er constant solicitude. She turns her gaze towards
the forms of the two seamen--she does not seem to know that they are
dead. A faint cry comes from under the awning. Again she looks towards
the bow of the boat; she sees that her companions in misery are not
watching her. She now stealthily draws from beneath the folds of her
dress, where she has carefully concealed it, a bottle of water. Did
she, then, while the seamen slept, steal the water from the cask to
preserve the existence of those committed to her fostering charge, and
far more precious to her, in her sight, than her own life? There can be
no doubt she did so. She discovers that she is not observed. There is
a small tin pannikin near her, and several pieces of biscuit. She
crumbles the biscuit, as well as she can with her weak fingers, into the
pannikin, and then pours upon them a few drops of the precious fluid.
She looks at the water with longing eyes, but will not expend even one
drop to cool her parched lips. She mixes the biscuit till it is
completely softened, and then casting another furtive glance towards the
bow, unconscious that the dead only are there, she carefully lifts up
the awning. A low weak voice utters the word "Aya;" it is that of a
child, some three or four years old perhaps; at the same time there is a
plaintive cry from a younger infant. A smile irradiates the countenance
of the Indian woman, for she knows that her charges are still alive.
She leans forward, though her strength is barely sufficient to enable
her to move, and puts the food into the mouths of the two children. The
eldest, a boy, swallows it eagerly; for though somewhat pale, his
strength seems but little impaired. The infant is a girl: she takes the
mixture, so little suited to her tender years, but without appetite; and
it would appear that in a very short time her career, just begun on
earth, will be brought to a speedy close.

When the food is consumed, the nurse sinks back to her former position.
She tries to swallow a piece of the biscuit, but her parched lips and
throat refuse to receive the dry morsel, and the water she will not
touch. Again the children cry for food, and once more she goes through
the operation of preparing it for them as before; but her movements are
slower, and she now has scarcely strength to carry the food to the
mouths of the little ones.

The day passes away, the night goes by, the morning comes, and still the
calm continues.