"Busy, no; one of the idlest in the world, and a very worthless one to
boot," she answered, with a little sigh.
"Then, why don't you change your life? it is in your own hands, if
ever anybody's was."
"Do you think so? I doubt if anybody's life is in their own hands. We
follow an appointed course; if we did not, it would be impossible to
understand why so many sensible, clever people make such a complete
mess of their existence. They can't do it from choice."
"At any rate, you have not made a mess of yours, and your appointed
course seems a very pleasant one."
"Yes; and the sea beneath us is very smooth, but it has been rough
before, and will be rough again--there is no stability in the sea. As
to making a mess of my life, who knows what I may not accomplish in
that way? Prosperity cannot shine down fear of the future, it only
throws it into darker relief. Myself I am afraid of the future--it is
unknown, and to me what is unknown is not magnificent, but terrible.
The present is enough for me. I do not like speculation, and I never
loved the dark."
And, as they talked, Madeira, in all its summer glory, loomed up out
of the ocean, for they had passed the "Desertas" and "Porto Santo" by
night, and for a while they were lost in the contemplation of one of
the most lovely and verdant scenes that the world can show.
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