"Science, like everything else, has its borderland," I said--"from
which the brain can easily slip off into chaos. The most approved
scientific professors are liable to this dire end of their
speculations. They forget that in order to understand the Infinite they
must first be sure of the Infinite in themselves."
"You speak like an oracle, fair lady!"--said Mr. Harland--"But despite
your sage utterances Man remains as finite as ever."
"If he chooses the finite state certainly he does,"--I answered--"He is
always what he elects to be."
Mr. Harland seemed desirous of continuing the argument, but I would say
no more. The topic was too serious and sacred with me to allow it to be
lightly discussed by persons whose attitude of mind was distinctly
opposed and antipathetic to all things beyond the merely mundane.
After dinner, Miss Catherine professed herself to be suffering from
neuralgia, and gathering up her shawls and wraps asked me to excuse her
for going to bed early. I bade her good-night, and, leaving my host and
the two other men to their smoke, I went up on deck. We were anchored
off Mull, and against a starlit sky of exceptional clearness the dark
mountains of Morven were outlined with a softness as of black velvet.
The yacht rested on perfectly calm waters, shining like polished
steel,--and the warm stillness of the summer night was deliciously
soothing and restful. Our captain and one or two of the sailors were
about on duty, and I sat in the stern of the vessel looking up into the
glorious heavens. The tapering bow-sprit of the 'Diana' pointed aloft
as it were into a woven web of stars, and I lost myself in imaginary
flight among those glittering unknown worlds, oblivious of my material
surroundings, and forgetting that despite the splendid evidences of a
governing Intelligence in the beauty and order of the Universe spread
about them every day, my companions in the journey of pleasure we were
undertaking together were actually destitute of all faith in God, and
had less perception of the existing Divine than the humblest plant may
possess that instinctively forces its way upward to the light. I did
not think of this,--it was no use thinking about it as I could not
better the position,--but I found myself curiously considering the
story Mr. Harland had told about his college friend at Oxford. I tried
to picture his face and figure till presently it seemed as if I saw
him,--indeed I could have sworn that a man's shadowy form stood
immediately in front of me, bending upon me a searching glance from
eyes that were strangely familiar. Startled at this wraith of my own
fancy, I half rose from my chair--then sank back again with a laugh at
my imagination's too vivid power of portrayal. A figure did certainly
present itself, but one of sufficient bulk to convince me of its
substantiality. This was the captain of the 'Diana,' a cheery-looking
personage of a thoroughly nautical type, who, approaching me, lifted
his cap and said:
"That's a wonderfully fine yacht that has just dropped anchor behind
us. She's illuminated, too. Have you seen her?"
"No," I answered, and turned in the direction he indicated. An
involuntary exclamation escaped me. There, about half a mile to our
rear, floated a schooner of exquisite proportions and fairy-like grace,
outlined from stem to stern by delicate borderings of electric light as
though decorated for some great festival, and making quite a glittering
spectacle in the darkness of the deepening night. We could see active
figures at work on deck--the sails were dropped and quickly
furled,--but the quivering radiance remained running up every tapering
mast and spar, so that the whole vessel seemed drawn on the dusky air
with pencil points of fire. I stood up, gazing at the wonderful sight
in silent amazement and admiration, with the captain beside me, and it
was he who first spoke.
"I can't make her out,"--he said, perplexedly,--"We never heard a sound
except just when she dropped anchor, and that was almost noiseless. How
she came round the point yonder so suddenly is a mystery! I was keeping
a sharp look-out, too."
"Surely she's very large for a sailing vessel?" I queried.
"The largest I've ever seen,"--he replied--"But how did she sail?
That's what I want to know!"
He looked so puzzled that I laughed.
"Well, I suppose in the usual way,"--I said--"With sails."
"Ay, that's all very well!"--and he glanced at me with a compassionate
air as at one who knew nothing about seafaring--"But sails must have
wind, and there hasn't been a capful all the afternoon or evening. Yet
she came in with crowded canvas full out as if there was a regular
sou'wester, and found her anchorage as easy as you please. All in a
minute, too. If there was a wind it wasn't a wind belonging to this
world! Wouldn't Mr. Harland perhaps like to see her?"
I took the hint and ran down into the saloon, which by this time was
full of the stifling odours of smoke and whisky. Mr. Harland was there,
drinking and talking somewhat excitedly with Dr. Brayle, while his
secretary listened and looked on. I explained why I had ventured to
interrupt their conversation, and they accompanied me up on deck. The
strange yacht looked more bewilderingly brilliant than ever, the
heavens having somewhat clouded over, and as we all, the captain
included, leaned over our own deck rail and gazed at her shining
outlines, we heard the sound of delicious music and singing floating
across the quiet sea.
