directly and in themselves) indifferent 
things toher. Even the “ dead lights” moved her not at all: she alone, . 
of all those who heard the sound, did not speak, or move from her place ; ; 
she only turned, with a more than usually eager and inquiring look, to ; 
the face of her husband ; and, finding nothing there to increase her fears, ; 
she placed her hand in that which he just then offered to her, listened 
silently to something that he said, and resumed her look and air of 
entire trust and dependence on him. It was of him alone that she thought, | 
and of herself only as connected with him. I verily believe that she 
thought death was at hand, and not to be avoided ; but death was to her 
a word that had hitherto meant nothing but separation from him ; and if 
it was now to come, and xot separate her from him, it was as nothing. If 
he did not dread it, why should she ?—and, if they were to die together, 
what was death but a consummation of life? So entire an absence did 
there seem to be of all fear, but that of parting from him, that, when the 
apparently increased cause of terror to which I have just alluded pre- 
sented itself, and he in consequence held out his hand for her to place her’s 
within it, a faint smile passed all over her pale face (seeming to rise out 
of the soft depth of her eyes, and spread itself all about, till it faded 
away round her still, patient mouth), which seemed to say, in the very 
spirit of the doating Moor, “If it were now to die, *twere now to be 
most happy!” I was confirmed in this view of her feelings by what 
happened shortly afterwards. The husband, as I have said above, had 
two or three times left his place at her side for a moment, to go on deck, 
but had almost instantly returned; but, just after the consternation 
caused by the “ dead lights” had in some degree ceased, he went up. — 
again, and did not return for perhaps a quarter of an hour. At first, she 
took no notice of his stay—merely directing her look to the spot oar a 
she would first see him on his return; but, when he had stayed two or — 
three minutes, she began to look anxious and restless ; then, as his 
was prolonged, her countenance put on an expression of disturbed ea, 
ness, which I had scarcely thought it capable of; and, at length, her 
hitherto tranquil demeanour was entirely thrown aside. She rose from 
£ 
