and solitary childhood,—­the hard and uphill work which became my lot as soon as I was old enough to work at all,—­incessant study, and certainly no surplus of riches.  Then where had I known luxury?  I sank into a chair, dreamily considering.  The floating scent of sandal-wood and the perfume of lilies commingled was like the breath of an odorous garden in the East, familiar to me long ago, and as I sat musing I became conscious of a sudden inrush of power and sense of dominance which lifted me as it were above myself, as though I had, without any warning, been given the full control of a great kingdom and its people.  Catching sight of my own reflection in an opposite mirror, I was startled and almost afraid at the expression of my face, the proud light in my eyes, the smile on my lips.

“What am I thinking of!” I said, half aloud—­“I am not my true self to-day,—­some remnant of a cast-off pride has arisen in me and made me less of a humble student.  I must not yield to this overpowering demand on my soul,—­it is surely an evil suggestion which asserts itself like the warning pain or fever of an impending disease.  Can it be the influence of Santoris?  No!—­I will never believe it!”

And yet a vague uneasiness beset me, and I rose and paced about restlessly,—­then pausing where the lovely Madonna lilies lay on the ivory table, I remembered they had been put there for me.  I raised them gently, inhaling their delicious fragrance, and as I did so, saw, lying immediately underneath them, a golden Cross of a mystic shape I knew well,—­its upper half set on the face of a seven-pointed Star, also of gold.  With joy I took it up and kissed it reverently, and as I compared it with the one I always secretly wore on my own person, I knew that all was well, and that I need have no distrust of Rafel Santoris.  No injurious effect on my mind could possibly be exerted by his influence—­and I was thrown back on myself for a clue to that singular wave of feeling, so entirely contrary to my own disposition, which had for a moment overwhelmed me.  I could not trace its source, but I speedily conquered it.  Fastening one of the snowy lilies in my waistband, as a contrast to the bright bit of bell-heather which I cherished even more than if it were a jewel, I presently went up on deck, where I found my host, Mr. Harland, Captain Derrick and Marino Fazio all talking animatedly together.

“The mystery is cleared up,”—­said Mr. Harland, addressing me as I approached—­“Captain Derrick is satisfied.  He has learned how one of the finest schooners he has ever seen can make full speed in any weather without wind.”

“Oh no, I haven’t learned how to do it,—­I’m a long way off that!”—­ said Derrick, good-humouredly—­“But I’ve seen how it’s done.  And it’s marvellous!  If that invention could be applied to all ships—­”

“Ah!—­but first of all it would be necessary to instruct the shipbuilders!”—­put in Fazio—­“They would have to learn their trade all over again.  Our yacht looks as though she were built on the same lines as all yachts,—­but you know—­you have seen—­she is entirely different!”