"So I KNOW!"
A vague expression flitted over her face,--an expression with which I
had become familiar. She was a most lovable and intelligent creature,
but she could not think very far,--the effort wearied and perplexed her.
"Well, then, it must be an everlasting skirmish, I suppose!" she said,
laughingly,--"I wonder if our souls will ever get tired!"
"Do you think God ever gets tired?" I asked.
She looked startled,--then amused.
"He ought to!" she declared, with vivacity--"I don't mean to be
irreverent, but really, what with all the living things in all the
millions of worlds trying to get what they ought not to have, and
wailing and howling when they are disappointed of their wishes, He
ought to be very, very tired!"
"But He is not,"--I said;--"If He were, there would indeed be an end of
all! Should the Creator be weary of His work, the work would be undone.
I wish we thought of this more often!"
She put her arm round me kindly.
"You are a strange creature!" she said--"You think a great deal too
much of all these abstruse subjects. After all, I'm glad you are going
on this cruise with the Harland people. They will bring you down from
the spheres with a run! They will, I'm sure! You'll hear no
conversation that does not turn on baths, medicines, massage, and
general cure-alls! And when you come on to stay with me in
Inverness-shire you'll be quite commonplace and sensible!"
I smiled. The dear Francesca always associated 'the commonplace and
sensible' together, as though they were fitted to companion each other.
The complete reverse is, of course, the case, for the 'commonplace' is
generally nothing more than the daily routine of body which is
instinctively followed by beasts and birds as equally as by man, and
has no more to do with real 'sense' or pure mentality than the ticking
of a watch has to do with the enormous forces of the sun. What we call
actual 'Sense' is the perception of the Soul,--a perception which
cannot be limited to things which are merely material, inasmuch as it
passes beyond outward needs and appearances and reaches to the causes
which create those outward needs and appearances. I was, however,
satisfied to leave my friend in possession of the field of argument,
the more readily as our parting from each other was so near at hand.
We journeyed together by the steamer 'Columba' to Rothesay, where, on
entering the beautiful bay, crowded at this season with pleasure craft,
the first object which attracted our attention was the very vessel for
which I was bound, the 'Diana,' one of the most magnificent yachts ever
built to gratify the whim of a millionaire. Tourists on board our
steamer at once took up positions where they could obtain the best view
of her, and many were the comments we heard concerning her size and the
beauty of her lines as she rode at anchor on the sunlit water.
"You'll be in a floating palace,"--said Francesca, as we approached
Rothesay pier, and she bade me an affectionate adieu--"Now take care of
yourself, and don't fly away to the moon on what you call an etheric
vibration! Remember, if you get tired of the Harlands to come to me at
once."
I promised, and we parted. On landing at Rothesay I was almost
immediately approached by a sailor from the 'Diana,' who, spying my
name on my luggage, quickly possessed himself of it and told me the
motor launch was in waiting to take me over to the yacht. I was on my
way across the sparkling bay before the 'Columba' started out again
from the pier, and Francesca, standing on the steamer's deck, waved to
me a smiling farewell as I went. In about ten minutes I was on board
the 'Diana,' shaking hands with Morton Harland and his daughter
Catherine, who, wrapped up in shawls on a deck chair, looked as though
she were guarding herself from the chills of a rigorous winter rather
than basking in the warm sunshine of a summer morning.
"You look very well!"--she said, in tones of plaintive amiability--"And
so wonderfully bright!"
"It's such a bright day,"--I answered, feeling as if I ought somehow to
apologise for a healthy appearance, "One can't help being happy!"
She sighed and smiled faintly, and her maid appearing at that moment to
take my travelling bag and wraps, I was shown the cabin, or rather the
state-room which was to be mine during the cruise. It was a luxurious
double apartment, bedroom and sitting-room together, divided only by
the hanging folds of a rich crimson silk curtain, and exquisitely
fitted with white enamelled furniture ornamented with hand-wrought
silver. The bed had no resemblance whatever to a ship's berth, but was
an elaborate full-sized affair, canopied in white silk embroidered with
roses; the carpet was of a thick softness into which my feet sank as
though it were moss, and a tall silver and crystal vase, full of
gorgeous roses, was placed at the foot of a standing mirror framed in
silver, so that the blossoms were reflected double. The sitting-room
was provided with easy chairs, a writing-table, and a small piano, and
here, too, masses of roses showed their fair faces from every corner.
It was all so charming that I could not help uttering an exclamation of
delight, and the maid who was unpacking my things smiled
sympathetically.
"It's perfectly lovely!" I said, turning to her with eagerness--"It's
quite a little fairyland! But isn't this Miss Harland's cabin?"
"Oh dear no, miss,"--she replied--"Miss Harland wouldn't have all these
things about her on any account. There are no carpets or curtains in
Miss Harland's rooms. She thinks them very unhealthy. She has only a
bit of matting on the floor, and an iron bedstead--all very plain. And
as for roses!--she wouldn't have a rose near her for ever so!--she
can't bear the smell of them."
I made no comment. I was too enchanted with my surroundings for the
moment to consider how uncomfortable my hostess chose to make herself.
"Who arranged these rooms?" I asked.
"Mr. Harland gave orders to the steward to make them as pretty as he
could,"--said the maid--"John" and she blushed--"has a lot of taste."
I smiled. I saw at once how matters were between her and "John." Just
then there was a sound of thudding and grinding above my head, and I
realised that we were beginning to weigh anchor. Quickly tying on my
yachting cap and veil, I hurried on deck, and was soon standing beside
my host, who seemed pleased at the alacrity with which I had joined
him, and I watched with feelings of indescribable exhilaration the
'Diana' being loosed from her moorings. Steam was up, and in a very
short time her bowsprit swung round and pointed outward from the bay.
Quivering like an eager race-horse ready to start, she sprang forward;
and then, with a stately sweeping curve, glided across the water,
catting it into bright wavelets with her sword-like keel and churning a
path behind her of opalescent foam. We were off on our voyage of
pleasure at last,--a voyage which the Fates had determined should, for
one adventurer at least, lead to strange regions as yet unexplored. But
no premonitory sign was given to me, or suggestion that I might be the
one chosen to sail 'the perilous seas of fairy lands forlorn'--for in
spiritual things of high import, the soul that is most concerned is
always the least expectant.