"Sometimes it happens"—he continued, in a voice that trembled a little—"that two people who are not immediately conscious of having met before, feel on first introduction to each other as if they were quite old friends. Is it not so?"
I murmured a scarcely audible assent.
He bent his head and looked at me searchingly,—a smile was on his lips and his eyes were full of tenderness.
"Till to-morrow is not long to wait,"—he said—"Not long—after so many years! Good-night!"
A sense of calm and sweet assurance swept over me.
"Good-night!" I answered, with a smile of happy response to his own—"Till to-morrow!"
We were close to the gangway where the others already stood. In another couple of minutes he had made his adieux to our whole party and was on his way back to his own vessel. The boat in which he sat, rowed strongly by our men, soon disappeared like a black blot on the general darkness of the water, yet we remained for some time watching, as though we could see it even when it was no longer visible.
"A strange fellow!" said Dr. Brayle when we moved away at last, flinging the end of his cigar over the yacht side—"Something of madness and genius combined."
Mr. Harland turned quickly upon him.
"You mistake,"—he answered—"There's no madness, though there is certainly genius. He's of the same mind as he was when I knew him at college. There never was a saner or more brilliant scholar."