A silence fell between us. Then I heard her sobbing. I put my arm round her, and she laid her head on my shoulder.
"I wish I could feel as you do,"—she whispered—"You must be very happy! The world is all beautiful in your eyes—and of course with your ideas it will continue to be beautiful—and even death will only come to you as another transition into life. But you must not think anybody will ever understand you or believe you or follow you—people will only look upon you as mad, or the dupe of your own foolish imagination!"
I smiled as I smoothed her pillow for her and laid her gently back upon it.
"I can stand that!" I said—"If somebody who is lost in the dark jeers at me for finding the light, I shall not mind!"
We did not speak much after that—and when I said good-night to her I also said good-bye, as I knew I should have to leave the yacht early in the morning.
I spent the rest of the time at my disposal in talking to Mr. Harland, keeping our conversation always on the level of ordinary topics. He seemed genuinely sorry that I had determined to go, and if he could have persuaded me to stay on board a few days longer I am sure he would have been pleased.
"I shall see you off in the morning,"—he said—"And believe me I shall miss you very much. We don't agree on certain subjects—but I like you all the same."
"That's something!" I said, cheerfully—"It would never do if we were all of the same opinion!"
"Will you meet Santoris again, do you think?"
This was the same question Catherine had put to me, and I answered it in the same manner.