"But--if others stand in the way?"--I said.
He smiled.
"Surely it will be our own fault if we allow them to assume such a
position!" he answered.
I left my hands in his another moment. The fact that he held them gave
me a sense of peace and security.
"Sometimes on a long walk through field and forest," I said,
softly--"one may miss the nearest road home. And one is glad to be told
which path to follow--"
"Yes,"--he interrupted me--"One is glad to be told!"
His eyes were bent upon me with an enigmatical expression, half
commanding, half appealing.
"Then, will you tell me--" I began.
"All that I can!" he said, drawing me a little closer towards him--"All
that I may! And you--you must tell me--"
"I! What can I tell you?" and I smiled--"I know nothing!"
"You know one thing which is all things,"--he answered--"But for that I
must still wait."
He let go my hands and turned away, shading his eyes from the glare of
gold which now spread far and wide over the heavens, turning the sullen
waters of Loch Coruisk to a tawny orange against the black purple of
the surrounding hills.
"I see our men,"--he then said, in his ordinary tone, "They are looking
for us. We must be going."
My heart beat quickly. A longing to speak what I hardly dared to think,
was strong upon me. But some inward restraint gripped me as with
iron--and my spirit beat itself like a caged bird against its prison
bars in vain. I left my rocky throne and heather canopy with slow
reluctance, and he saw this.
"You are sorry to come away,"--he said, kindly, and with a smile--"I
can quite understand it. It is a beautiful scene."
I stood quite still, looking at him. A host of recollections began to
crowd upon me, threatening havoc to my self-control.
"Is it not something more than beautiful?" I asked, and my voice
trembled in spite of myself--"To you as well as to me?"
He met my earnest gaze with a sudden deeper light in his own eyes.
"Dear, to me it is the beginning of a new life!"--he said--"But whether
it is the same to you I cannot say. I have not the right to think so
far. Come!"
A choking sense of tears was in my throat as I moved on by his side.
Why could I not speak frankly and tell him that I knew as well as he
did that now there was no life anywhere for me where he was not?
But--had it come to this? Yes, truly!--it had come to this! Then was it
a real love that I felt, or merely a blind obedience to some hypnotic
influence? The doubt suggested itself like a whisper from some evil
spirit, and I strove not to listen. Presently he took my hand in his as
before, and guided me carefully over the slippery boulders and stones,
wet with the overflowing of the mountain torrent and the underlying
morass which warned us of its vicinity by the quantity of bog-myrtle
growing in profusion everywhere. Almost in silence we reached the shore
where the launch was in waiting for us, and in silence we sat together
in the stern as the boat cut its swift way through little waves like
molten gold and opal, sparkling with the iridescent reflections of the
sun's after-glow.
"I see Mr. Harland's yacht has returned to her moorings,"--he said,
after a while, addressing his men, "When did she come back?"
"Immediately after you left, sir,"--was the reply.
I looked and saw the two yachts--the 'Dream' and the 'Diana,' anchored
in the widest part of Loch Scavaig--the one with the disfiguring
funnels that make even the most magnificent steam yacht unsightly as
compared with a sailing vessel,--the other a perfect picture of
lightness and grace, resting like a bird with folded wings on the
glittering surface of the water. My mind was disturbed and
bewildered,--I felt that I had journeyed through immense distances of
space and cycles of time during that brief excursion to Loch
Coruisk,--and as the launch rushed onward and we lost sight of the
entrance to what for me had been a veritable Valley of Vision, it
seemed that I had lived through centuries rather than hours. One thing,
however, remained positive and real in my experience, and this was the
personality of Santoris. With each moment that passed I knew it
better--the flash of his blue eyes--his sudden fleeting smile--the turn
of his head--the very gesture of his hand,--all these were as familiar
to me as the reflection of my own face in a mirror. And now there was
no wonderment mingled with the deepening recognition,--I found it quite
natural that I should know him well,--indeed, it was to me evident that
I had known him always. What troubled me, however, was a subtle fear
that crept insidiously through my veins like a shuddering cold,--a
terror lest something to which I could give no name, should separate us
or cause us to misunderstand each other. For the psychic lines of
attraction between two human beings are finer than the finest gossamer
and can be easily broken and scattered even though they may or must be
brought together again after long lapses of time. But so many
opportunities had already been wasted, I thought, through some
recklessness or folly, either on his part or mine. Which of us was to
blame? I looked at him half in fear, half in appeal, as he sat in the
boat with his head turned a little aside from me,--he seemed grave and
preoccupied. A sudden thrill of emotion stirred my heart--tears sprang
to my eyes so thickly that for a moment I could scarcely see the waves
that glittered and danced on all sides like millions of diamonds. A
change had swept over my life,--a change so great that I was hardly
able to bear it. It was too swift, too overpowering to be calmly
considered, and I was glad when we came alongside the 'Dream' and I saw
Mr. Harland on deck, waiting for us at the top of the companion ladder.
