nun put a stop to this,
saying that it was a sin to anticipate the ways of God's mercy, or, when
His help was still so sorely needed, to speak as though He had already
bestowed it. They could only tremble and pray, for they knew from
experience that a threatening disaster never turned to a good end unless
it had been expected with real dread.

Another one then began to speculate as to whether their pursuers could
overtake them on foot or on horseback, and as it seemed only too probable
that they could, their hearts sank again with anxiety. Ere long, however,
the moon rose; the objects that loomed on the banks and were mirrored in
the stream, were again clearly visible and lost their terrors.

The lower down they sailed, the denser were the thickets of papyrus on
the shore. Thousands of birds were roosting there, but they were all
asleep; a "dark ness that might be felt" brooded over the silent land
scape. The image of the moon floated on the dark water, like a gigantic
lotos-flower below the smaller, fragrant lotos-blossoms that it out-did
in sheeny whiteness; the boat left a bright wake in its track, and every
stroke of the oar broke the blackness of the water, which reflected the
light in every drop. The moonlight played on the delicate tufts that
crowned the slender papyrus-stems, filmy mist, like diaphanous brocade of
violet and silver, veiled the trees; and owls that shun the day, flew
from one branch to another on noiseless, rhythmic wings.

The magic of the night fell on the souls of the nuns; they ceased
prattling; but when Sister Martha, the nightingale of the sisterhood,
began to sing a hymn the others followed her example. The sailors' songs
were hushed, and the psalms of the virgin sisters, imploring the
protection of the Almighty, seemed to float round the gliding boat as
softly as the light of the circling moon. For hours--and with increased
zeal as the comet rose in the sky--they gave themselves up to the
soothing and encouraging pleasure of singing; but one by one the voices
died away and their peaceful hymn was borne down the river to the sea, by
degrees more low, more weary, more dreamlike.

They sat looking in their laps, gazing in rapture up to heaven, or at the
dazzling ripples and the lotos flowers on the surface. No one thought of
the shore, not even the men, who had been lulled to sleep or daydreams by
the nuns' singing. The pilot's eyes were riveted on the channel--and yet,
as morning drew n