sheer nonsense and self-deception."

"Several experienced scientists give these matters considerable
attention,"--suggested Mr. Swinton, primly.

I smiled.

"Science, like everything else, has its borderland," I said--"from
which the brain can easily slip off into chaos. The most approved
scientific professors are liable to this dire end of their
speculations. They forget that in order to understand the Infinite
they must first be sure of the Infinite in themselves."

"You speak like an oracle, fair lady!"--said Mr. Harland--"But
despite your sage utterances Man remains as finite as ever."

"If he chooses the finite state certainly he does,"--I answered--"He
is always what he elects to be."

Mr. Harland seemed desirous of continuing the argument, but I would
say no more. The topic was too serious and sacred with me to allow
it to be lightly discussed by persons whose attitude of mind was
distinctly opposed and antipathetic to all things beyond the merely
mundane.

After dinner, Miss Catherine professed herself to be suffering from
neuralgia, and gathering up her shawls and wraps asked me to excuse
her for going to bed early. I bade her good-night, and, leaving my
host and the two other men to their smoke, I went up on deck. We
were anchored off Mull, and against a starlit sky of exceptional