"Some millionaire's toy,"--said Mr. Harland--"She's floating from the
mysterious yacht." It was a music full of haunting sweetness and
rhythmic melody, and I was not sure whether it was evolved from
stringed instruments or singing voices. By climbing up on the sofa in
my sitting-room I could look out through the port-hole on the near sea,
rippling close to me, and bringing, as I fancied, with every ripple a
new cadence, a tenderer snatch of tune. A subtle scent was on the salt
air, as of roses mingling with the freshness of the scarcely moving
waters,--it came, I thought, from the beautiful blossoms which so
lavishly adorned my rooms. I could not see the yacht from my point of
observation, but I could hear the music she had on board, and that was
enough for immediate delight.
Leaving the port-hole open, I lay down on the sofa immediately beneath
it and comprised myself to listen. The soft breath of the sea blew on
my cheeks, and with every breath the delicate vibrations of appealing
harmony rose and fell--it was as if these enchanting sounds were being
played or sung for me alone. In a delicious languor I drowsed, as it
were, with my eyes open,--losing myself in a labyrinth of happy dreams
and fancies which came to me unbidden,--till presently the music died
softly away like a retreating wave and ceased altogether. I waited a
few minutes--listening breathlessly lest it should begin again and I
lose some note of it,--then hearing no more, I softly closed the
port-hole and drew the curtain. I did this with an odd reluctance,
feeling somehow that I had shut out a friend; and I half apologised to
this vague sentiment by reminding myself of the lateness of the hour.
It was nearly midnight. I had intended writing to Francesca,--but I was
now disinclined for anything but rest. The music which had so entranced
me throbbed still in my ears and made my heart beat with a quick sense
of joy,-children--there may be several inoffensive reasons for his
lighting up, and he may think no more of advertisement than you or I."
"That's true,"--assented Dr. Brayle, with a quick concession to his
patron's humour. "But people nowadays do so many queer things for mere
notoriety's sake that it is barely possible to avoid suspecting them.
They will even kill themselves in order to be talked about."
"Fortunately they don't hear what's said of them,"--returned Mr.
Harland--"or they might alter their minds and remain alive. It's hardly
worth while to hang yourself in order to be called a fool!"
While this talk went on I remained silent, watching the illuminated
schooner with absorbed fascination. Suddenly, while I still gazed upon
her, every spark with which she was, as it were, bejewelled, went out,
and only the ordinary lamps common to the watches of the night on board
a vessel at anchorage burned dimly here and there like red winking
eyes. For the rest, she was barely visible save by an indistinct
tracery of blurred black lines. The swiftness with which her brilliancy
had been eclipsed startled us all and drew from Captain Derrick the
remark that it was 'rather queer.'
"What pantomimists call a 'quick change'"--said Mr. Harland, with a
laugh--"The show is over for to-night. Let us turn in. To-morrow
morning we'll try and make acquaintance with the stranger, and find out
for Captain Derrick's comfort how she managed to sail without wind!"
We bade each other good-night then, and descended to our several
quarters.
When I found myself alone in the luxurious state-room 'suite' allotted
to me, the first thing I did was to open one of the port-holes and
listen to the music which still came superbly built,--sailing vessels
are always more elegant than steam, though not half so useful. I expect
she'll lie becalmed here for a day or two."
"It's a wonder she's got round here at all,"--said the captain--"There
wasn't any wind to bring her."
Mr. Harland looked amused.
"There must have been SOME wind, Derrick,"--he answered--"Only it
wasn't boisterous enough for a hardy salt like you to feel it."
"There wasn't a breath,"--declared Derrick, firmly--"Not enough to blow
a baby's curl."
"Then how did she get here?" asked Dr. Brayle.
Captain Derrick's lifted eyebrows expressed his inability to solve the
enigma.
"I said just now if there was a wind it wasn't a wind belonging to this
world--"
Mr. Harland turned upon him quickly.
"Well, there are no winds belonging to other worlds that will ever
disturb OUR atmosphere,"--he said--"Come, come, Derrick, you don't
think that yacht is a ghost, do you?--a sort of 'Flying Dutchman'
spectre?"
Captain Derrick smiled broadly.
"No, sir--I don't! There's flesh and blood aboard--I've seen the men
hauling down canvas, and I know that. But the way she sailed in bothers
me."
"All that electric light is rather ostentatious,"--said Dr. Brayle--"I
suppose the owner wants to advertise his riches."
"That doesn't follow," said Mr. Harland, with some sharpness--"I grant
you we live in an advertising age, but I don't fancy the owner of that
vessel is a Pill or a Plaster or even a Special Tea. He may want to
amuse himself--it may be the birthday of his wife or one of his and a
warm atmosphere of peace and comfort came over me when at last I lay
down in my luxurious bed, and slipped away into the land of sleep. Ah,
what a land it is, that magic Land of Sleep!--a land 'shadowing with
wings,' where amid many shifting and shimmering wonders of darkness and
light, the Palace of Vision stands uplifted, stately and beautiful,
with golden doors set open to the wanderer! I made my entrance there
that night;--often and often as I had been within its enchanted
precincts before, there were a million halls of marvel as yet
unvisited,--and among these I found myself,--under a dome which seemed
of purest crystal lit with fire,--listening to One invisible,
who,--speaking as from a great height, discoursed to me of Love."