The Life Everlasting: A Reality of Romance Part 14

Santoris looked at her with kindly interest.

"Health is a law, Miss Harland"--he said--"It is our own fault if we trespa.s.s against it."

"Ah, you say that because you are well and strong," she answered, in a plaintive tone--"But if you were afflicted and suffering you would take a different view of illness."

He smiled, somewhat compa.s.sionately.

"I think not,"--he said--"If I were afflicted and suffering, as you say, I should know that by my own neglect, thoughtlessness, carelessness or selfishness I had injured my organisation mentally and physically, and that, therefore, the penalty demanded was just and reasonable."

"Surely you do not maintain that a man is responsible for his own ailments?" said Mr. Harland--"That would be too far-fetched, even for YOU! Why, as a matter of fact a wretched human being is not only cursed with his own poisoned blood but with the poisoned blood of his forefathers, and, according to the latest medical science, the very air and water swarm with germs of death for the unsuspecting victim."

"Or germs of life!" said Santoris, quietly--"According to my knowledge or 'theory,' as you prefer to call it, there are no germs of actual death. There are germs which disintegrate effete forms of matter merely to allow the forces of life to rebuild them again--and these may propagate in the human system if it so happens that the human system is prepared to receive them. Their devastating process is called disease, but they never begin their work till the being they attack has either wasted a vital opportunity or neglected a vital necessity. Far more numerous are the beneficial germs of revivifying and creative power--and if these find place, they are bound to conquer those whose agency is destructive. It all depends on the soil and pasture you offer them. Evil thoughts make evil blood, and in evil blood disease germinates and flourishes. Pure thoughts make pure blood and rebuild the cells of health and vitality. I grant you there is such a thing as inherited disease, but this could be prevented in a great measure by making the marriage of diseased persons a criminal offence,--while much of it could be driven out by proper care in childhood. Unfortunately, the proper care is seldom given."

"What would you call proper care?" asked Catherine.

"Entire absence of self-indulgence, to begin with,"--he answered--"No child should be permitted to have its own way or expect to have it. The first great lesson of life should be renunciation of self."

A faint colour crept into Catherine's faded cheeks. Mr. Harland fidgeted in his chair.

"Unless a man looks after himself, no one else will look after him"--he said.

"Reasonable care of one's self is UNselfishness," replied Santoris--"But anything in excess of reasonable care is pure vice. A man should work for his livelihood chiefly in order not to become a burden on others. In the same way he should take care of his health so that he may avoid being a troublesome invalid, dependent on others'

compa.s.sion. To be ill is to acknowledge neglect of existing laws and incapacity of resistance to evil."

"You lay down a very hard and fast rule, Mr. Santoris"--said Dr.

Brayle--"Many unfortunate people are ill through no fault of their own."

"Pardon me for my dogmatism when I say such a thing is impossible"--answered Santoris--"If a human being starts his life in health he cannot be ill UNLESS through some fault of his own. It may be a moral or a physical fault, but the trespa.s.s against the law has been made. And suppose him to be born with some inherited trouble, he can eliminate even that from his blood if he so determines. Man was not meant to be sickly, but strong--he is not intended to dwell on this earth as a servant but as a master,--and all the elements of strength and individual sovereignty are contained in Nature for his use and advantage if he will but accept them as frankly as they are offered ungrudgingly. I cannot grant you "--and he smiled--"even the smallest amount of voluntary or intended mischief in the Divine plan!"

At that moment Captain Derrick looked in at the saloon door to remind us that the boat was still waiting to take our visitor back to his own yacht. He rose at once, with a briefly courteous apology for having stayed so long, and we all vent with him to see him off. It was arranged that we were to join him on board his vessel next day, and either take a sail with him along the island coast or else do the excursion on foot to Loch Coruisk, which was a point not to be missed.

As we walked all together along the moonlit deck a chance moment placed him by my side while the others were moving on ahead. I felt rather than saw his eyes upon me, and looked up swiftly in obedience to his compelling glance. There was a light of eloquent meaning in the expression of his face, but he spoke in perfectly conventional tones:--

"I am glad to have met you at last,"--he said, quietly--"I have known you by name--and in the spirit--a long time."

I did not answer. My heart was beating rapidly with an excitation of nameless joy and fear commingled.

"To-morrow"--he went on--"we shall be able to talk together, I hope,--I feel that there are many things in which we are mutually interested."

Still I could not speak.

