I smiled.

“Dear Catherine,” I said—­“it is no use shutting our eyes to the fact that while there is something which attracts us to each other, there is also something which repels.  We cannot argue about it or analyse it.  Such mysterious things do occur,—­and they are beyond our searching out—­”

“But,” she interrupted, quickly—­“we were not so troubled by these mysterious things till we met this man Santoris—­”

She broke off, and I rose to my feet, as just then Santoris approached, accompanied by Mr. Harland and the others.

“I have suggested giving you a sail by moonlight before you leave,” he said.  “It will be an old experience for you under new conditions.  Sailing by moonlight in an ordinary sense is an ordinary thing,—­but sailing by moonlight with the moonlight as part of our motive power has perhaps a touch of originality.”

As he spoke he made a sign to one of his men who came up to receive his orders, which were given in too low a tone for us to hear.  Easy deck chairs were placed for all the party, and we were soon seated in a group together, somewhat silently at first, our attention being entirely riveted on the wonderful, almost noiseless way in which the sails of the ‘Dream’ were unfurled.  There was no wind,—­the night was warm and intensely still—­the sea absolutely calm.  Like broad white wings, the canvas gradually spread out under the deft, quick hands of the sailors employed in handling it,—­the anchor was drawn up in the same swift and silent manner—­then there came an instant’s pause.  Mr. Harland drew his cigar from his mouth and looked up amazed, as we all did, at the mysterious way in which the sails filled out, pulling the cordage tightly into bands of iron strength,—­and none of us could restrain an involuntary cry of wonder and admiration as their whiteness began to glitter with the radiance of hoar-frost, the strange luminance deepening in intensity till it seemed as if the whole stretch of canvas from end to end of the magnificent schooner was a mass of fine jewel-work sparkling under the moon.

“Well!  However much I disagree with your theories of life, Santoris,” said Mr. Harland,—­“I will give you full credit for this extraordinary yacht of yours!  It’s the most wonderful thing I ever saw, and you are a wonderful fellow to have carried out such an unique application of science.  You ought to impart your secret to the world.”

Santoris laughed lightly.

“And the world would take a hundred years or more to discuss it, consider it, deny it, and finally accept it,” he said—­“No!  One grows tired of asking the world to be either wise or happy.  It prefers its own way—­just as I prefer mine.  It will discover the method of sailing without wind, and it will learn how to make every sort of mechanical progress without steam in time—­but not in our day,—­and I, personally, cannot afford to wait while it is slowly learning its ABC like a big child under protest.  You see we’re going now!”