“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’ compassion.  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 trespass 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.”