Perceiving that his
counsel was useless, the good Augustine turned away, to knee and offer up
his own orisons of gratitude, and to bethink him of the dead.
"Nettuno! _povera, carissima bestia!_" continued Maso, "whither art thou
swimming, in this infernal quarrel between the air and water? Would I were
with thee, dog! No mortal shall ever share the love I bore thee, _povero
Nettuno!_--I will never take another to my heart, like thee!"
The outbreaking of Maso's grief was sudden, and it was brief in its
duration. In this respect it might be likened to the hurricane that had
just passed. Excessive violence, in both cases, appeared to bring its own
remedy, for the irregular fitful gusts from the mountains had already
ceased, and were succeeded by a strong but steady gale from the north; and
the sorrow of Maso soon ended its characteristic plaints, to take a more
continued and even character.
During the whole of the foregoing scenes, the Common passengers had
crouched to the deck, partly in stupor, partly in superstitious dread,
and much of the time, from a positive inability to move without incurring
the risk of being driven from the defenceless vessel into the lake.
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