IV

They had their tea, two white-clad stewards serving them. The cardinal

took a second cup and then rose and went to the side. He crumbled a

biscuit along the rail.

"I have often wondered," he said, "if my pigeons come for me or for my

crumbs. Nora Blake used to say that her poor were as glad to see her

without a basket as with one. But she was a saint. She saw things more

clearly than it is given to us to see them."

The women looked at each other, in silence.

"No," said the cardinal, after an interval, "they do not come; they are

as satisfied with Pietro's crumbs as with mine. Love is not a matter of

the stomach;" and he brushed the crumbs overboard. "Perhaps the fishes

will get them," he added, "and they will not know whence they came.

Anonymous charity," he continued, coming back to his chair, "is the

best. It curbs the pride of the giver and preserves the pride of the

recipient. Open giving is becoming a trade. It is an American invention.

Very rich men in that country offer so much for an object--a college--a

hospital--a library--if some one else will give so much. The offer is

printed in the newspapers of the land and its originator reaps

much--what is the word I wish?--acclaim? no; kudos? no;--ah, yes,

advertisement; that is the word. Thank God that charity does not thus

masquerade in Italy. There are men here, in poor old Venice, who give

half their goods to feed the poor. Are their names published? No. The

newspapers reason thus--'Here is a gentleman; let us treat him as one,'

We have no professional philanthropists in Italy. After all," he added,

"mere giving is the lowest form of charity. If all the wealth of the

world were divided the world would be debauched. Binding up wounds,

pouring in oil and wine, bringing the wronged man to an inn, giving him

your companionship, your sympathy, so that he shows his heart to you and

lets you heal its bruises--that is your true charity."

"That's what I'm telling Nora," exclaimed Miss O'Kelly; "she's forever

drawing checks. There was my nephew, Nora's cousin, Phelim. He gave away

all he had. He gave it to the piquet players in the Kildare Club. 'Aunt

Molly,' he said to me, 'piquet has cost me fifteen thousand pounds, and

I am just beginning to learn the game. Now that I know it a bit, no one

will play with me. Your bread cast on the waters may come back, but it's

ten to one it comes back mouldy, from the voyage.' Phelim is the flower

of the family, your imminence. He is six foot three. He was out twice

before he was two-and-twenty. The first time was with Liftennant Doyle

of the Enniskillens. 'Twas about a slip of a girl that they both

fancied. The Liftennant fired at the word and missed. 'Try your second

barrel,' called Phelim, 'I'm still within bounds' (that's

pigeon-shootin' talk, your imminence). The Liftennant laughed and the

two went off to the club, arm in arm, and they stayed there two days.

There's waiters in the club yet, that remembers it. The next time Phelim

was out, 'twas with a little attorney-man from Cork, named Crawford.

There was no girl this time; 'twas more serious; 'twas about a horse

Phelim had sold, and the little attorney-man had served a writ, and

Phelim went down to Cork and pulled the little man's nose. Whin the word

was given the attorney-man fired and nicked Phelim's ear. Phelim raised

his pistol, slow as married life, and covered the little man. 'Take off

your hat!' called Phelim. The little man obeyed, white as paper, and

shakin' like a leaf. 'Was the horse sound?' called Phelim. 'He was,'

said the little man 'Was he six years old?' called Phelim. 'At least,'

said the little man. 'None of your quibbles,' called Phelim. 'He was

six, to a minute,' said the little man, looking into the pistol, 'Was he

chape at the price?' asked Phelim. 'He was a gift,' said the attorney

'Gentlemen,' says Phelim, 'you have heard this dyin' confession--we will

now seal it,' and he sent a bullet through the attorney-man's hat. I had

it all from Dr. Clancey, who was out with them. They sent Phelim to

Parliament after that, but he took the Chiltern Hundreds and came home.

He said his duties interfered with the snipe-shootin'. You'd like

Phelim, your imminence."

"I am sure I should," said the cardinal.

"He's in love with Nora," said Miss O'Kelly.

"Ah," said the cardinal, "I spoke too quickly."

Meanwhile the shadows began to creep across the deck. The cardinal rose

from his chair.

"At what hour do you dine?" he asked.

"I made the hour early when I heard you order your barca for nine," said

Lady Nora; "I said half-past seven."

"Then," said the cardinal, "I should excuse you, but I do it

reluctantly. I am keeping you from your toilet."

Miss O'Kelly laughed. "Your imminence," she said, "when a woman reaches

my age it takes her some time to dress. I told you I was two-and-twenty.

It will take my maid nearly an hour to make me look it," and, with a

courtesy, she went below.

Lady Nora stayed behind. "Your eminence," she said, "the evening will be

fine; shall we dine on deck?"

