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 content himself with the sight of the lagoon, busy with plying barges and gondolas and bright with orange-painted sails. And just too far away to distinguish anything clearly, Venice lay like the opalescent mirage of a fairy city.

Late one afternoon a big yawl, her shining sails spread like wings to the fresh breeze, stooped into the lagoon and anchored at some distance from the yacht. Norvell's attention was momentarily drawn to her, as she was unlike the other sailing-craft in the harbor.

"Looks like an American boat," he said, marine-glass in hand. "Wonder how she got here?" He did not waste much time or thought over the problem, however, and the yawl was quickly forgotten, almost lost to sight among the shipping of which the lagoon was full.

"You really must go to bed, my dear,"