The next day the race agreed upon was run in the calmest of calm
weather. There was not the faintest breath of wind,--the sea was still
as a pond and almost oily in its smooth, motionless shining--and it was
evident at first that our captain entertained no doubt whatever as to
the 'Diana,' with her powerful engines, being easily able to beat the
aerial-looking 'Dream' schooner, which at noon-day, with all sails
spread, came gliding up beside us till she lay point to point at equal
distance and at nearly equal measurement with our more cumbersome
vessel. Mr. Harland was keenly excited; Dr. Brayle was ready to lay any
amount of wagers as to the impossibility of a sailing vessel, even
granted she was moved by electricity, out-racing one of steam in such a
dead calm. As the two vessels lay on the still waters, the 'Diana'
fussily getting up steam, and the 'Dream' with sails full out as if in
a stiff breeze, despite the fact that there was no wind, we discussed
the situation eagerly--or rather I should say my host and his people
discussed it, for I had nothing to say, knowing that the victory was
sure to be with Santoris. We were in very lonely waters,--there was
room and to spare for plenty of racing, and when all was ready and
Santoris saluted us from the deck, lifting his cap and waving it in
response to a similar greeting from Mr. Harland and our skipper, the
signal to start was given. We moved off together, and for at least half
an hour or more the 'Dream' floated along in a kind of lazy indolence,
keeping up with us easily, her canvas filled, and her keel cutting the
water as if swept by a favouring gale. The result of the race was soon
a foregone conclusion,--for presently, when well out on the mirror-like
calm of the sea, the 'Dream' showed her secret powers in earnest, and
flew like a bird with a silent swiftness that was almost incredible.
Our yacht put on all steam in the effort to keep up with her,--in vain!
On, on, with light grace and celerity her white sails carried her like
the wings of a sea-gull, and almost before we could realise it she
vanished altogether from our sight! I saw a waste of water spread
around us emptily like a wide circle of crystal reflecting the sky, and
a sense of desolation fell upon me in the mere fact that we were
temporarily left alone. We steamed on and on in the direction of the
vanished 'Dream,'--our movements suggesting those of some clumsy
four-footed animal panting its way after a bird, but unable to come up
with her.
"Wonderful!" said Mr. Harland, at last, drawing a long breath,--"I
would never have believed it possible!"
"Nor I!" agreed Captain Derrick--"I certainly thought she would never
have managed it in such a dead calm. For though I have seen some of her
mechanism I cannot entirely understand it."
Dr. Brayle was silent. It was evident that he was annoyed--though why
he should be so was not apparent. I myself was full of secret
anxiety--for the 'Dream' yacht's sudden and swift disappearance had
filled me with a wretched sense of loneliness beyond all expression.
Suppose she should not return! I had no clue to her whereabouts--and
with the loss of Santoris I knew I should lose all that was worth
having in my life. While these miserable thoughts were yet chasing each
other through my brain I suddenly caught a far glimpse of white sails
on the horizon.
"She's coming back!" I cried, enraptured, and heedless of what I
said--"Oh, thank God! She's coming back!"
They all looked at me in amazement.
"Why, what's the matter with you?" asked Mr. Harland, smiling. "You
surely didn't think she was in any danger?"
My cheeks grew warm.
"I didn't know--I could not imagine--" I faltered, and turning away I
met Dr. Brayle's eyes fixed upon me with a gleam of malice in them.
"I'm sure," he said, suavely, "you are greatly interested in Mr.
Santoris! Perhaps you have met each other before?"
"Never!" I answered, hurriedly,--and then checked myself, startled and
confused. He kept his narrow brown eyes heedfully upon me and smiled
slightly.
"Really! I should have thought otherwise!"
I did not trouble myself to reply. The white sails of the 'Dream' were
coming nearer and nearer over the smooth width of the sunlit water, and
as she approached my heart grew warm with gratitude. Life was again a
thing of joy!--the world was no longer empty! That ship looked to me
like a beautiful winged spirit coming towards me with radiant
assurances of hope and consolation, and I lost all fear, all sadness,
all foreboding, as she gradually swept up alongside in the easy triumph
she had won. Our crew assembled to welcome her, and cheered lustily.
Santoris, standing on her deck, lightly acknowledged the salutes which
gave him the victory, and presently both our vessels were once more at
their former places of anchorage. When all the excitement was over, I
went down to my cabin to rest for a while before dressing for the
dinner on board the 'Dream' to which we were all invited,--and while I
lay on my sofa reading, Catherine Harland knocked at my door and asked
to come in, I admitted her at once, and she flung herself into an
arm-chair with a gesture of impatience.
"I'm so tired of all this yachting!" she said, peevishly. "It isn't
amusing to me!"
"I'm very sorry!" I answered;--"If you feel like that, why not give it
up at once?"
"Oh, it's father's whim!" she said-"And if he makes up his mind there's
no moving him. One thing, however, I'm determined to do--and that is--"
Here she stopped, looking at me curiously.