A moist wind thick with delicious sea-smells, that mounted in the brain like wine, lifted him out of his vexed meditation as the steamer drew clear of the tangled lights of Spithead and came out on the wide moonlit pavement of the sea. His mother joined him on the deck, and they sat and watched the broad moon sail aloft like a luminous balloon scattering glory. “I should like it to be like this always,” Alistair sighed in ecstasy. A sense of utter peace had fallen on his spirit, worn out with striving. The molten orb, lifting beyond the shadow of the earth, seemed to drag his soul upward as a spar is sucked in the wake of a great ship. He looked up and longed after that visible Elysium, that floating Island of the Blest on which the happy dead voyaged in light for ever across a sea buoyed with stars. That ship of souls, on what far coasts did it touch? within what magic roadsteads anchor? What wondrous cities went forth to greet the mariners of that immortal Odyssey? The yearnings of a thousand generations who have spelled in the heavens for some divine boding of the fates of men; the mystic soundings of devout astronomers in temple labyrinths beside old Nile; the vision conned upon the starlit terraces of Babylonian towers--all these forgotten intimations from his pre-natal life surged in upon him in waves of deep emotion, and floated his consciousness from its moorings among the things of every day. Caroline sat beside her son and did not break the silence. She, too, was happy. Her prayers had been granted; the prodigal had found his way home. Within the compass of her simple mind there was room for only one ending to the story. Conversion would follow on repentance, and a happy marriage would insure a regular and fortunate career. Her agitated joy over his return to Colonsay House had moved Alistair, if not to repentance, to a wish that he could change his nature in accordance with the life his mother wanted him to lead. In the first moments of united tenderness he even persuaded himself that this might be so. He was wearied and disheartened by his warfare with society, and he hoped that the truce might ripen into a peace. The Duke of Trent’s reception of his brother had been courteous, if not very cordial. He bade him welcome to the house, and on the following evening informed him in their mother’s presence that the family solicitor had taken charge of his affairs. Alistair saw that he was expected to be grateful, and he succeeded in appearing so, though in his heart he was half sorry to accept his brother’s favours for the sake of his creditors. “If it were not for you I would not let Trent give a penny to these people,” he told his mother when they were by themselves. “It is not only us you have to think of,” the Duchess seized the opportunity to suggest. “We hope you may find a wife who will make your life happy, and you would not like to go to her with any mark against your name.”