“Well?” said they at the same time, both quivering with excitement.
“It’s all right. I told them—just enough and no more. I said it rather suddenly perhaps, but I was afraid they’d ask questions. They’re to be ready to start to-morrow, I said. You couldn’t have managed better yourself, Ella. They were delighted, absolutely delighted.”
The Colonel was right. To these two beings, whose hearts and minds were still scarcely as convalescent as their bodies after the trials of the preceding few months, the suggestion of this great change came as the grant of a new bright life to them. Nouna, in particular, was half crazy with delight, and seemed to recover in a moment all her lost vivacity, as she babbled of palms and sunshine, palaces with stately domes and graceful minarets, of elephants with rich trappings, birds with bright plumage, and dark depths of jungle where the tiger was known to lurk, and where every step was hedged with fascinating peril. That night she scarcely slept, and next morning, when Lord Florencecourt again made his appearance, accompanied this time by Ella, he was quite bewildered by the change in his daughter’s looks. Ella herself, although very quiet, was almost as much excited, as she asked whether they were ready. George, with dull masculine pertinacity, worried everybody by asking for details of the journey for which they had so hastily prepared; but at last perceiving, by the evasive answers he got, that some surprise was intended, he was in the end content to hold his tongue, and to wait patiently till the proper time should bring enlightenment. Arrangements had been made, they were told, for the transport of their luggage, and they had nothing to do but to start in the company of Ella and the Colonel. They set out on foot, which was one astonishing thing, and they were taken in the direction of the Hoe, which was another. It was a beautiful, bright May morning. From the seat by the camera obscura they all stood for a moment, looking down at the water, when suddenly Nouna burst forth into a cry of admiration at the sight of a beautiful yacht which was anchored half-way between the shore and Drake’s Island.
“When did it come?” she cried with much interest. “It wasn’t here yesterday. What a beautiful little thing!”
“Little thing!” cried Lord Florencecourt, with untimely impetuosity. “Why it’s 150 tons; big enough to go round the world in!”
Then an awkward silence fell upon everybody, for, vulgarly speaking, the cat was out of the bag. And the conversation was kept up with difficulty until, descending the cliff, they all came to the little landing-pier, where a small boat was waiting with Clarence Massey standing up in it, waving his hat frantically and beaming with unspeakable enthusiasm. Neither George nor Nouna asked any questions now; and they all got into the little boat in a state of surprising silence, and were rowed straight out towards the beautiful yacht without anybody’s remarking upon the strangeness of the circumstance. But as they drew near her, Nouna caught sight of the name, painted in bright gold letters on the stern—“Scheherazade.” She touched her husband’s arm, and made him read it too. Before he could speak, they were close under the yacht, and Lord Florencecourt was leading the way on board. Nouna climbed up next like a cat, and the rest followed quickly.
Then Ella took the young wife by the hand, and, leaving the three men on the deck, led her on a tour of inspection. The yacht was a tiny floating palace, fitted up by the dainty taste of one woman to suit the luxurious fancy of another. The rooms were hung with rich tapestry, and with delicate China silks embroidered in gold and pale colours. The woodwork was painted with birds and flowers on a background of faint grey landscape. The bed-room was fitted up with satin-wood, and hung with rose-coloured silk; while in order that George might have a corner better suited to masculine taste in this dainty little craft, a very small room, dark with old oak and serviceable leather, had been appointed for him as a study. Every corner of the yacht held something beautiful and curious: skins of white bears, mounted in maroon velvet; carvings in ivory, securely fixed on dark brackets that showed off their lacelike outlines; treasures in bronze, in delicate porcelain, in exquisitely tinted glass from Salviati’s, met the eyes at every turn. The whole furnishing and fitting of the little vessel, down to the choice of silver-gilt teaspoons from Delhi and a lamp which was said to have been dug up at Pompeii, had clearly been a labour of love.
Nouna was overwhelmed; she walked along with her hand in Ella’s, scarcely uttering a sound, until at last she heard the words whispered in her ear: “This is a present for you—all for you, with my love. You are to make good use of it, and be very happy in it. No”—she stopped Nouna, who was breaking into tears, and incoherent, passionate thanks—“you may thank me when you and your husband both come sailing back strong and rosy and well.”
Nouna smiled at her with glistening eyes as she put her little hands round the girl’s shoulders.
“I can’t thank you, I can scarcely try. You were born to be a good fairy to everybody. Kiss me, kiss me hard, and give me some of your own sweetness that I may be a better wife.”