Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  “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.”

  I laughed.

  “I see! And rational beings must always be men!” I said— “You are quite certain of that?”

  “In the fact that men ordain the world’s government and progress, you have your answer,” — he replied.

  “Alas, poor world!” I murmured— “Sometimes it rebels against the ‘rationalism’ of its rulers!”

  Just then Mr. Harland called me, and I hastened to join him and Captain Derrick. The boat which was waiting for us was manned by four sailors who wore white jerseys trimmed with scarlet, bearing the name of the yacht to which they belonged — the ‘Dream.’ These men were dark-skinned and dark-eyed, — we took them at first for Portuguese or Malays, but they turned out to be from Egypt. They saluted us, but did not speak, and as soon as we were seated, pulled swiftly away across the water. Captain Derrick watched their movements with great interest and curiosity.

  “Plenty of grit in those chaps,” — he said, aside to Mr. Harland— “Look at their muscular arms! I suppose they don’t speak a word of English.”

  Mr. Harland thereupon tried one of them with a remark about the weather. The man smiled — and the sudden gleam of his white teeth gave a wonderful light and charm to his naturally grave cast of countenance.

  “Beautiful day!” — he said,— “Very happy sky!”

  This expression ‘happy sky’ attracted me. It recalled to my mind a phrase I had once read in the translation of an inscription found in an Egyptian sarcophagus— “The peace of the morning befriend thee, and the light of the sunset and the happiness of the sky.” The words rang in my ears with an odd familiarity, like the verse of some poem loved and learned by heart in childhood.

  In a very few minutes we were alongside the ‘Dream’ and soon on board, where Rafel Santoris received us with kindly courtesy and warmth of welcome. He expressed polite regret at the absence of Miss Harland — none for that of Dr. Brayle or Mr. Swinton — and then introduced us to his captain, an Italian named Marino Fazio, of whom Santoris said to us, smilingly: —

  “He is a scientist as well as a skipper — and he needs to be both in the management of such a vessel as this. He will take Captain Derrick in his charge and explain to him the mystery of our brilliant appearance at night, and also the secret of our sailing without wind.”

  Fazio saluted, and smiled a cheerful response.

  “Are you ready to start now?” he asked, speaking very good English with just the slightest trace of a foreign accent.

  “Perfectly!”

  Fazio lifted his hand with a sign to the man at the wheel. Another moment and the yacht began to move. Without the slightest noise, — without the grinding of ropes, or rattling of chains, or creaking boards, she swung gracefully round, and began to glide through the water with a swiftness that was almost incredible. The sails filled, though the air was intensely warm and stirless — an air in which any ordinary schooner would have been hopelessly becalmed, — and almost before we knew it we were out of Loch Scavaig and flying as though borne on the wings of some great white bird, all along the wild and picturesque coast of Skye towards Loch Bracadale. One of the most remarkable features about the yacht was the extraordinary lightness with which she skimmed the waves — she seemed to ride on their surface rather than part them with her keel. Everything on board expressed the finest taste as well as the most perfect convenience, and I saw Mr. Plarland gazing about him in utter amazement at the elegant sumptuousness of his surroundings. Santoris showed us all over the vessel, talking to us with the ease of quite an old friend.

  “You know the familiar axiom,” — he said—”’Anything worth doing at all is worth doing well.’ The ‘Dream’ was first of all nothing but a dream in my brain till I set to work with Fazio and made it a reality. Owing to our discovery of the way in which to compel the waters to serve us as our motive power, we have no blackening smoke or steam, so that our furniture and fittings are preserved from dinginess and tarnish. It was possible to have the saloon delicately painted, as you see,” — here he opened the door of the apartment mentioned, and we stepped into it as into a fairy palace. It was much loftier than the usual yacht saloon, and on all sides the windows were oval shaped, set in between the most exquisitely painted panels of sea pieces, evidently the work of some great artist. Overhead the ceiling was draped with pale turquoise blue silk forming a canopy, which was gathered in rich folds on all four sides, having in its centre a crystal lamp in the shape of a star.

  “You live like a king” — then said Mr. Harland, a trifle bitterly— “You know how to use your father’s fortune.”

  “My father’s fortune was made to be used,” answered Santoris, with perfect g
ood-humour— “And I think he is perfectly satisfied with my mode of expending it. But very little of it has been touched. I have made my own fortune.”

