CHAPTER FIVE

A solitary gull followed the yacht. How had it got separated from its fellows? Had its flight been hindered by some accident? From what far-off island had it come, towards what shore was it now winging its way? It hovered above the masthead. Minutes went by. Then suddenly it swooped, making straight for the sea. Was it pouncing upon its prey?

"A lonesome creature," mused Diana, who had spent the whole afternoon on deck, reclining in a chair, alone, motionless, brooding. "Freedom! There is more freedom around that bird than there is around the leopard in the African desert or the sable in the northern wilds. There are sportsmen it is true--but sportsmen can do no more than kill. They do not trap, and if they do, it is only to capture the young and immature or those which have allowed themselves to be hoaxed. Has a human being ever ventured to arrogate to himself so great an abundance of freedom as does this wild bird, winging its way through those vast solitudes? And I, shall I not be punished because of my bold determination to be free?

"Homeless as that bird, and to remain so, always... She flies through the infinite shining heavens, between sky and sea, and screams her joy towards the setting stars. Or has she a nest on a ledge of cliff in one of the islands, with chicks agog for her return? ... Home. Whenever we sail away from port, these five men, my companions, cannot tear their eyes away from the land, they gaze yearningly back at it as if they were leaving a mother behind, or some work they had created and loved. If I had ever known a mother, I might have been the creator of a work.... But it may be that, being a reincarnation of herself, I have never thought it worth while to seek her.... Perhaps my standard of perfection is too high for me ever to try to attain it.... And these men here, they are always building, they are hampered by innumerable veils, shackled by the multiplicity of the trivial happenings on dry land. Not one of them is self-sufficient enough to love the solitude of the sea.... Is pride taking its revenge on you, Diana? ... I am alone...."

She closed her eyes to the long shafts of sunlight coming from a rift in the cloud-bank that lay over the western horizon. Her other senses were rendered more acute by the exclusion of the sense of sight, and the hum of the yacht's engines smote upon her ears. Her own pulse seemed to accommodate its rhythm to that of the engines; she became aware of the smell of brine and paint, of damp linen and lacquer, of scrubbing soap and train oil; and now came salt and spindrift from the waves, she tasted the bitterness on her lips, it clung to her cheeks, and the crystals dried upon her hair. For a while she lay, absorbing these delights of seafaring life through her ears and nose and tongue and skin and hair. With her eyes still closed, she drank in the elements around her, as she had occasionally drunk in her loves, and had she found herself in a man's arms on opening her eyes she would have felt no surprise whatever.

"The waters are dancing to the northward," mused Diana; "blue and gold eddies dimple and smile round a thousand bays because the wind is blowing softly from the south and ruffles the sea. Yet all the while, deep down under the surface, the great currents flow on, cold or hot, violet or green, obeying the uncoded laws of their existence, remote from the winds whose influence they never feel, and whose..."

Suddenly Diana's attention was attracted by a strange apparition just in front of the ship's nose, a dark wave as it were of black satin, thrusting up through the pellucid water: a dolphin! She sat upright, straining eagerly forward, gripping the arms of her chair, her feet planted firmly before her, her eyes, so recently closed or veiled in dreams, alight with curiosity, lending intensity to her whole attitude.

"How happy they are, rolling and somersaulting more full of joy than the dumb fishes. When we were in Ischia, Rafaello told me they responded to whistling, that they draw near, attracted by the sound, and then compete with each other in leaping and racing."

She sprang from her chair and, leaning over the rail, started to whistle, shrilly and loud, like a calling bird of prey. More and ever more shining black bodies rose to the surface, disappeared, popped up again, looking as if their backs were curving knives. On they went, playing in front of the yacht as she cut her way through the waters.

"Whistle and I'll come to ye," said Eduard coming up softly behind her. Diana barely gave him a nod, so delighted was she in watching the antics of the dolphins. She called out laughingly:

"Wilhelm ought to be here! He'd see Aries riding on their backs!"

"The modern Orpheus is having his tea, and my unmusical lips offer their services as substitute," whereupon he, too, started to whistle.

"On my father's table there was a---- Oh look! There's another--and another." She stretched her arms out over the rail jubilantly.

"What was on your father's table?"

"A tiny figure of Aphrodite, and there was a dolphin at her feet."

She spoke loudly in her excitement. Then, suddenly modifying her voice, she added quietly:

"And when one day I asked him the reason he said: 'Well you know, Diana,' and he had a wonderful way of giving full value to the vowels in my name, 'they both emerged from the sea.' That's all he said--and now, there they are!"

"Both?"

"All of them," avoiding the net of questions he was trying to entangle her in.

The wind now took control of the evening, its deep organ tones filling the air, scattering in one gust the play of light and shade, the fishes, and the thoughts of Diana and her friend. The sun, as it sank behind a menacing bank of clouds, sent its rays up into the zenith in a final effort to assert its power, and thereby converted the sky into one huge opal in a twilight of milky blue.

"We are already sinking into a dead world, while up there all is bright serenity," said Diana softly, her mood in tune with the hour.

Again the sun's disk broke through a rift in the clouds.

"When a king lies dying, the meanest of his subjects can gaze into his eyes," murmured Eduard misanthropically, turning away from the west as if he wished to avoid witnessing the end.

"But this king rises again and again," said Diana.

Giorgino came along to haul down the flag. It still fluttered in the breeze as it ran down the yard, but on touching the deck it suddenly lay flat and motionless. Eduard lifted his cap abruptly, his face darkening.

"So you still pay homage to a linen rag?" a voice broke in on the silence, and Kyril stepped out of the cabin where he had been passing the afternoon over his books.

Eduard was the only passenger aboard who held to this ceremony. But he felt a certain embarrassment in its performance and usually took care to be alone. Now he stood there, not knowing what to do, completely nonplussed, for he dared not raise his voice in derision, and equally dared not, in view of the freedom he encouraged among his companions, enter a protest. Diana guessed his dilemma, and came to his aid, saying earnestly:

"The prince is saluting a thing in the death-throes."

Eduard's heart went out to her. The moment after she had spoken the words, he would have liked to fall at her feet in gratitude. Of course he did no such thing, but firmly stood his ground, and only a slight twitching at the corner of his mouth betrayed how deeply the Russian's words had piqued him. Kyril was not slow to perceive the effect his remark had had. He pulled himself together and said ambiguously, taking his pipe from between his lips and bringing his hand to the salute:

"Yes, Your Highness, a thing in the death-throes."

Eduard turned towards the speaker, likewise saluted, and said laconically:

"Nothing to worry about, Doctor Sergievitch. Black and white are the colours of Prussia. Red is for the Internationale. Maybe I was paying reverence to all three."