d,--then the houses and towns, tiny as
children's toys--then the azure gleam of the sea and the boats dancing
like bits of cork upon it,--then finally the plainer, broader view,
wherein the earth with its woods and hills and rocky promontories
appeared to heave up like a billow crowned with varying colours,--and
so steadily, easily down to the pattern of grass and flowers from the
centre of which the Palazzo d'Oro rose like a little white house for
the abode of fairies.

"Well steered!" said Morgana, as the ship ran into its shed with the
accuracy of a sword slipping into its sheath, and the soundless
vibration of its mysterious motive-power ceased--"Home again
safely!--and only away forty-eight hours! To the Sahara and back!--how
far we have been, and what we have seen!"

"WE have seen nothing"--said Rivardi meaningly, as he assisted her to
alight--"The seeing is all with YOU!"

"And the believing!" she answered, smiling--"All my thanks to you both
for your skilful pilotage. You must be very tired--" here she gave her
hand to them each in turn--"Again a thousand thanks! No air-ship could
be better manned!"

"Or woman'd?" suggested Rivardi.

She laughed.

"IF you like! But I only steered while you slept. That is nothing! Good
night!"

She left them, running up the garden path lightly like a child
returning from a holiday, and disappeared.

"But that which she calls nothing"--said Gaspard as he watched her
go--"is everything!"

CHAPTER XX

For some days after her adventurous voyage to the Great Desert and back
Morgana chose to remain in absolute seclusion. Save for Lady Kingswood
and her own household staff, she saw no one, and was not accessible
even to Don Aloysius, who called several times, moved not only by
interest, but genuine curiosity, to enquire how she fared. Many of the
residents in the vicinity of the Palazzo d'Oro had gleaned scraps of
information here and there concerning the wonderful air-ship which they
had seen careering over their heads during its testing trials, and as a
matter of course they had heard more than scraps in regard to its
wealthy owner. But nowadays keen desire to know and to investigate has
given place to a sort of civil apathy which passes for good form--that
absolute indifferentism which is too much bored to care about other
people's affairs, and which would not disturb itself if it heard of a
neighbour deciding to cross the Atlantic in a washtub. "Nothing
matter