  “Indeed! How?” And Harland looked as he evidently felt, keenly interested.

  “Ah, that’s asking too much of me!” laughed Santoris. “You may be satisfied, however, that it’s not through defrauding my neighbours. It’s comparatively easy to be rich if you have coaxed any of Mother Nature’s secrets out of her. She is very kind to her children, if they are kind to her, — in fact, she spoils them, for the more they ask of her the more she gives. Besides, every man should make his own money even if he inherits wealth, — it is the only way to feel worthy of a place in this beautiful, ever-working world.”

  He preceded us out of the saloon and showed us the State-rooms, of which there were five, daintily furnished in white and blue and white and rose.

  “These are for my guests when I have any,” he said, “Which is very seldom. This for a princess — if ever one should honour me with her presence!”

  And he opened a door on his right, through which we peered into a long, lovely room, gleaming with iridescent hues and sparkling with touches of gold and crystal. The bed was draped with cloudy lace through which a shimmer of pale rose-colour made itself visible, and the carpet of dark moss-green formed a perfect setting for the quaintly shaped furniture, which was all of sandal-wood inlaid with ivory. On a small table of carved ivory in the centre of the room lay a bunch of Madonna lilies tied with a finely twisted cord of gold. We murmured our admiration, and Santoris addressed himself directly to me for the first time since we had come on board.

  “Will you go in and rest for a while till luncheon?” he said— “I placed the lilies there for your acceptance.”

  The colour rushed to my cheeks, — I looked up at him in a little wonderment.

  “But I am not a princess!”

  His eyes smiled down into mine.

  “No? Then I must have dreamed you were!”

  My heart gave a quick throb, — some memory touched my brain, but what it was I could not tell. Mr. Harland glanced at me and laughed.

  “What did I tell you the other day?” he said— “Did I not call you the princess of a fairy tale? I was not far wrong!”

  They left me to myself then, and as I stood alone in the beautiful room which had thus been placed at my disposal, a curious feeling came over me that these luxurious surroundings were, after all, not new to my experience. I had been accustomed to them for a great part of my life. Stay! — how foolish of me!— ‘a great part of my life’? — then what part of it? I briefly reviewed my own career, — a difficult and solitary childhood, — the hard and uphill work which became my lot as soon as I was old enough to work at all, — incessant study, and certainly no surplus of riches. Then where had I known luxury? I sank into a chair, dreamily considering. The floating scent of sandal-wood and the perfume of lilies commingled was like the breath of an odorous garden in the East, familiar to me long ago, and as I sat musing I became conscious of a sudden inrush of power and sense of dominance which lifted me as it were above myself, as though I had, without any warning, been given the full control of a great kingdom and its people. Catching sight of my own reflection in an opposite mirror, I was startled and almost afraid at the expression of my face, the proud light in my eyes, the smile on my lips.

  “What am I thinking of!” I said, half aloud— “I am not my true self to-day, — some remnant of a cast-off pride has arisen in me and made me less of a humble student. I must not yield to this overpowering demand on my soul, — it is surely an evil suggestion which asserts itself like the warning pain or fever of an impending disease. Can it be the influence of Santoris? No! — I will never believe it!”

  And yet a vague uneasiness beset me, and I rose and paced about restlessly, — then pausing where the lovely Madonna lilies lay on the ivory table, I remembered they had been put there for me. I raised them gently, inhaling their delicious fragrance, and as I did so, saw, lying immediately underneath them, a golden Cross of a mystic shape I knew well, — its upper half set on the face of a seven-pointed Star, also of gold. With joy I took it up and kissed it reverently, and as I compared it with the one I always secretly wore on my own person, I knew that all was well, and that I need have no distrust of Rafel Santoris. No injurious effect on my mind could possibly be exerted by his influence — and I was thrown back on myself for a clue to that singular wave of feeling, so entirely contrary to my own disposition, which had for a moment overwhelmed me. I could not trace its source, but I speedily conquered it. Fastening one of the snowy lilies in my waistband, as a contrast to the bright bit of bell-heather which I cherished even more than if it were a jewel, I presently went up on deck, where I found my host, Mr. Harland, Captain Derrick and Marino Fazio all talking animatedly together.