"That will be charming," said the cardinal.

"Whenever you wish to go to your room," said Lady Nora, "you have but to

press this button, and the head steward will come." She still loitered.

"I think it very likely," she said, hesitating, "that the Earl of

Vauxhall will drop in; he often does. I should have mentioned it before,

but I was so delighted at your staying that I forgot all about him."

"My dear lady," said the cardinal, "to supplant the Earl of Vauxhall in

your thoughts is great honor."

She looked at him quickly, blushed, cast down her eyes, and began,

nervously, to play with a gold boat-whistle that hung at her belt. When

she had exhausted the possibilities of the whistle she looked up again,

and the cardinal saw that there were tears upon her cheeks. When she

knew that he had seen them she disregarded them, and threw up her head,

proudly.

"Yes," she said, "I think of him far too often; so often that it makes

me angry, it makes me ashamed. He is an earl; he is tall and straight

and beautiful and clean, and--he loves me--I know it," she exclaimed,

her face illumined; "but why," she went on, "should I give myself to him

on these accounts? Why should he not earn me? Why does he compel me to

so one-sided a bargain? I, too, am tall and straight and clean, and not

ill-favored, and, in addition, I have that curse of unmarried women--I

have money. Why does he not _do_ something to even up the transaction?

Why does he not write a page that some one will read? Why does he not

write a song that some one will sing? Why does he not do something that

will make the world call me his wife, instead of calling him my husband?

The other day, when he and love were tugging at me, I told him I would

marry him if he brought me the turquoise cup. It was an idle thing to

say, but what I say I stand by. I shall never marry him unless he brings

it to me. You know us Irish women. We have our hearts to contend with,

but we keep our word. I set my lord a trivial task. If he really wants

me he will accomplish it. I am not dear at the price."

"With true love," said the cardinal, "I do not think there is any

question of price. It is an absolute surrender, without terms. I say

this guardedly, for I am no expert as to this thing called human love. I

recognize that it is the power that moves the world, but, for more than

fifty years, I have tried to forget the world."

"Yes," cried Lady Nora, "and, but for a cruel mistake, you would have

married my grandmother."

"Yes," said the cardinal, "but for a cruel mistake."

"The mistake was hers," exclaimed Lady Nora.

The cardinal threw up his hands. "It was a mistake," he said, "and it

was buried fifty years ago. Why dig it up?"

"Forgive me," said Lady Nora, and she started toward the hatch.

"My child," said the cardinal, "you say that you will not marry his

lordship unless he brings you the cup. Do you hope that he will bring

it?"

She looked at him a moment, the red and white roses warring in her

cheeks. "Yes," she said, "I hope it, for I love him," and she put her

hands to her face and ran below.

"If the earl is the man I take him to be," said the cardinal to himself,

"I fear that I am about to shut my eyes to a felony," and he pressed the

electric button at his side. The head steward appeared so quickly that

he overheard the cardinal say--"I certainly should have done it, at his

age."

V

At six bells there was a tap on the cardinal's door.

"Come in," he said.

The head steward entered. He had exchanged the white duck of the

afternoon for the black of evening. He was now the major-domo. He wore

silk stockings and about his neck was a silver chain, and at the end of

the chain hung a key.

"Your eminence's servant has come on board," he said.

"Pietro?" asked the cardinal.

"I do not know his name," said the steward, "but he is most anxious to

see your eminence."

"Let him come in at once," said the cardinal. The steward backed out,

bowing.

There was a loud knock upon the door. "Enter," said the cardinal. Pietro

came in. He carried a portmanteau.

"What is it?" exclaimed the cardinal. "Is any one dying? Am I needed?"

"No, your eminence," said Pietro, "the public health is unusually good.

I have come to dress you for dinner with the English."

"They are not English," said the cardinal; "they are Irish."

"In that event," said Pietro, "you will do as you are."

"No," laughed the cardinal, "since you have brought my finery I will put

it on."

Pietro opened the portmanteau with a sigh. "I thought they were

English," he said. "The Irish are as poor as the Italians. If I dress

your eminence as I had intended they will not appreciate it."

"Do not fear," said the cardinal. "Do your best."

At seven bells there was another knock at the cardinal's door. Pietro

opened it.

"Shall dinner be served, your eminence?" asked the head steward.

"Whenever the ladies are ready," replied the cardinal.

"They are already on deck, your eminence."

"At once, then," said the cardinal, and he went up the companion-way,

leaning on Pietro's arm. The after-deck was lighted by scores of

incandescent lamps, each shaded by a scarlet silken flower. The table

stood, white and cool, glittering with silver and crystal. In its centre

was a golden vase, and in the vase were four scarlet roses. The deck was

covered with a scarlet carpet, a strip of which ran forward to the

galley-hatch, so that the service might be noiseless.

