“Of course,” said Philippa; “and Usk’s vacation begins to-morrow. He can meet us in London as we pass through. It all fits in beautifully. To see Uncle Cyril married, and to a Queen! It’s like a book--like an old romance. Don’t you feel as if you were a Crusader, father? To go to Palestine, and all this as well!” CHAPTER XXI. A NEW FACTOR. “The gracious gentleman will pardon me, but--he has the appearance of a divine of the English Church?” The young clergyman who was standing watching the pigeons in the Piazza San Marco turned and looked curiously at the deferential Jew who had addressed him in English. “Certainly, I am a clergyman of the Church of England,” he said. “Will the gracious divine do me the favour to accompany me on board the yacht White Lady, which is lying in the lagoon? There is one of his compatriots who stands in urgent need of his ghostly services.” “The White Lady? That’s Lord Ormsea’s yacht, isn’t it? I’m afraid Lord Ormsea would not consider me very sound, from his point of view, but if he told you to fetch any clergyman you met, no doubt the case is urgent. Yes, of course I’ll come. What is the matter with the sick person?” “I was not told, gracious sir. If the venerable divine will give himself the trouble to step this way, I have a gondola waiting.” There was the usual mass of tourists and idlers thronging the Piazzetta as the clergyman followed his guide through it, and he did not observe that the Jew exchanged signals with a co-religionist in the crowd, who disappeared immediately. Ill informed as the messenger seemed to be as to the cause of his embassy, he was an eminently conversational person. The sight of the Giudecca, as they passed it, set flowing such a stream of historical reminiscence that the clergyman listened in fascinated silence, and scarcely noticed the length of the journey, or the fact that the yacht was lying close to the Porto di Lido, in readiness to proceed to sea. It struck him, however, as strange that the sailors who were at hand to help him up the side made no reference to the invalid for whose benefit he had been summoned on board, and that the Jew hurried him across the deck before he could reply to the captain’s civil words of welcome. Understanding that the owner was in the saloon, he followed his guide below, and found himself in the presence, not of that militant Neo-Anglican, Lord Ormsea, but of a stout, bearded gentleman of unmistakably Hebraic appearance. “De Referend Alexander Chudson, I think?” said the stranger, coming forward with outstretched hand. “My dear sir, I am unspeakably grateful to you for hurryink so promptly to de assistance off my poor frient.” “I beg your pardon, I understood I was coming on board Lord Ormsea’s yacht?” said Mr Judson diffidently. His host laughed.