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.