"Nora," he said, "I've brought you the cup, but I do not dare to give it to you. I stole it."
"What?" she cried, running toward him. She stopped suddenly and began to laugh—a pitiful little laugh, pitched in an unnatural key. "You shouldn't frighten me like that, Bobby," she said; "it isn't fair."
"It is true," said the earl; "I am a thief."
She looked at him and saw that he was speaking the truth.
"No," she cried, "'tis I am the thief, not you. The cardinal warned me that I was compelling you to this, and I laughed at him. I thought that you would achieve the cup, if you cared for me; that you would render some service to the State and claim it as your reward—that you would make a fortune, and buy it—that you would make friends at the Vatican—that you would build churches, found hospitals, that even the Holy Father might ask you to name something within his gift—I thought of a thousand schemes, such as one reads of—but I never thought you would take it. No, no; I never thought that."
"Nora," said the earl, "I didn't know how to do any of those things, and
I didn't have time to learn."
"I would have waited for you, always," she said.
"I didn't know that," said the earl.
"I hoped you didn't," said Lady Nora. "Come!" and she sprang through the door. The earl followed her. They ran up the companion-way, across the deck, down the boarding-stairs. The earl's gondola was waiting.
"To the molo in five minutes," cried Lady Nora to the poppe, "and you shall be rich."