Half-way to the landing, they passed Phelim’s gondola, making for the yacht.  The cabin hid them and he passed in silence.

“I sent him for some bon-bons,” said Lady Nora.  “I did it to make you jealous.”

They reached the molo in less than five minutes and Lady Nora tossed her purse to the oarsmen, and sprang out.

“Put the cup under your coat,” she said.  The earl obeyed.  He had stolen it openly.  He brought it back hidden.  They crossed the Piazza as rapidly as they dared, and entered the church.  The sacristan greeted them with a smile and led the way to the treasury.

“They haven’t missed it yet,” whispered Lady Nora.

The sacristan unlocked the outer and the inner door, bowed, and left them.

Lady Nora seized the cup and ran to its accustomed shelf.  She had her hand outstretched to replace it, when she uttered a cry.

“What is it?” exclaimed the earl.

She did not answer, but she pointed, and the earl, looking where she pointed, saw, on the shelf—­the turquoise cup.

They stared at the cup on the shelf—­at the cup in Lady Nora’s hand—­and at each other—­dumfounded.

They heard a limping step on the pavement and the cardinal came in.  His face was very grave, but his voice was very gentle.

“My children,” he said, “I prayed God that you would bring back the cup, but, mea culpa, I lacked faith, and dared not risk the original.  Would God let Nora Blake’s granddaughter make shipwreck?  The cup you have, my child, is but silver-gilt and glass, but it may serve, some other day, to remind you of this day.  Look at it when your pride struggles with your heart.  Perhaps the sight of it may strengthen you.  Take it, not as the present of a cardinal, or an archbishop, but as the wedding-gift of an old man who once was young, and once knew Nora Blake.”

“A wedding-gift?” exclaimed Lady Nora.  “What man would ever marry such a wretch as I?”

“Nora!” cried the earl; and he held out his arms.

“My pigeons are waiting for me,” said the cardinal; and he went away, limping.

THE DESERT

Far down in the Desert of Sahara is the little oasis of El Merb.  It is so small that our crude atlases miss it.  It has but one well, and the fertile land is not more than forty rods in diameter.  It has a mosque, a bazaar, a slave-market, and a cafe.  It is called by the traders of Biskra “The Key of the Desert.”  It is called by the Mohammedan priests of Biskra “The Treasury of the Desert.”  It is called by the French commandant at Biskra “A place to be watched.”  The only communication between El Merb and Biskra is by camels, and Abdullah was once the chief caravan-master.

* * * * *

Abdullah, having felt the humps of his camels, turned to his driver.

“We start to-morrow, Ali,” he said; “the beasts are fit.”