On my part I promise that ere an hour goes by you shall be in a fair way to look upon the face of one who loves you more dearly than if you had never been lost to her." John hears and believes; he is not suspicious enough to put a double meaning upon the words.
"An hour--so soon?
What am I to do in order to gain this consummation of my hopes ?" he asks, in deep surprise.
"Nothing, only be content to remain here as my guests." John looks at Philander and the latter nods, for it all seems clear and above board.
"We agree, madame," says the young doctor.
The Mother Superior, as they take her to be, bows her head solemnly.
"It is well," she says, and touches a bell.
Almost immediately the native servant appears, to whom she speaks in low tones, while John wonders when so great a revolution in the affairs of orders like this occurred whereby they are enabled to have men-servants.
Hardly has the native vanished than another sister appears, carrying a small tray upon which are seen a crystal bottle full of grape juice, three odd glasses and a plate of plain flat cakes.
"Doctor Craig, our order refuses the use of wines; this is the pure juice of the grape, expressed at our own vineyard on this island.

It is as harmless as water, but refreshing.

It is our simple habit to invite our guests to join us in this way; we believe in the Arab rule of breaking bread; those with whom we take salt are ever more our friends.
You will not, cannot refuse." How should they?
John looks at the professor, and in turn the latter looks at John.
"Madame, you have given me cause for happiness; we will join you in your simple lunch," returns the young man.
"You are wounded," noticing his arm in its sling.
"Not seriously." "By chance I saw your adventure this day.

I am proud to have the hero of that noble deed for my guest." "Pardon; please do not mention it." He accepts a glass of the grape juice and an anise-seed cake, for this plant is grown in Malta for export.
The liquid is cold and very refreshing.

John has a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue, all of which relate to Sister Magdalen, but he does not put them, for his thoughts become somewhat incoherent, and it is so comfortable sitting there.
When the Mother Superior raises her vail to sip from the amber glass of unfermented wine John Craig, M.D., has sense enough to notice two things; the hand that holds the glass is plump and fair, and the lips under the vail form a Cupid's bow such as age can never know.
This arouses a wild curiosity in his mind; he wonders what this woman, who wears such a strange habit, can be like, and watches her with something of eagerness.
Surely the room is growing very close; a window opened would be a good thing he believes, and yet somehow lacks the energy to open it, turns his head, and sees the professor lying back in his chair _fast asleep_.
This gives him a faint shock, but his nerves are deadened; nothing would surprise him very much now, unless an earthquake occurred.
"Rest your head, Doctor Craig; the back of the chair is very comfortable," he hears a soft voice say.
Warm breath fans his face.