arms, and suffering himself to sink to the
bottom of the sea. He was only restrained from the suicidal act, by the
influence of that instinct of our nature, which abhors self-destruction,
and admonishes, or rather compels us, to abide the final moment when
death comes to claim us as its own.

Thus, by different circumstances, and under different influences, were
the three castaways of the _Catamaran_ sustained upon the surface of the
water,--Lilly Lalee by Snowball,--Snowball, by the slightest ray of hope
still lingering in a corner of his black bosom,--the sailor by an
instinct causing him to refrain from the committal of that act which, in
civilised society, under all circumstances, is considered as a crime.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

A CHEST AT SEA.

All conversation had come to an end. Even the few phrases at intervals
exchanged between Snowball and the sailor,--the solemn import of which
had been zealously kept from the child by their being spoken in
_French_--were no longer heard.

The swimmers, now wellnigh exhausted, had for a long interval preserved
this profound silence, partly for the reason of their being exhausted,
and partly that no change had occurred in the circumstances surrounding
them,--nothing that required a renewal of the conversation. The awe of
approaching death,--now so near, that twenty minutes or a quarter of an
hour might be regarded as the ultimate moment,--held, as if spellbound,
the speech both of Snowball and the sailor.

There were no other sounds to interrupt the silence of that solemn
moment,--at least none worthy of being mentioned. The slightest ripple
of the water, stirred by a zephyr breeze, as it played against the
bodies of the languid swimmers, might have been heard, but was not
heeded. No more did the scream of the sea-mew arrest the attention of
any of them, or if it did, it was only to add to the awe which reigned
above and around them.

In this moment of deep silence and deepest misery, a voice fell upon the
ears of the two swimmers that startled both of them, as if it had been a
summons from the other world. It sounded sweet as if from the world of
eternal joy. There was no mystery in the voice; it was that of the
Lilly Lalee.

The child, sustained upon the shoulder of the buoyant black, was in such
a position that her eyes were elevated over the surface of the water
several inches above those either of him who supported her, or the
sailor who swam by her si