When they came on deck again they were both very quiet; and George, who had in the meantime learnt that this fairy yacht was a present to his wife, and also that, in common with the fairy presents of tradition, for a whole year at least it would entail no expense upon its owner, could do nothing but shake Ella’s hand warmly and murmur some incoherent words. All the visitors on board now felt that their task was done. The luggage was on board, the steam was up, the hands were ready to hoist the anchors; and both George and Nouna showed signs of having suffered as much excitement as their still weak frames could bear. Lord Florencecourt, Ella and Clarence took their leave quickly, descended from the yacht into the little boat, and rowed away in the sunshine, while the young husband and wife waved them good-bye. “Where are we going to, George?” asked Nouna, when the little boat had reached the pier, and the passengers were landed. “Just where you like. You are its mistress, you know.” She drew a long breath of pleasure. “Tell the captain to go, as quickly as possible, to some place--nearer than India--where there are palms and blue skies, and bright birds.” George obeyed, and, coming back, told her that they were going first to Malta. She was satisfied, considering that Valetta was a pretty name, and remembering she had heard the air was good for people with weak lungs. “Yes, yes, let us go to Malta, George, and there you will get well,” said she. And she drew him towards a pretty little pavilion which had been erected on the deck. The hanging curtains were crimson and gold, and could be looped back to command a view of the sea in any direction. “Why didn’t Ella take me in there?” she said. “Perhaps it contains some great treasure which she kept as a _bonne bouche_ at the last,” suggested he, smiling. Already she had an inkling of the truth, and when she tore back the nearest curtain and found, kneeling on the ground on a leopard’s skin among white silken cushions which were to support her young mistress’s head, the old servant Sundran trembling with joy, she gave way, and fell sobbing into the Indian woman’s arms. “Oh, George, George,” she whispered passionately, springing up again to her husband’s side, “Ella must have an angel from heaven hovering about her to whisper to her just what will make people happiest! Aren’t you afraid of waking up and finding it isn’t real?” “No, Nounday,” said he, tenderly, but with a thoughtful face; “I’d rather think that we have been in a dreary, feverish sleep, and that we are sent away to wake us up to life again!” Ten minutes later the anchor was weighed, and they were steaming out towards the breakwater and the open sea.