My heart thrilled with a sudden sense of expectant joy. In my fancy I already saw the heather-crowned summits of the Highland hills, bathed in soft climbing mists of amethyst and rose,--the lovely purple light that dances on the mountain lochs at the sinking of the sun,--the exquisite beauty of wild moor and rocky foreland,--and almost I was disposed to think this antipathetic millionaire an angel of blessing in disguise.
"It will be delightful!" I said, with real fervour--"I shall love it!
I"m glad you are going to keep to northern seas."
"Northern seas are the only seas possible for summer," he replied--"With the winter one goes south, as a matter of course, though I"m not sure that it is always advisable. I have found the Mediterranean tiresome very often." He broke off and seemed to lose himself for a moment in a tangle of vexed thought. Then he resumed quickly:--"Well, next week, then. Rothesay bay, and the yacht "Diana.""
Things being thus settled, we shook hands and parted. In the interval between his visit and my departure from home I had plenty to do, and I heard no more of the Harlands, except that I received a little note from Miss Catherine expressing her pleasure that I had agreed to accompany them on their cruise.
"You will be very dull, I fear,"--she wrote, kindly--"But not so dull as we should be without you."
This was a gracious phrase which meant as much or as little as most such phrases of a conventionally amiable character. Dulness, however, is a condition of brain and body of which I am seldom conscious, so that the suggestion of its possibility did not disturb my outlook.
Having resolved to go, I equally resolved to enjoy the trip to the utmost limit of my capacity for enjoyment, which--fortunately for myself--is very great. Before my departure from home I had to listen, of course, to the usual croaking chorus of acquaintances in the neighbourhood who were not going yachting and who, according to their own a.s.sertion, never would on any account go yachting. There is a tendency in many persons to decry every pleasure which they have no chance of sharing, and this was not lacking among my provincial gossips.
"The weather has been so fine lately that we"re sure to have a break soon,"--said one--"I expect you"ll meet gales at sea."
"I hear," said another, "that heavy rains are threatening the west coast of Scotland."
"Such a bore, yachting!" declared a worthy woman who had never been on a yacht in her life--"The people on board get sick of each other"s company in a week!"
"Well, you ought to pity me very much, then!"--I said, laughing--"According to your ideas, a yachting cruise appears to be the last possible form of physical suffering that can be inflicted on any human being. But I shall hope to come safely out of it all the same!"
My visitors gave me a wry smile. It was quite easy to see that they envied what they considered my good fortune in getting a holiday under the most luxurious circ.u.mstances without its costing me a penny. This was the only view they took of it. It is the only view people generally take of any situation,--namely, the financial side.
The night before I left home was to me a memorable one. Nothing of any outward or apparent interest happened, and I was quite alone, yet I was conscious of a singular elation of both mind and body as though I were surrounded by a vibrating atmosphere of light and joy. It was an impression that came upon me suddenly, seeming to have little or nothing to do with my own ident.i.ty, yet withal it was still so personal that I felt eager to praise for such a rich inflow of happiness. The impression was purely psychic I knew,--but it was worth a thousand gifts of material good. Nothing seemed sad,--nothing seemed difficult in the whole Universe--every shadow of trouble seemed swept away from a shining sky of peace. I threw open the lattice window of my study and stepping out on the balcony which overhung the garden, I stood there dreamily looking out upon the night. There was no moon; only a million quivering points of light flashing from the crowded stars in a heaven of dusky blue. The air was warm, and fragrant with the sweet scent of stocks and heliotrope,--there was a great silence, for it was fully midnight, and not even the drowsy twitter of a bird broke the intense quiet. The world was asleep--or seemed so--although for fifty living organisms in Nature that sleep there are a thousand that wake, to whom night is the working day. I listened,--and fancied I could hear the delicate murmuring of voices hidden among the leaves and behind the trees, and the thrill of soft music flowing towards me on the sound-waves of the air. It was one of those supreme moments when I almost thought I had made some marked progress towards the attainment of my highest aims,--when the time I had spent and the patience I had exercised in cultivating and training what may be called the INWARD powers of sight and hearing were about to be rewarded by a full opening to my striving spirit of the gates which had till now been only set ajar. I knew,--for I had studied and proved the truth,--that every bodily sense we possess is simply an imperfect outcome of its original and existent faculty in the Soul,--that our bodily ears are only the material expressions of that spiritual hearing which is fine and keen enough to catch the lightest angel whisper,--that our eyes are but the outward semblance of those brilliant inner orbs of vision which are made to look upon the supernal glories of Heaven itself without fear or flinching,--and that our very sense of touch is but a rough and uncertain handling of perishable things as compared with that sure and delicate contact of the Soul"s personal being with the etheric substances pertaining to itself. Despite my eager expectation, however, nothing more was granted to me then but just that exquisite sensation of pure joy, which like a rain of light bathed every fibre of my being.
