For ye men
are different frae us women, an' yer regard on recht and wrang differs
from oors. But oh, laddie, a woman's tears fa' heavy when her hairt is
for sair wi' the yieldin' to fause words. 'Tis a heavy burden for ony
man to carry wi' him as he goes, an' may well cause pain to ithers that
he fain would spare." She stopped, and in dead silence waited for me to
speak. I thought it would be best to set her poor loving heart at rest,
and as I could not divulge my special secret, spoke in general terms:

"Aunt Janet, I am a man, and have led a man's life, such as it is. But I
can tell you, who have always loved me and taught me to be true, that in
all the world there is no woman who must weep for any falsity of mine. If close there be any who, sleeping or waking, in dreams or visions or in
reality, weeps because of me, it is surely not for my doing, but because
of something outside me. It may be that her heart is sore because I must
suffer, as all men must in some degree; but she does not weep for or
through any act of mine." She sighed happily at my assurance, and looked up through her tears, for
she was much moved; and after tenderly kissing my forehead and blessing
me, stole away. She was more sweet and tender than I have words to say,
and the only regret that I have in all that is gone is that I have not
been able to bring my wife to her, and let her share in the love she has
for me. But that, too, will come, please God! In the morning I sent a message to Rooke at Otranto, instructing him by
code to bring the yacht to Vissarion in the coming night. All day I spent in going about amongst the mountaineers, drilling them
and looking after their arms. I _could_ not stay still. My only chance
of peace was to work, my only chance of sleep to tire myself out. Unhappily, I am very strong, so even when I came home at dark I was quite
fresh. However, I found a cable message from Rooke that the yacht would
arrive at midnight. There was no need to summon the mountaineers, as the men in the Castle
would be sufficient to make preparations for the yacht's coming. _Later_. The yacht has come. At half-past eleven the lookout signalled that a
steamer without lights was creeping in towards the Creek. I ran out to
the Flagstaff, and saw her steal in like a ghost. She is painted a
steely blue-grey, and it is almost impossible to see her at any distance. She certainly goes wonderfully. Although there was not enough throb from
the engines to mar the absolute stillness, she came on at a fine speed,
and within a few minutes was close to the boom. I had only time to run
down to give orders to draw back the boom when she glided in and stopped
dead at the harbour wall. Rooke steered her himself, and he says he
never was on a boat that so well or so quickly answered her helm. She is
certainly a beauty, and so far as I can see at night perfect in every
detail. I promise myself a few pleasant hours over her in the daylight. The men seem a splendid lot. But I do not feel sleepy; I despair of sleep to-night. But work demands
that I be fit for whatever may come, and so I shall try to sleep--to
rest, at any rate. RUPERT'S JOURNAL.--_Continued_. _July_ 4, 1907. I was up with the first ray of sunrise, so by the time I had my bath and
was dressed there was ample light. I went down to the dock at once, and
spent the morning looking over the vessel, which fully justifies Rooke's
enthusiasm about her. She is built on lovely lines, and I can quite
understand that she is enormously fast. Her armour I can only take on
the specifications, but her armament is really wonderful. And there are
not only all the very newest devices of aggressive warfare--indeed, she
has the newest up-to-date torpedoes and torpedo-guns--but also the
old-fashioned rocket-tubes, which in certain occasions are so useful. She has electric guns and the latest Massillon water-guns, and Reinhardt
electro-pneumatic "deliverers" for pyroxiline shells. She is even
equipped with war-balloons easy of expansion, and with compressible
Kitson aeroplanes. I don't suppose that there is anything quite like her
in the world. The crew are worthy of her. I can't imagine where Rooke picked up such a
splendid lot of men. They are nearly all man-of-warsmen; of various
nationalities, but mostly British. All young men--the oldest of them
hasn't got into the forties--and, so far as I can learn, all experts of
one kind or another in some special subject of warfare. It will go hard
with me, but I shall keep them together. How I got through the rest of the day I know not. I tried hard not to
create any domestic trouble by my manner, lest Aunt Janet should, after
her lurid dream or vision of last night, attach some new importance to
it. I think I succeeded, for she did not, so far as I could tell, take
any special notice of me. We parted as usual at half-past ten, and I
came here and made this entry in my journal. I am more restless than
ever to-night, and no wonder. I would give anything to be able to pay a
visit to St. Sava's, and see my wife again--if it were only sleeping in
her tomb. But I dare not do even that, lest she should come to see me
here, and I should miss her. So I have done what I can. The glass door
to the Terrace is open, so that she can enter at once if she comes. The
fire is lit, and the room is warm. There is food ready in case she
should care for it. I have plenty of light in the room, so that through
the aperture where I have not fully drawn the curtain there may be light
to guide her. Oh, how the time drags! The clock has struck midnight. One, two! Thank
goodness, it will shortly be dawn, and the activity of the day may begin! Work may again prove, in a way, to be an anodyne. In the meantime I must
write on, lest despair overwhelm me. Once during the night I thought I heard a footstep outside. I rushed to
the window and looked out, but there was nothing to see, no sound to
hear. That was a little after one o'clock. I feared to go outside, lest
that should alarm her; so I came back to my table. I could not write,
but I sat as if writing for a while. But I could not stand it, so rose
and walked about the room. As I walked I felt that my Lady--it gives me
a pang every time I remember that I do not know even her name--was not
quite so far away from me. It made my heart beat to think that it might
mean that she was coming to me. Could not I as well as Aunt Janet have a
little Second Sight! I went towards the window, and, standing behind the
curtain, listened. Far away I thought I heard a cry, and ran out on the
Terrace; but there was no sound to be heard, and no sign of any living
thing anywhere; so I took it for granted that it was the cry of some
night bird, and came back to my room, and wrote at my journal till I was
calm. I think my nerves must be getting out of order, when every sound
of the night seems to have a special meaning for me. RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_.