Perfect happiness is the soul's acceptance of a sense of joy without
question. And this is what I felt through all my being on that
never-to-be-forgotten night. Just as a tree may be glad of the soft
wind blowing its leaves, or a daisy in the grass may rejoice in the
warmth of the sun to which it opens its golden heart without either
being able to explain the delicious ecstasy, so I was the recipient of
light and exquisite felicity which could have no explanation or
analysis. I did not try to think,--it was enough for me simply to BE. I
realised, of course, that with the Harlands and their two paid
attendants, the materialist Dr. Brayle, and the secretarial machine,
Swinton, Rafel Santoris could have nothing in common,--and as I know,
by daily experience, that not even the most trifling event happens
without a predestined cause for its occurrence and a purpose in its
result, I was sure that the reason for his coming into touch with us at
all was to be found in connection, through some mysterious intuition,
with myself. However, as I say, I did not think about it,--I was
content to breathe the invigorating air of peace and serenity in which
my spirit seemed to float on wings. I slept like a child who is only
tired out with play and pleasure,--I woke like a child to whom the
world is all new and brimful of beauty. That it was a sunny day seemed
right and natural--clouds and rain could hardly have penetrated the
brilliant atmosphere in which I lived and moved. It was an atmosphere
of my own creating, of course, and therefore not liable to be disturbed
by storms unless I chose. It is possible for every human being to live
in the sunshine of the soul whatever may be the material surroundings
of the body. The so-called 'practical' person would have said to
me:--'Why are you happy?' There is no real cause for this sudden
elation. You think you have met someone who is in sympathy with your
tastes, ideas and feelings,--but you may be quite wrong, and this
bright wave of joy into which you are plunging heedlessly may fling you
bruised and broken on a desolate shore for the remainder of your life.
One would think you had fallen in love at first sight.
To which I should have replied that there is no such thing as falling
in love at first sight,--that the very expression--'falling in
love'--conveys a false idea, and that what the world generally calls
'love' is not love at all. Moreover, there was nothing in my heart or
mind with regard to Rafel Santoris save a keen interest and sense of
friendship. I was sure that his beliefs were the same as mine, and that
he had been working along the same lines which I had endeavoured to
follow; and just as two musicians, inspired by a mutual love of their
art, may be glad to play their instruments together in time and tune,
even so I felt that he and I had met on a plane of thought where we had
both for a long time been separately wandering.
The 'Dream' yacht, with its white sails spread ready for a cruise, was
as beautiful by day in the sunshine under a blue sky as by night with
its own electric radiance flashing its outline against the stars, and I
was eager to be on board. We were, however, delayed by an 'attack of
nerves' on the part of Catherine, who during the morning was seized
with a violent fit of hysteria to which she completely gave way,
sobbing, laughing and gasping for breath in a manner which showed her
to be quite unhinged and swept from self-control. Dr. Brayle took her
at once in charge, while Mr. Harland fumed and fretted, pacing up and
down in the saloon with an angry face and brooding eyes. He looked at
me where I stood waiting, ready dressed for the excursion of the day,
and said:
"I'm sorry for all this worry. Catherine gets worse and worse. Her
nerves tear her to pieces."
"She allows them to do so,"--I answered--"And Dr. Brayle allows her to
give them their way."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"You don't like Brayle,"--he said--"But he's clever, and he does his
best."
"To keep his patients,"--I hinted, with a smile.
He turned on his heel and faced me.
"Well now, come!" he said--"Could YOU cure her?"
"I could have cured her in the beginning,"--I replied, "But hardly now.
No one can cure her now but herself."
He paced up and down again.
"She won't be able to go with us to visit Santoris," he said--"I'm sure
of that."
"Shall we put it off?" I suggested.
His eyebrows went up in surprise at me.
"Why no, certainly not. It will be a change for you and a pleasure of
which I would not deprive you. Besides, I want to go myself. But
Catherine--"
Dr. Brayle here entered the saloon with his softest step and most
professional manner.
"Miss Harland is better now,"--he said--"She will be quite calm in a
few minutes. But she must remain quiet. It will not be safe for her to
attempt any excursion today."
"Well, that need not prevent the rest of us from going."--said Mr.
Harland.
"Oh no, certainly not! In fact, Miss Harland said she hoped you would
go, and make her excuses to Mr. Santoris. I shall, of course, be in
attendance on her."
"You won't come, then?"--and an unconscious look of relief brightened
Mr. Harland's features--"And as Swinton doesn't wish to join us, we
shall be only a party of three--Captain Derrick, myself and our little
friend here. We may as well be off. Is the boat ready?"
We were informed that Mr. Santoris had sent his own boat and men to
fetch us, and that they had been waiting for some few minutes. We at
once prepared to go, and while Mr. Harland was getting his overcoat and
searching for his field-glasses, Dr. Brayle spoke to me in a low tone--
"The truth of the matter is that Miss Harland has been greatly upset by
the visit of Mr. Santoris and by some of the things he said last night.
She could not sleep, and was exceedingly troubled in her mind by the
most distressing thoughts. I am very glad she has decided not to see
him again to-day."
"Do you consider his influence harmful?" I queried, somewhat amused.
"I consider him not quite sane,"--Dr. Brayle answered, coldly--"And
highly nervous persons like Miss Harland are best without the society
of clever but wholly irresponsible theorists."
The colour burned in my cheeks.
"You include me in that category, of course,"--I said, quietly--"For I
said last night that if Mr. Santoris was mad, then I am too, for I hold
the same views."
He smiled a superior smile.
"There is no harm in you,"--he answered, condescendingly--"You may
think what you like,--you are only a woman. Very clever--very
charming--and full of the most delightful fancies,--but weighted
(fortunately) with the restrictions of your sex. I mean no offence, I
assure you,--but a woman's 'views,' whatever they are, are never
accepted by rational beings."