"Well!" he called to me--"Was it a good sunset?"
"Glorious!" I answered him--"Did you see nothing of it?"
"No. I slept soundly, and only woke up when Brayle came over to explain
that Catherine had taken it into her head to have a short cruise, that
he had humoured her accordingly, and that they had just come back to
anchorage."
By this time I was standing beside him, and Santoris joined us.
"So your doctor came to look after you,"--he said, with a smile--"I
thought he would not trust you out of his sight too long!"
"What do you mean by that?" asked Harland--then his face lightened and
he laughed--"Well, I must own you have been a better physician than he
for the moment--it is months since I have been so free from pain."
"I'm very glad,"--Santoris answered--"And now would you and your friend
like to take the launch back to your own yacht, or will you stay and
dine with me?"
Mr. Harland thought a moment.
"I'm afraid we must go"--he said, at last, with obvious
reluctance--"Captain Derrick went back with Brayle. You see, Catherine
is not strong, and she has not been quite herself--and we must not
leave her alone. To-morrow, if you are willing, I should like to try a
race with our two yachts in open sea--electricity against steam! What
do you say?"
"With pleasure!" and Santoris looked amused--"But as I am sure to be
the winner, you must give me the privilege of entertaining you all to
dinner afterwards. Is that settled?" "Certainly!--you are hospitality
itself, Santoris!" and Mr. Harland shook him warmly by the hand--"What
time shall we start the race?"
"Suppose we say noon?"
"Agreed!"
We then prepared to go. I turned to Santoris and in a quiet voice
thanked him for his kindness in escorting me to Loch Coruisk, and for
the pleasant afternoon we had passed. The conventional words of common
courtesy seemed to myself quite absurd,--however, they had to be
uttered, and he accepted them with the usual conventional
acknowledgment. When I was just about to descend the companion ladder,
he asked me to wait a moment, and going down to the saloon, brought me
the bunch of Madonna lilies I had found in that special cabin which, as
he had said, was destined 'for a princess.'
"You will take these, I hope?" he said, simply.
I raised my eyes to his as I received the white blossoms from his hand.
There was something indefinable and fleeting in his expression, and for
a moment it seemed as if we had suddenly become strangers. A sense of
loss and pain affected me, such as happens when someone to whom we are
deeply attached assumes a cold and distant air for which we can render
no explanation. He turned from me as quickly as I from him, and I
descended the companion ladder followed by Mr. Harland. In a few
seconds we had put several boat-lengths between ourselves and the
'Dream,' and a rush of foolish tears to my eyes blurred the figure of
Santoris as he lifted his cap to us in courteous adieu. I thought Mr.
Harland glanced at me a little inquisitively, but he said nothing--and
we were soon on board the 'Diana,' where Catherine, stretched out in a
deck chair, watched our arrival with but languid interest. Dr. Brayle
was beside her, and looked up as we drew near with a supercilious smile.
"So the electric man has not quite made away with you,"--he said,
carelessly--"Miss Harland and I had our doubts as to whether we should
ever see you again!"
Mr. Harland's fuzzy eyebrows drew together in a marked frown of
displeasure.
"Indeed!" he ejaculated, drily--"Well, you need have had no fears on
that score. The 'electric man,' as you call Mr. Santoris, is an
excellent host and has no sinister designs on his friends."
"Are you quite sure of that?" and Brayle, with an elaborate show of
courtesy, set chairs for his patron and for me near Catherine--"Derrick
tells me that the electric appliances on board his yacht are to him of
a terrifying character and that he would not risk passing so much as
one night on such a vessel!"
Mr. Harland laughed.
"I must talk to Derrick,"--he said--then, approaching his daughter, he
asked her kindly if she was better. She replied in the affirmative, but
with some little pettishness.
"My nerves are all unstrung,"--she said--"I think that friend of yours
is one of those persons who draw all vitality out of everybody else.
There are such people, you know, father!--people who, when they are
getting old and feeble, go about taking stores of fresh life out of
others."
He looked amused.
"You are full of fancies, Catherine,"--he said--"And no logical
reasoning will ever argue you out of them. Santoris is all right. For
one thing, he gave me great relief from pain to-day."
"Ah! How was that?"--and Brayle looked up sharply with sudden interest.
"I don't know how,"--replied Harland,--"A drop or two of
harmless-looking fluid worked wonders for me--and in a few moments I
felt almost well. He tells me my illness is not incurable."
A curious expression difficult to define flitted over Brayle's face.
"You had better take care," he said, curtly--"Invalids should never try
experiments. I'm surprised that a man in your condition should take any
drug from the hand of a stranger."
"Most dangerous!" interpolated Catherine, feebly--"How could you,
father?"
"Well, Santoris isn't quite a stranger,"--said Mr. Harland--"After all,
I knew him at college--"
"You think you knew him,"--put in Brayle--"He may not be the same man."
