the Gods
were just and would not suffer so many villainies to go unpunished.)

CHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEENTH.

We were still discussing this and other matters when the sea grew rough,
and clouds, gathering from every quarter, obscured with darkness the
light of day. The panic-stricken sailors ran to their stations and took
in sail before the squall was upon them, but the gale did not drive the
waves in any one direction and the helmsman lost his bearings and did not
know what course to steer. At one moment the wind would set towards
Sicily, but the next, the North Wind, prevailing on the Italian coast,
would drive the unlucky vessel hither and yon; and, what was more
dangerous than all the rain-squalls, a pall of such black density blotted
out the light that the helmsman could not even see as far forward as the
bow. At last, as the savage fury of the sea grew more malignant, the
trembling Lycas stretched out his hands to me imploringly. "Save us from
destruction, Encolpius," he shouted; "restore that sacred robe and holy
rattle to the ship! Be merciful, for heaven's sake, just as you used to
be!" He was still shouting when a windsquall swept him into the sea; the
raging elements whirled him around and around in a terrible maelstrom and
sucked him down. Tryphaena, on the other hand, was seized by her
faithful servants, placed in a skiff, along with the greater part of her
belongings, and saved from certain death. Embracing Giton, I wept aloud:
"Did we deserve this from the gods," I cried, "to be united only in
death? No! Malignant fortune grudges even that. Look! In an instant
the waves will capsize the ship! Think! In an instant the sea will
sever this lover's embrace! If you ever loved Encolpius truly, kiss him
while yet you may and snatch this last delight from impending
dissolution!" Even as I was speaking, Giton removed his garment and,
creeping beneath my tunic, he stuck out his head to be kissed; then,
fearing some more spiteful wave might separate us as we clung together,
he passed his belt around us both. "If nothing else," he cried, "the sea
will at least bear us longer, joined together, and if, in pity, it casts
us up upon the same shore, some passerby may pile some stones over us,
out of common human kindness, or the last rites will be performed by the
drifting sand, in spite of the angry waves." I submit to this last bond
and, as though I were laid out upon my death-bed, await