It was enough, I told myself--surely enough!--and yet it seemed to me there should be something more. It was a promise with the fulfilment close at hand, yet undeclared,--like a snow-white cloud with the sun behind it. But I was given no solution of the rapturous mystery surrounding me,--and--granting my soul an absolute freedom, it could plunge no deeper than through the immensity of stars to immensities still more profound, there to dream and hope and wait. For years I had done this,--for years I had worked and prayed, watching the pageant of poor human pride and vanity drift past me like shadows on the sh.o.r.e of a dead sea,--succeeding little by little in threading my way through the closest labyrinths of life, and finding out the beautiful reasons of living;--and every now and then,--as to-night,--I had felt myself on the verge of a discovery which in its divine simplicity should make all problems clear and all difficulties easy, when I had been gently but firmly held back by a force invisible, and warned, "Thus far, and no farther!" To oppose this force or make any personal effort to rebel against it, is no part of my faith,--therefore at such moments I had always yielded instantly and obediently as I yielded now. I was not allowed to fathom the occult source of my happiness, but the happiness remained,--and when I retired to rest it was with more than ordinary grat.i.tude that I said my usual brief prayer:--For the day that is past, I thank Thee, O G.o.d my Father! For the night that has come, I thank Thee! As one with Thee and with Nature I gratefully take the rest Thou hast lovingly ordained. Whether I sleep or wake my body and soul are Thine. Do with them as Thou wilt, for Thy command is my joy. Amen.
I slept as soundly and peacefully as a child, and the next day started on my journey in the brightest of bright summer weather. A friend travelled with me--one of those amiable women to whom life is always pleasant because of the pleasantness in their own natures; she had taken a house for the season in Inverness-shire, and I had arranged to join her there when my trip with the Harlands was over, or rather, I should say, when they had grown weary of me and I of them. The latter chance was, thought my friend, whom I will call Francesca, most likely.
"There"s no greater boredom,"--she declared--"than the society of an imaginative invalid. Such company will not be restful to you,--it will tire you out. Morton Harland himself may be really ill, as he says--I shouldn"t wonder if he is, for he looks it!--but his daughter has nothing whatever the matter with her,--except nerves."
"Nerves are bad enough,"--I said.
"Nerves can be conquered,"--she answered, with a bright smile of wholesome conviction--"Nerves are generally--well!--just selfishness!"
There was some truth in this, but we did not argue the point further.
We were too much engrossed with the interests of our journey north, and with the entertainment provided for us by our fellow-travellers. The train for Edinburgh and Glasgow was crowded with men of that particular social cla.s.s who find grouse-shooting an intelligent way of using their brain and muscle, and gun-cases c.u.mbered the ground in every corner. It wanted yet several days to the famous Twelfth of August, but the weather was so exceptionally fine and brilliant that the exodus from town had begun earlier than was actually necessary for the purposes of slaughter. Francesca and I studied the faces and figures of our companions with lively and unabated interest. We had a reserved compartment to ourselves, and from its secluded privacy we watched the restless pacing up and down in the adjacent corridor of sundry male creatures who seemed to have nothing whatever to think about but the day"s newspaper, and nothing to do but smoke.
"I am sure," said Francesca, suddenly--"that in the beginning of creation we were all beasts and birds of prey, eating each other up and tearing each other to pieces. The love of prey is in us still."
"Not in you, surely?" I queried, with a smile.
"Oh, I am not talking or thinking of myself. I"m just--a woman. So are you--a woman--and something more, perhaps--something not like the rest of us." Here her kind eyes regarded me a trifle wistfully. "I can"t quite make you out sometimes,--I wish I could! But--apart from you and me--look at a few of these men! One has just pa.s.sed our window who has the exact physiognomy of a hawk,--cruel eyes and sharp nose like a voracious beak. Another I noticed a minute ago with a perfectly pig-like face,--he does not look rightly placed on two legs, his natural att.i.tude is on four legs, grunting with his snout in the gutter!"
I laughed.
"You are a severe critic, Francesca!"
"Not I. I"m not criticising at all. But I can"t help seeing resemblances. And sometimes they are quite appalling. Now you, for instance,"--here she laid a hand tentatively on mine--"you, in your mysterious ideas of religion, actually believe that persons who lead evil lives and encourage evil thoughts, descend the scale from which they have risen and go back to the lowest forms of life--"
"I do believe that certainly"--I answered--"But--"
""But me no buts,""--she interrupted--"I tell you there are people in this world whom I see IN THE VERY ACT OF DESCENDING! And it makes me grow cold!"
I could well understand her feeling. I had experienced it often.