"He is the same man,"--answered Mr. Harland, rather testily--"There are
no two of his kind in the world."
Brayle lifted his eyebrows with a mildly affected air of surprise.
"I thought you had your doubts--"
"Of course!--I had and have my doubts concerning everybody and
everything"--said Mr. Harland, "And I suppose I shall have them to the
end of my days. I have sometimes doubted even your good intentions
towards me."
A dark flush overspread Brayle's face suddenly, and as suddenly paled.
He laughed a little forcedly.
"I hardly think you have any reason to do so," he said.
Mr. Harland did not answer, but turning round, addressed me.
"You enjoyed yourself at Loch Coruisk, didn't you?"
"Indeed I did!" I replied, with emphasis--"It was a lovely
scene!--never to be forgotten."
"You and Mr. Santoris would be sure to get on well together," said
Catherine, rather crossly--"'Birds of a feather,' you know!"
I smiled. I was too much taken up with my own thoughts to pay attention
to her evident ill-humour. I was aware that Dr. Brayle watched me
furtively, and with a suspicious air, and there was a curious feeling
of constraint in the atmosphere that made me feel I had somehow
displeased my hostess, but the matter seemed to me too trifling to
consider, and as soon as the conversation became general I took the
opportunity to slip away and get down to my cabin, where I locked the
door and gave myself up to the freedom of my own meditations. They were
at first bewildered and chaotic--but gradually my mind smoothed itself
out like the sea I had looked upon in my vision,--and I began to
arrange and connect the various incidents of my strange experience in a
more or less coherent form. According to psychic consciousness I knew
what they all meant,--but according to merely material and earthly
reasoning they were utterly incomprehensible. If I listened to the
explanation offered by my inner self, it was this:--That Rafel Santoris
and I had known each other for ages,--longer than we were permitted to
remember,--that the brain-pictures, or rather soul-pictures, presented
to me were only a few selected out of thousands which equally concerned
us, and which were stored up among eternal records,--and that these few
were only recalled to remind me of circumstances which I might
erroneously think were all entirely forgotten. If, on the other hand, I
preferred to accept what would be called a reasonable and practical
solution of the enigma, I would say:--That, being imaginative and
sensitive, I had been easily hypnotised by a stronger will than my own,
and that for his amusement, or because he had seen in me the
possibility of a 'test case,' Santoris had tried his power upon me and
forced me to see whatever he chose to conjure up in order to bewilder
and perplex me. But if this were so, what could be his object? If I
were indeed an utter stranger to him, why should he take this trouble?
I found myself harassed by anxiety and dragged between two opposing
influences--one which impelled me to yield myself to the deep sense of
exquisite happiness, peace and consolation that swept over my spirit
like the touch of a veritable benediction from heaven,--the other which
pushed me back against a hard wall of impregnable fact and bade me
suspect my dawning joy as though it were a foe.
That night we were a curious party at dinner. Never were five human
beings more oddly brought into contact and conversation with each
other. We were absolutely opposed at all points; in thought, in feeling
and in sentiment, I could not help remembering the wonderful network of
shining lines I had seen in that first dream of mine,--lines which were
apparently mathematically designed to meet in reciprocal unity. The
lines on this occasion between us five human beings were an almost
visible tangle. I found my best refuge in silence,--and I listened in
vague wonderment to the flow of senseless small talk poured out by Dr.
Brayle, apparently for the amusement of Catherine, who on her part
seemed suddenly possessed by a spirit of wilfulness and enforced gaiety
which moved her to utter a great many foolish things, things which she
evidently imagined were clever. There is nothing perhaps more
embarrassing than to hear a woman of mature years giving herself away
by the childish vapidness of her talk, and exhibiting not only a lack
of mental poise, but also utter tactlessness. However, Catherine
rattled on, and Dr. Brayle rattled with her,--Mr. Harland threw in
occasional monosyllables, but for the most part was evidently caught in
a kind of dusty spider's web of thought, and I spoke not at all unless
spoken to. Presently I met Catherine's eyes fixed upon me with a sort
of round, half-malicious curiosity.
"I think your day's outing has done you good," she said--"You look
wonderfully well!"
"I AM well!" I answered her--"I have been well all the time."
"Yes, but you haven't looked as you look to-night," she said--"You have
quite a transformed air!"
"Transformed?"--I echoed, smiling--"In what way?"
Mr. Harland turned and surveyed me critically.
"Upon my word, I think Catherine is right!" he said--"There is
something different about you, though I cannot explain what it is!"
I felt the colour rising hotly to my face, but I endeavoured to appear
unconcerned.
"You look," said Dr. Brayle, with a quick glance from his narrowly set
eyes--"as if you had been through a happy experience."
"Perhaps I have!" I answered quietly--"It has certainly been a very
happy day!" "What is your opinion of Santoris?" asked Mr. Harland,
suddenly--"You've spent a couple of hours alone in his company,--you
must have formed some idea."