"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 a.s.sent.

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 a.s.surance 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."

"It's curious you should meet him again like this,"--said Catherine--"But surely, father, he's not as old as you are?"

"He's about three and a half years younger--that's all."

Dr. Brayle laughed.

"I don't believe it for a moment!" he said--"I think he's playing a part. He's probably not the man you knew at Oxford at all."

We were then going to our cabins for the night, and Mr. Harland paused as these words were said and faced us.

"He IS the man!"--he said, emphatically--"I had my doubts of him at first, but I was wrong. As for 'playing a part,' that would be impossible to him. He is absolutely truthful--almost to the verge of cruelty!" A curious expression came into his eyes, as of hidden fear.

"In one way I am glad to have met him again--in another I am sorry. For he is a disturber of the comfortable peace of conventions. You"--here he regarded me suddenly, as if he had almost forgotten my presence--"will like him. You have many ideas in common and will be sure to get on well together. As for me, I am his direct opposite,--the two poles are not wider apart than we are in our feelings, sentiments and beliefs." He paused, seeming to be troubled by the pa.s.sing cloud of some painful thought--then he went on--"There is one thing I should perhaps explain, especially to you, Brayle, to save useless argument.

It is, of course, a 'craze'--but craze or not, he is absolutely immovable on one point which he calls the great Fact of Life,--that there is and can be no Death,--that Life is eternal and therefore in all its forms indestructible."

"Does he consider himself immune from the common lot of mortals?" asked Dr. Brayle, with a touch of derision.

"He denies 'the common lot' altogether"--replied Mr. Harland--"For him, each individual life is a perpetual succession of progressive changes, and he holds that a change IS never and CAN never be made till the person concerned has prepared the next 'costume' or mortal presentment of immortal being, according to voluntary choice and liking."

"Then he is mad!" exclaimed Catherine. "He must be mad!"

I smiled.

"Then I am mad too,"--I said--"For I believe as he does. May I say good-night?"

And with that I left them, glad to be alone with myself and my heart's secret rapture.

VII

MEMORIES

Perfect happiness is the soul's acceptance of a sense of joy without question. And this is what I felt through all my being on that never-to-be-forgotten night. Just as a tree may be glad of the soft wind blowing its leaves, or a daisy in the gra.s.s may rejoice in the warmth of the sun to which it opens its golden heart without either being able to explain the delicious ecstasy, so I was the recipient of light and exquisite felicity which could have no explanation or a.n.a.lysis. I did not try to think,--it was enough for me simply to BE. I realised, of course, that with the Harlands and their two paid attendants, the materialist Dr. Brayle, and the secretarial machine, Swinton, Rafel Santoris could have nothing in common,--and as I know, by daily experience, that not even the most trifling event happens without a predestined cause for its occurrence and a purpose in its result, I was sure that the reason for his coming into touch with us at all was to be found in connection, through some mysterious intuition, with myself. However, as I say, I did not think about it,--I was content to breathe the invigorating air of peace and serenity in which my spirit seemed to float on wings. I slept like a child who is only tired out with play and pleasure,--I woke like a child to whom the world is all new and brimful of beauty. That it was a sunny day seemed right and natural--clouds and rain could hardly have penetrated the brilliant atmosphere in which I lived and moved. It was an atmosphere of my own creating, of course, and therefore not liable to be disturbed by storms unless I chose. It is possible for every human being to live in the suns.h.i.+ne of the soul whatever may be the material surroundings of the body. The so-called 'practical' person would have said to me:--'Why are you happy?' There is no real cause for this sudden elation. You think you have met someone who is in sympathy with your tastes, ideas and feelings,--but you may be quite wrong, and this bright wave of joy into which you are plunging heedlessly may fling you bruised and broken on a desolate sh.o.r.e for the remainder of your life.

One would think you had fallen in love at first sight.

To which I should have replied that there is no such thing as falling in love at first sight,--that the very expression--'falling in love'--conveys a false idea, and that what the world generally calls 'love' is not love at all. Moreover, there was nothing in my heart or mind with regard to Rafel Santoris save a keen interest and sense of friends.h.i.+p. I was sure that his beliefs were the same as mine, and that he had been working along the same lines which I had endeavoured to follow; and just as two musicians, inspired by a mutual love of their art, may be glad to play their instruments together in time and tune, even so I felt that he and I had met on a plane of thought where we had both for a long time been separately wandering.