These compose ‘atoms of matter.’  Well!—­there are a trillion of atoms in each granule of dust,—­while electrons are so much smaller, that a hundred thousand of them can lie in the diameter of an atom.  I know all this,—­but I do not know why the atoms or electrons should exist at all, nor what cause there should be for their constant and often violent state of movement.  They apparently always have been, and always will be,—­therefore they are all that can be called ’eternal realities.’  Sir Norman Lockyer tells us that the matter of the Universe is undergoing a continuous process of evolution—­but even if it is so, what is that to me individually?  It neither helps nor consoles me for being one infinitesimal spark in the general conflagration.  Now you believe—­”

“In the Force that is behind your system of electrons and atoms”—­I said—­“For by whatever means or substances the Universe is composed, a mighty Intelligence governs it—­and I look to the Cause more than the Effect.  For even I am a part of the whole,—­I belong to the source of the stream as much as to the stream itself.  An abstract, lifeless principle without will or intention or intelligence could not have evolved the splendours of Nature or the intellectual capabilities of man—­it could not have given rise to what was not in itself.”

He fixed his eyes steadily upon me.

“That last sentence is sound argument,” he said, as though reluctantly admitting the obvious,—­“And I suppose I am to presume that ‘Itself’ is the well-spring from which you draw, or imagine you draw, your psychic force?”

“If I have any psychic force at all,” I responded,—­“where do you suppose it should come from but that which gives vitality to all animate Nature?  I cannot understand why you blind yourself to the open and visible fact of a Divine Intelligence working in and through all things.  If you could but acknowledge it and set yourself in tune with it you would find life a new and far more dominant joy than it is to you now.  I firmly believe that your very illness has arisen from your determined attitude of unbelief.”

“That’s what a Christian Scientist would say,” he answered, with a touch of scorn,—­“I begin to think Dr. Brayle is right in his estimate of you.”

I held my peace.

“Have you no curiosity?” he demanded—­“Don’t you want to know his opinion?”

“No,”—­and I smiled—­“My dear Mr. Harland, with all your experience of the world, has it never occurred to you that there are some people whose opinions don’t matter?”

“Brayle is a clever man,”—­he said, somewhat testily, “And you are merely an imaginative woman.”

“Then why do you trouble about me?” I asked him, quickly—­“Why do you want to find out that something in me which baffles both Dr. Brayle and yourself?”

It was now his turn to be silent, and he remained so for some time, his eyes fixed on the shadowing heavens.  The waves were roughening slightly and a swell from the Atlantic lifted the ‘Diana’ curtsying over their foam-flecked crests as she ploughed her way swiftly along.  Presently he turned to me with a smile.