Lady Nora was dressed in white and wore no jewels. Miss O'Kelly was

partially clad in a brocaded gown, cut as low as even the indiscretion

of age permits. A necklace of huge yellow topazes emphasized the space

they failed to cover.

The cardinal came into the glow of the lights. His cassock was black,

but its hem, its buttons, and the pipings of its seams were scarlet; so

were his stockings; so was the broad silk sash that circled his waist;

so were the silk gloves, thrust under the sash; so was the birettina,

the little skullcap that barely covered his crown and left to view a

fringe of white hair and the rebellious lock upon his forehead. The lace

at his wrists was Venice point. His pectoral cross was an antique that

would grace the Louvre. Pietro had done his work well.

The cardinal came into the zone of light, smiling. "Lady Nora," he said.

"Ireland is the home of the fairies. When I was there I heard much of

them. Early in the morning I saw rings in the dew-laden grass and was

told that they had been made by the 'little people,' dancing. You,

evidently, have caught a fairy prince and he does your bidding. Within

an hour you have converted the after-deck into fairy-land; you have--"

Just then, out of the blue darkness that lay between the yacht and

Venice, burst the lights of a gondola. They darted alongside and, a

moment after, the Earl of Vauxhall came down the deck.

"Serve at once," whispered Lady Nora to the major-domo.

"Pardon me, your eminence," she said, "you were saying--"

"I was merely remarking," said the cardinal, "that you seem to have a

fairy prince ready to do your bidding. It seems that I was right. Here

he is."

Lady Nora smiled. "What kept you, Bobby," she said, "a business

engagement, or did you fall asleep?"

"Neither," said the earl; "I lost a shirt-stud."

"Your eminence is served," said the major-domo.

They stood while the cardinal said grace, at the conclusion of which,

all, except the earl, crossed themselves.

"Was it a valuable jewel, my lord?" asked Miss O'Kelly, in an interval

of her soup.

"No," said the earl; "a poor thing, but mine own."

"How did it happen?" asked Miss O'Kelly; "did your man stale it?"

"Dear, no," said the earl; "it happened while I was putting on my

shirt."

Miss O'Kelly blushed, mentally, and raised her napkin to her face.

"It twisted out of my fingers," continued the earl, "and rolled away,

somewhere. I moved every piece of furniture in the room; I got down on

all fours and squinted along the floor; I went to the dressing-table to

look for another; my man, after putting out my things, had locked up

everything and gone to his dinner. I couldn't dine with you, like

freedom, 'with my bosom bare'--"

"No," said Miss O'Kelly, glancing down at her topazes, "you couldn't do

that."

"Certainly not," said the earl, "and so I put on my top-coat and went

out to Testonni's in the Piazza, and bought a stud. I was lucky to find

them open, for it was past closing time. They told me they were working

late on a hurry order. I put the stud in my shirt, raced across to the

molo, jumped into a gondola, and here I am. Am I forgiven?"

"Yes," said Lady Nora; "you were only five minutes late and your excuse

is, at least, ingenious. You could not have come unadorned."

"Unadorned!" exclaimed the earl; "it was a question of coming

unfastened."

Pietro began to refill the cardinal's glass, but his master stopped him.

Pietro bent and whispered. The cardinal laughed. "Pietro tells me," he

said, "that this is better wine than that which I get at home and that I

should make the most of it. The only difference I remark in wines is

that some are red and some are white."

"That minds me of one night when Father Flynn dropped in to dine," said

Miss O'Kelly--"'twas he had the wooden leg, you remember, Nora,

dear--and he and Phelim sat so late that I wint in with fresh candles.

