The 'Dream' yacht, with its white sails spread ready for a cruise, was as beautiful by day in the sunshine under a blue sky as by night with its own electric radiance flashing its outline against the stars, and I was eager to be on board. We were, however, delayed by an 'attack of nerves' on the part of Catherine, who during the morning was seized with a violent fit of hysteria to which she completely gave way, sobbing, laughing and gasping for breath in a manner which showed her to be quite unhinged and swept from self-control. Dr. Brayle took her at once in charge, while Mr. Harland fumed and fretted, pacing up and down in the saloon with an angry face and brooding eyes. He looked at me where I stood waiting, ready dressed for the excursion of the day, and said:

"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-gla.s.ses, 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 s.e.x. I mean no offence, I a.s.sure 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 good-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."