As you walk, doctor, don't you feel your left arm twinge some ?" "Hang it, yes; but what's that got to do with this Maltese woman with the lantern ?" "Softly--speak in whispers if you don't want to arouse the house.

See, she turns and raises her forefinger warningly.

Do you mean to say you don't remember her, John ?" "Her face is familiar, but--" He hesitates, and faces the professor.
"I see, you've got it.

You saved her child from the death fangs of the mad dog, and a kind Heaven has placed her in a position to return the favor, which she would do if the most terrible fate hung over her head." "It seems incredible," mutters the doctor.
Nevertheless it is true; the one chance in ten thousand sometimes comes to pass.
Already has his afternoon's adventure borne fruit in more ways than one; first it restored him to his former place in the esteem of Lady Ruth, which his refusal to do her foolish errand had lost him, and now it works greater wonders, snatching him from the baleful power of the actress who, unable to rule, would ruin.
Truly he has no reason to regret that heart affection, that love for humanity which sent him out to snatch the dusky child of Malta from the fangs of the beast.
Now they have reached a door that is heavily barred, proving that their course has been different from the one by means of which they gained the dungeon.
The woman lays down her lantern and takes away the bars.

Then she places her hand on John's arm.
"You saved my child, Chicago; I save you." She smiles, this dusky daughter of Malta, as if greatly pleased at being able to frame her thoughts in English--smiles and nods at the young doctor.
"But you--she may punish you," he says, and she understands, shaking her head.
"She no dare; I am of Malta; also, I shall see her, this proud mistress, no more," which doubtless means that she intends taking French leave as soon as the Americans have gone.
John takes her hand and presses it to his lips; a dusky hand it is, but no cavalier of old ever kissed the slender member of a lady love with more reverence than he shows.
"Go, it is danger to stay," she says, with something of a look of alarm on her face, as from the interior of the dwelling comes some sort of clamor which may after all only turn out to be the barking of a dog confined in the court where the fountain plays, but which at any rate arouses her fears.
They are only too glad to do so; after being confined in that murky dungeon the outside air seems peculiarly sweet.
It must be very late, and in this quarter, at least, the noises of the earlier night have passed away.
The only sounds that come plainly to their ears are the booming of the heavy tide on the rocks, and the sweep of the night wind through the cypress trees.
When they turn again after making an effort to locate themselves, the door in the wall is closed, and the Maltese woman is gone.
There is no cause for them to linger, and they move away.
John Craig has nothing to say.