'I call that good whiskey,' says the father as I came in. '_Good_

whiskey?' exclaimed Phelim; 'did ever you see any whiskey that was

_bad_.' 'Now that you mintion it,' says his riverince, 'I never did; but

I've seen some that was scarce.' 'Another bottle, Aunt Molly,' says

Phelim, 'his riverince has a hollow leg.' When I came back with the

bottle they were talking to a little, wild gossoon from the hills. He

was barefooted, bareheaded, and only one suspinder was between him and

the police. 'Is your mother bad?' asked his riverince. 'Dochtor says

she'll die afore mornin',' says the gossoon. 'Will you lind me a horse,

Phelim?' asked his riverince. 'You ride a horse, with that leg!' says

Phelim. 'No, I'll drive you, in the cart;' and he went off to the

stables. In five minutes he came back with the dog-cart and the gray

mare. His riverince got up, with the aid of a chair, the little gossoon

climbed up behind, and the gravel flew as the gray mare started. They

wint a matter of ten rods and then I saw the lamps again. They had

turned, and they stopped before the porch--the gray mare on her

haunches. 'Phelim,' I says, 'what ails you, you've a light hand whin

you're sober.' His riverince leaned over and whispered--'The oil cruet,

Miss Molly, and don't let the gossoon see it,' I wint in, came out with

the cruet in a paper, and handed it to him. 'All right, Phelim,' he

says, and the gray mare started. At six in the mornin' I heard the

gravel crunch, and I wint to the door. There stood the gray mare, her

head down, and her tail bobbin'. 'You've over-driven her, Phelim,' says

I. 'Perhaps,' says he, 'but I knew you were sittin' up for me. The curse

of Ireland,' says he, 'is that her women sit up for her men.' 'How is

the poor woman?' I says. 'She's dead,' says Phelim; 'Father Flynn is

waiting for the neighbors to come.' 'And the little gossoon?' says I.

Phelim leaned down from the dog-cart; 'Aunt Molly,' says he, 'we can't

afford to keep what we have already, can we?' 'No,' says I. 'Thin,' says

Phelim, 'we can just as well afford to keep one more; so I told him to

come to us, after the funeral.'"

"I don't quite follow that reasoning," said the earl.

"I am more sure than ever, that I should like Phelim," said the

cardinal. "Why do you not have him on?"

"He's six foot three," explained Miss O'Kelly; "the yacht wouldn't fit

him. He couldn't stand up, below. There is six foot seven between decks,

but the electric lights project four inches. Then the beds--there isn't

one more than six foot six. We had Phelim on board and tried him. He

stayed one night. 'Aunt Molly,' he said, in the mornin', 'Nora has a

beautiful boat, plenty of towels, and a good cook. I should like to go

with you, but I'm scared. I kept awake last night, with my knees drawn

up, and all went well, but if ever I fall asleep and straighten out,

I'll kick the rudder out of her.' We couldn't have Phelim aboard, your

imminence; he'd cancel the marine insurance."

While Miss O'Kelly had been running on, the cardinal had been politely

listening. He had also been discreetly observing. He had the attribute

of politicians and ecclesiastics--he could exercise all his senses

together. While he was smiling at Miss O'Kelly he had seen Lady Nora

take from the gold vase one of the scarlet roses, press it, for an

instant, to her lips and then, under cover of the table, pass it to the

earl. He had seen the earl slowly lift the rose to his face, feigning to

scent it while he kissed it. He had seen quick glances, quivering lips

that half-whispered, half-kissed; he had seen the wireless telegraphy of

love flashing messages which youth thinks are in cipher, known only to

the sender and the recipient; and he, while laughing, had tapped the

wire and read the correspondence.

"It is all over," he said to himself. "They are in love. The little

naked boy with the bow has hit them both."

Promptly at nine, Pietro announced the barca. The cardinal made his

adieus. "My lord," he said to the earl, "if you are for the shore, I

should be honored by your company."

"Thank you," said the earl, "but I ordered my gondola at ten."

Lady Nora and the earl stood watching the cardinal's lantern as it sped

toward Venice. It was soon lost in the night. Lady Nora's hand rested

upon the rail. The earl covered it with his own. She did not move.

"Have you bought the cup, Bobby," she asked.

"Not yet," he answered, "but I shall have it. The treasury is closed for

the annual cleaning."

"When you bring it," she said, "you will find me here. I should like you

to give it me on the Tara. There is your gondola light. Aunt Molly seems

to be asleep in her chair. You need not wake her to say good-night."

"I sha'n't," said the earl.

Her hand still rested upon the rail--his hand still covered hers. She

was gazing across the harbor at the countless lights of Venice. The warm

night breeze from the lagoon dimpled the waters of the harbor until the

reflected lights began to tremble. There was no sound, save the tinkle

of the water against the side and the faint cry of a gondolier, in the

distance.

"Bobby," said Lady Nora, finally, "it is nice to be here, just you and

I."

He made a quick motion to take her in his arms, but she started back.

"No, no," she said, "not yet; not till you earn me. There may be many a

slip 'twixt the cup and"--she put her fingers to her lips.

Miss O'Kelly's chin fell upon her topazes so sharply that she wakened

with a start.

"Nora, darlin'?" she cried, looking about her.

"Here I am," said Lady Nora, coming into the light.

"Ah," said her aunt, "and Lord Robert, too. I thought he had gone. I

must have had forty winks."

"I was only waiting," said the earl, "to bid you good-night."

"An Irishman," said Miss O'Kelly, "would have taken advantage of me

slumbers, and would have kissed me hand."

"An Englishman will do it when you are awake," said the earl.

"That's nice," said Miss O'Kelly; "run away home now, and get your

beauty-sleep."