CHAP. XX.


The mate of the ship, who heard her stir, came to offer her some
refreshment; and she, who formerly received every offer of kindness or
civility with pleasure, now shrunk away disgusted: peevishly she desired
him not to disturb her; but the words were hardly articulated when her
heart smote her, she called him back, and requested something to drink.
After drinking it, fatigued by her mental exertions, she fell into a
death-like slumber, which lasted some hours; but did not refresh her, on
the contrary, she awoke languid and stupid.

The wind still continued contrary; a week, a dismal week, had she
struggled with her sorrows; and the struggle brought on a slow fever,
which sometimes gave her false spirits.

The winds then became very tempestuous, the Great Deep was troubled, and
all the passengers appalled. Mary then left her bed, and went on deck,
to survey the contending elements: the scene accorded with the present
state of her soul; she thought in a few hours I may go home; the
prisoner may be released. The vessel rose on a wave and descended into a
yawning gulph--Not slower did her mounting soul return to earth,
for--Ah! her treasure and her heart was there. The squalls rattled
amongst the sails, which were quickly taken down; the wind would then
die away, and the wild undirected waves rushed on every side with a
tremendous roar. In a little vessel in the midst of such a storm she
was not dismayed; she felt herself independent.

Just then one of the crew perceived a signal of distress; by the help of
a glass he could plainly discover a small vessel dismasted, drifted