The Turquoise Cup, and, The Desert | Page 8

you complain of is your
lawful wife. You married her in Padua ten years ago. You have been
imprisoned for petit theft. You got your gondolier's license by false
pretences. Mark you, friends," he said, turning, "here is one of your
mates who will bear watching. When he slips, come to me," and he
stepped into his barca.
"To the English yacht," he said.
When they arrived they found the Tara dressed in flags, from truck to
deck; Lady Nora stood on the platform of the boarding-stairs, and the
crew were mustered amidships.
"Your eminence," cried Lady Nora, "you should have a salute if I knew
the proper number of guns."
"My dear lady," said the cardinal, taking off his hat, "the Church

militant does not burn gunpowder, it fights hand to hand. Come for me
at six," he said to his poppe.
"Surely," said Lady Nora, "you will dine with us. We have ices with the
Papal colors, and we have a little box for Peter's pence, to be passed
with the coffee. I shall be much disappointed if you do not dine with
us."
"Wait!" called the cardinal to his barca. The oarsmen put about. "Tell
Pietro," he said, "to feed the pigeons as usual. Tell him to lay crumbs
on the balcony railing, and if the cock bird is too greedy, to drive him
away and give the hen an opportunity. Come for me at nine."
"Thank you," said Lady Nora; "your poor are now provided for."
"Alas, no," said the cardinal; "my pigeons are my aristocratic
acquaintance. They would leave me if I did not feed them. My real poor
have two legs, like the pigeons, but God gave them no feathers. They
are the misbegotten, the maladroit, the unlucky,--I stand by that word,--
the halt, the blind, those with consciences too tender to make their way,
reduced gentlefolk, those who have given their lives for the public good
and are now forgotten, all these are my poor, and they honor me by
their acquaintance. My pigeons fly to my balcony. My poor never come
near me. I am obliged, humbly, to go to them."
"Will money help?" exclaimed Lady Nora; "I have a balance at my
banker's."
"No, no, my lady," said the cardinal; "money can no more buy off
poverty than it can buy off the bubonic plague. Both are diseases. God
sent them and He alone can abate them. At His next coming there will
be strange sights. Some princes and some poor men will be
astonished."
Just then, a woman, short, plump, red-cheeked and smiling, came
toward them. She was no longer young, but she did not know it.
"Your eminence," said Lady Nora, "I present my aunt, Miss O'Kelly."
Miss O'Kelly sank so low that her skirts made what children call "a
cheese" on the white deck.
"Your imminence," she said, slowly rising, "sure this is the proud day
for Nora, the Tara, and meself."
"And for me, also," said the cardinal. "From now until nine o'clock I
shall air my English speech, and I shall have two amiable and friendly
critics to correct my mistakes."

"Ah, your imminence," laughed Miss O'Kelly, "I don't speak English. I
speak County Clare."
"County Clare!" exclaimed the cardinal; "then you know Ennis? Fifty
odd years ago there was a house, just out of the town of Ennis, with
iron gates and a porter's lodge. The Blakes lived there."
"I was born in that house," said Miss O'Kelly. "It was draughty, but it
always held a warm welcome."
"I do not remember the draught," said the cardinal, "but I do remember
the welcome. When I was an undergraduate at Oxford, I made a little
tour of Ireland, during a long vacation. I had letters from Rome. One of
them was to the chapter at Ennis. A young priest took me to that house.
I went back many times. There was a daughter and there were several
strapping sons. The boys did nothing, that I could discover, but hunt
and shoot. They were amiable, however. The daughter hunted, also, but
she did many other things. She kept the house, she visited the poor, she
sang Irish songs to perfection, and she flirted beyond compare. She had
hair so black that I can give you no notion of its sheen; and eyes as blue
as our Venetian skies. Her name was Nora--Nora Blake. She was the
most beautiful woman I had ever seen--until yesterday."
"She was my mother!" exclaimed Miss O'Kelly.
"And my grandmother," said Lady Nora.
The cardinal drew a breath so sharp that it was almost a sob, then he
took Lady Nora's hand.
"My child," he said, "I am an old man. I am threescore years and ten,
and six more, and you bring back to