  “The mystery is cleared up,” — said Mr. Harland, addressing me as I approached— “Captain Derrick is satisfied. He has learned how one of the finest schooners he has ever seen can make full speed in any weather without wind.”

  “Oh no, I haven’t learned how to do it, — I’m a long way off that!” — said Derrick, good-humouredly— “But I’ve seen how it’s done. And it’s marvellous! If that invention could be applied to all ships—”

  “Ah! — but first of all it would be necessary to instruct the shipbuilders!” — put in Fazio— “They would have to learn their trade all over again. Our yacht looks as though she were built on the same lines as all yachts, — but you know — you have seen — she is entirely different!”

  Captain Derrick gave a nod of grave emphasis. Santoris meantime had come to my side. Our glances met, — he saw that I had received and understood the message of the lilies, and a light and colour came into his eyes that made them beautiful.

  “Men have not yet fully enjoyed their heritage,” he said, taking up the conversation— “Our yacht’s motive power seems complex, but in reality it is very simple, — and the same force which propels this light vessel would propel the biggest liner afloat. Nature has given us all the materials for every kind of work and progress, physical and mental — but because we do not at once comprehend them we deny their uses. Nothing in the air, earth or water exists which we may not press into our service, — and it is in the study of natural forces that we find our conquest. What hundreds of years it took us to discover the wonders of steam! — how the discoverer was mocked and laughed at! — yet it was not really ‘wonderful’ — it was always there, waiting to be employed, and wasted by mere lack of human effort. One can say the same of electricity, sometimes called ‘miraculous’ — it is no miracle, but perfectly common and natural, only we have, until now, failed to apply it to our needs, — and even when wider disclosures of science are being made to us every day, we still bar knowledge by obstinacy, and remain in ignorance rather than learn. A few grains in weight of hydrogen have power enough to raise a million tons to a height of more than three hundred feet, — and if we could only find a way to liberate economically and with discretion the various forces which Spirit and Matter contain, we might change the whole occupation of man and make of him less a labourer than thinker, less mortal than angel! The wildest fairy-tales might come true, and earth be transformed into a paradise! And as for motive power, in a thimbleful of concentrated fuel we might take the largest ship across the widest ocean. I say if we could only find a way! Some think they are finding it—”

  “You, for example?” — suggested Mr. Harland.

  He laughed.

  “I — if you like! — for example! Will you come to luncheon?”

  He led the way, and Mr. Harland and I followed. Captain Derrick, who I saw was a little afraid of him, had arranged to take his luncheon with Fazio and the other officers of the crew apart. We were waited upon by dark-skinned men attired in the picturesque costume of the East, who performed their duties with noiseless grace and swiftness. The yacht had for some time slackened speed, and appeared to be merely flo
ating lazily on the surface of the calm water. We were told she could always do this and make almost imperceptible headway, provided there was no impending storm in the air. It seemed as if we were scarcely moving, and the whole atmosphere surrounding us expressed the most delicious tranquillity. The luncheon prepared for us was of the daintiest and most elegant description, and Mr. Harland, who on account of his ill-health seldom had any appetite, enjoyed it with a zest and heartiness I had never seen him display before. He particularly appreciated the wine, a rich, ruby-coloured beverage which was unlike anything I had ever tasted.

  “There is nothing remarkable about it,” — said Santoris, I when questioned as to its origin— “It is simply REAL wine, — though you may say that of itself is remarkable, there being none in the market. It is the pure juice of the grape, prepared in such a manner as to nourish the blood without inflaming it. It can do you no harm, — in fact, for you, Harland, it is an excellent thing.”

  “Why for me in particular?” queried Harland, rather sharply.

  “Because you need it,” — answered Santoris— “My dear fellow, you are not in the best of health. And you will never get better under your present treatment.”

  I looked up eagerly.

  “That is what I, too, have thought,” — I said— “only I dared not express it!”

  Mr. Harland surveyed me with an amused smile.

  “Dared not! I know nothing you would not dare! — but with all your boldness, you are full of mere theories, — and theories never made an ill man well yet.”

  Santoris exchanged a swift glance with me. Then he spoke: —

  “Theory without practice is, of course, useless,” — he said— “But surely you can see that this lady has reached a certain plane of thought on which she herself dwells in health and content? And can she not serve you as an object lesson?”