Nothing has ever filled me with a more hopeless sense of inadequacy and utter uselessness than to watch, as I am often compelled to watch, the deplorable results of the determined choice made by certain human beings to go backward and downward rather than forward and upward,--a choice in which no outside advice can be of any avail because they will not take it even if it is offered. It is a life-and-death matter for their own wills to determine,--and no power, human or divine, can alter the course they elect to adopt. As well expect that G.o.d would revert His law of gravitation to save the silly suicide who leaps to destruction from tower or steeple, as that He would change the eternal working of His higher Spiritual Law to rescue the resolved Soul which, knowing the difference between good and evil, deliberately prefers evil. If an angel of light, a veritable "Son of the Morning" rebels, he must fall from Heaven. There is no alternative; until of his own free-will he chooses to rise again.
My friend and I had often talked together on these knotty points which tangled up what should be the straightness of many a life"s career, and as we mutually knew each other"s opinions we did not discuss them at the moment.
Time pa.s.sed quickly,--the train rushed farther and farther north, and by six o"clock on that warm, sunshiny afternoon we were in the grimy city of Glasgow, from whence we went on to a still grimier quarter, Greenock, where we put up for the night. The "best" hotel was a sorry affair, but we were too tired to mind either a bad dinner or uncomfortable rooms, and went to bed glad of any place wherein to sleep. Next morning we woke up very early, refreshed and joyous, in time to see the sun rise in a warm mist of gold over a huge man-o"-war outside Greenock harbour,--a sight which, in its way, was very fine and rather suggestive of a Turner picture.
"Dear old Sol!" said Francesca, shading her eyes as she looked at the dazzle of glory--"His mission is to sustain life,--and the object of that war-vessel bathed in all his golden rays is to destroy it. What unscrupulous villains men are! Why cannot nations resolve on peace and amity, and if differences arise agree to settle them by arbitration?
It"s such a pagan and brutal thing to kill thousands of innocent men just because Governments quarrel."
"I entirely agree with you,"--I said--"All the same I don"t approve of Governments that preach peace while they drain the people"s pockets for the purpose of increasing armaments, after the German fashion. Let us be ready with adequate defences,--but it"s surely very foolish to cripple our nation at home by way of preparation for wars which may never happen."
"And yet they MAY happen!" said Francesca, her eyes still dreamily watching the sunlit heavens--"Everything in the Universe is engaged in some sort of a fight, so it seems to me. The tiniest insects are for ever combating each other. In the very channels of our own blood the poisonous and non-poisonous germs are constantly striving for the mastery, and how can we escape the general ordainment? Life itself is a continual battle between good and evil, and if it were not so we should have no object in living. The whole business is evidently intended to be a dose conflict to the end."
"There is no end!" I said.
She looked at me almost compa.s.sionately.
"So you imagine!"
I smiled.
"So I KNOW!"
A vague expression flitted over her face,--an expression with which I had become familiar. She was a most lovable and intelligent creature, but she could not think very far,--the effort wearied and perplexed her.
"Well, then, it must be an everlasting skirmish, I suppose!" she said, laughingly,--"I wonder if our souls will ever get tired!"
"Do you think G.o.d ever gets tired?" I asked.
She looked startled,--then amused.
"He ought to!" she declared, with vivacity--"I don"t mean to be irreverent, but really, what with all the living things in all the millions of worlds trying to get what they ought not to have, and wailing and howling when they are disappointed of their wishes, He ought to be very, very tired!"
"But He is not,"--I said;--"If He were, there would indeed be an end of all! Should the Creator be weary of His work, the work would be undone.
I wish we thought of this more often!"
She put her arm round me kindly.
"You are a strange creature!" she said--"You think a great deal too much of all these abstruse subjects. After all, I"m glad you are going on this cruise with the Harland people. They will bring you down from the spheres with a run! They will, I"m sure! You"ll hear no conversation that does not turn on baths, medicines, ma.s.sage, and general cure-alls! And when you come on to stay with me in Inverness-shire you"ll be quite commonplace and sensible!"
I smiled. The dear Francesca always a.s.sociated "the commonplace and sensible" together, as though they were fitted to companion each other.
The complete reverse is, of course, the case, for the "commonplace" is generally nothing more than the daily routine of body which is instinctively followed by beasts and birds as equally as by man, and has no more to do with real "sense" or pure mentality than the ticking of a watch has to do with the enormous forces of the sun. What we call actual "Sense" is the perception of the Soul,--a perception which cannot be limited to things which are merely material, inasmuch as it pa.s.ses beyond outward needs and appearances and reaches to the causes which create those outward needs and appearances. I was, however, satisfied to leave my friend in possession of the field of argument, the more readily as our parting from each other was so near at hand.
We journeyed together by the steamer "Columba" to Rothesay, where, on entering the beautiful bay, crowded at this season with pleasure craft, the first object which attracted our attention was the very vessel for which I was bound, the "Diana," one of the most magnificent yachts ever built to gratify the whim of a millionaire. Tourists on board our steamer at once took up positions where they could obtain the best view of her, and many were the comments we heard concerning her size and the beauty of her lines as she rode at anchor on the sunlit water.