"Dear Catherine," I said--"it is no use shutting our eyes to the fact
that while there is something which attracts us to each other, there is
also something which repels. We cannot argue about it or analyse it.
Such mysterious things DO occur,--and they are beyond our searching
out--"
"But," she interrupted, quickly--"we were not so troubled by these
mysterious things till we met this man Santoris--"
She broke off, and I rose to my feet, as just then Santoris approached,
accompanied by Mr. Harland and the others.
"I have suggested giving you a sail by moonlight before you leave," he
said. "It will be an old experience for you under new conditions.
Sailing by moonlight in an ordinary sense is an ordinary thing,--but
sailing by moonlight with the moonlight as part of our motive power has
perhaps a touch of originality."
As he spoke he made a sign to one of his men who came up to receive his
orders, which were given in too low a tone for us to hear. Easy deck
chairs were placed for all the party, and we were soon seated in a
group together, somewhat silently at first, our attention being
entirely riveted on the wonderful, almost noiseless way in which the
sails of the 'Dream' were unfurled. There was no wind,--the night was
warm and intensely still--the sea absolutely calm. Like broad white
wings, the canvas gradually spread out under the deft, quick hands of
the sailors employed in handling it,--the anchor was drawn up in the
same swift and silent manner--then there came an instant's pause. Mr.
Harland drew his cigar from his mouth and looked up amazed, as we all
did, at the mysterious way in which the sails filled out, pulling the
cordage tightly into bands of iron strength,--and none of us could
restrain an involuntary cry of wonder and admiration as their whiteness
began to glitter with the radiance of hoar-frost, the strange luminance
deepening in intensity till it seemed as if the whole stretch of canvas
from end to end of the magnificent schooner was a mass of fine
jewel-work sparkling under the moon.
"Well! However much I disagree with your theories of life, Santoris,"
said Mr. Harland,--"I will give you full credit for this extraordinary
yacht of yours! It's the most wonderful thing I ever saw, and you are a
wonderful fellow to have carried out such an unique application of
science. You ought to impart your secret to the world."
Santoris laughed lightly.
"And the world would take a hundred years or more to discuss it,
consider it, deny it, and finally accept it," he said--"No! One grows
tired of asking the world to be either wise or happy. It prefers its
own way--just as I prefer mine. It will discover the method of sailing
without wind, and it will learn how to make every sort of mechanical
progress without steam in time--but not in our day,--and I, personally,
cannot afford to wait while it is slowly learning its ABC like a big
child under protest. You see we're going now!"
We were 'going' indeed,--it would have been more correct to say we were
flying. Over the still water our vessel glided like a moving beautiful
shape of white fire, swiftly and steadily, with no sound save the
little hissing murmur of the water cleft under her keel. And then like
a sudden whisper from fairyland came the ripple of harp-strings,
running upward in phrases of exquisite melody, and a boy's voice,
clear, soft and full, began to sing, with a pure enunciation which
enabled us to hear every word:
Sailing, sailing! Whither?
What path of the flashing sea
Seems best for you and me?
No matter the way,
By night or day,
So long as we sail together!
Sailing, sailing! Whither?
Into the rosy grace
Of the sun's deep setting-place?
We need not know
How far we go,
So long as we sail together!
Sailing, sailing! Whither?
To the glittering rainbow strand
Of Love's enchanted land?
We ask not where
In earth or air,
So long as we sail together!
Sailing, sailing! Whither?
On to the life divine,--
Your soul made one with mine!
In Heaven or Hell
All must be well,
So long as we sail together!
The song finished with a passionate chord which, played as it was with
swift intensity, seemed to awaken a response from the sea,--at any rate
a strange shivering echo trembled upward as it were from the water and
floated into the spacious silence of the night. My heart beat with
uncomfortable quickness and my eyes grew hot with the weight of
suppressed tears;--why could I not escape from the cruel, restraining
force that held my real self prisoner as with manacles of steel? I
could not even speak; and while the others were clapping their hands in
delighted applause at the beauty of both voice and song, I sat silent.
"He sings well!" said Santoris--"He is the Eastern lad you saw when you
came on deck this morning. I brought him from Egypt. He will give us
another song presently. Shall we walk a little?"
We rose and paced the deck slowly, gradually dividing in couples,
Catherine and Dr. Brayle--Mr. Harland and his secretary,--Santoris and
myself. We two paused together at the stern of the vessel looking
towards the bowsprit, which seemed to pierce the distance of sea and
sky like a flying arrow.
"You wish to speak to me alone," said Santoris, then--"Do you not?
Though I know what you want to say!"