"I have told Captain Derrick to weigh anchor and get out of this,"--he
continued, brusquely. "We shall make for Portree at once. There is
something witch-like and uncanny about the place"--and he looked round
as he spoke at the splendour of the mountains, shining with almost
crystalline clearness in the glory of the morning sun--"I feel as if it
were haunted!"
"By what?" I asked.
"By memories," he answered--"And not altogether pleasant ones!"
I looked at him, and a moment's thought decided me that the opportunity
had come for me to broach the subject of my intended departure, and I
did so. I said that I felt I had allowed myself sufficient holiday, and
that it would be necessary for me to take the ordinary steamer from
Portree the morning after our arrival there in order to reach Glasgow
as soon as possible. Mr. Harland surveyed me inquisitively.
"Why do you want to go by the steamer?" he asked--"Why not go with us
back to Rothesay, for example?"
"I would rather lose no time,"--I said--then I added
impulsively:--"Dear Mr. Harland, Catherine will be much better when I
am gone--I know she will! You will be able to prolong the yachting trip
which will benefit your health,--and I should be really most unhappy if
you curtailed it on my account--"
He interrupted me.
"Why do you say that Catherine will be better when you are gone?" he
demanded--"It was her own most particular wish that you should
accompany us."
"She did not know what moved her to such a desire," I said,--then,
seeing his look of astonishment, I smiled; "I am not a congenial spirit
to her, nor to any of you, really! but she has been most kind, and so
have you--and I thank you ever so much for all you have done for
me--you have done much more than you know!--only I feel it is better to
go now--now, before--"
"Before what?" he asked.
"Well, before we all hate each other!" I said, playfully--"It is quite
on the cards that we shall come to that! Dr. Brayle thinks my presence
quite as harmful to Catherine as that of Mr. Santoris;--I am full of
'theories' which he considers prejudicial,--and so, perhaps, they
ARE--to HIM!"
Mr. Harland drew closer to me where I stood leaning against the deck
rail and spoke in a lower tone.
"Tell me," he said,--"and be perfectly frank about it--what is it you
see in Brayle that rouses such a spirit of antagonism in you?"
"If I give you a straight answer, such as I feel to be the truth in
myself, will you be offended?" I asked.
He shook his head.
"No"--he answered--"I shall not be offended. I simply want to know what
you think, and I shall remember what you say and see if it proves
correct."
"Well, in the first place," I said--"I see nothing in Dr. Brayle but
what can be seen in hundreds of worldly-minded men such as he. But he
is not a true physician, for he makes no real effort to cure you of
your illness, while Catherine has no illness at all that demands a
cure. He merely humours the weakness of her nerves, a weakness she has
created by dwelling morbidly on her own self and her own particular
miseries,--and all his future plans with regard to her and to you are
settled. They are quite clear and reasonable. You will die,--in fact,
it is, in his opinion, necessary for you to die,--it would be very
troublesome and inconvenient to him if, by some chance, you were cured,
and continued to live. When you are gone he will marry Catherine, your
only child and heiress, and he will have no further personal anxieties.
I dislike this self-seeking attitude on his part, and my only wonder is
that you do not perceive it. For the rest, my antagonism to Dr. Brayle
is instinctive and has its origin far back--perhaps in a bygone
existence!"
He listened to my words with attentive patience.
"Well, I shall study the man more carefully,"--he said, after a
pause;--"You may be right. At present I think you are wrong. As for any
cure for me, I know there is none. I have consulted medical works on
the subject and am perfectly convinced that Brayle is doing his best.
He can do no more. And now one word to yourself;"--here he laid a hand
kindly on mine--"I have noticed--I could not help noticing that you
were greatly taken by Santoris--and I should almost have fancied him
rather fascinated by you had I not known him to be absolutely
indifferent to womenkind. But let me tell you he is not a safe friend
or guide for anyone. His theories are extravagant and impossible--his
idea that there is no death, for example, when death stares us in the
face every day, is perfectly absurd--and he is likely to lead you into
much perplexity, the more so as you are too much of a believer in
occult things already. I wish I could persuade you to listen to me
seriously on one or two points--"