CHAPTER VI.
PAULINE POTTER'S HOUR COMES.
"It is possible!" declares John; "and under such circumstances I shallindeed be glad to have a friend in need. At the same time it seems asstrange to me to think Pauline Potter can be here--that the Chicagoactress whom I once adored and with a youth's ardor swore to make mywife, can be here and bothering her head about one John Craig, M.D."
"It will soon be known. You have a good description of this house whichthe man supposed to be Luther Keene brought?" asks Philander, showingunexpected business qualities; indeed, he is proving more of a wonderto the young Chicagoan every hour.
"Yes, and can find it easily enough by the red lamp in front," hereplies.
"I see such a light along the strado."
"That is, in all probability, our destination."
They advance, and in another minute are at the door of the domicilemarked so conspicuously with a red light.
John allows himself a brief period of ecstasy as he remembers that hismother crossed this threshold only recently, and in his eyes thisrenders it holy.
Then he recovers his common sense, and is once more the wide-awake,vigilant John Craig who met the advance of the mad dog so coolly uponthe hill road of Valetta.
"There's a knocker," says the professor.
"I'll try it," John replies, and as he swings the weight a ponderoussound ensues, a hollow clamor that is loud enough to arouse the wholestreet, John thinks.
"Great guns!" mutters Philander, "it's a great piece of luck there's nograve-yard near."
"How's that?" demands his companion.
"Well, that clang would arouse the dead," is the amazing reply.
Further conversation is cut short by the sound of footsteps within--abolt is withdrawn, proving that the inmates of the house on the StradaMezzodi do not have the Maltese sense of honor that makes the presenceof locks and bars unnecessary.
Then the door is opened.
The red lantern gives a light that shows them the interior of thisValetta house, and in the brilliant illumination stands a man, a nativeMaltese servant.
John has arranged his plan of action in such an event. He hopes the manwho opens the door may talk English.
"Good evening," he says, courteously.
The man returns the salutation gravely.
"I would see the gentleman of the house on business of importance."
"Are you Doctor Craig?"
"That is my name."
"John Alexander Craig?"
"The same."
"Of Chicago?"
"You hit it, my friend of Malta."
"Ah! you are expected--enter," is the surprising reply, and theprofessor calls his attention to it by a sly dig in the ribs.
They start to enter, when the faithful servitor of the house bars theway of the professor.
"Pardon; I said Doctor Craig."
"Well?" demands Philander, bristling up.
"You can wait for him outside. I will give you a chair, a cigar."
The professor laughs in good humor.
"Bless you, I'm Doctor Craig's shadow; he can't go anywhere but with me.Fetch two chairs. We will interview your master outside."
The citizen of Malta appears perplexed. John comes to the rescue.
"It will be all right; this gentleman is my companion, my interpreter.It is necessary that he accompany me. Enter, professor."
His assurance carries the day; the man backs down and allows Philandera passage.
Their first point is gained.
The servant having closed and barred the door and asked them to follow,goes on ahead. The professor takes advantage of the opportunitypresented, and plucks John's sleeve, and as that worthy bends down,he whispers:
"Have you noticed it?"
"What?" asks the young doctor.
"His style of address, my boy; same words exactly that were used at thehotel by the man who brought you the news."
"Jove! you are right, professor. I imagine that must be the formal stylein this country."
Philander chuckles.
"You'll have to guess closer to the mark than that, my boy, when youwant to strike the truth."
"What can you mean, sir?"
"Bless you, it's the same man. Notice his walk; doesn't he hold himselfjust so?"
"Professor, you're wide awake. I admit all you say. There is a wonderfulresemblance. Yes, I believe it is the same man. Really, this affairgrows more and more interesting. Talk about your comedies, they're notin it."
Further conversation is cut off by the fact of their guide ushering theminto a room that is lighted with an antique lamp.
"Wait here," he says, and disappears.
John Craig manages to retain his self-possession, though it gives hima thrill to think that he may be looking upon a scene which was onlyrecently graced by the presence of the being whom he seeks far andwide--his mother.
Now some one comes; they hear the rustle of skirts, and know it is noman who advances.
"Steady, boy," warns Philander, knowing the sensation produced in John'squivering, expectant heart; "steady it is now, and keep your witsbright."
"Steady it is," replies John, who knows it is only right he should braceup.
Then the party advancing enters the apartment, and looking up the twomen behold one who is garbed in a peculiar habit, the insignia of anorder; a heavy black gown, corded at the waist, with a white flowingcollar, and a strange bonnet both black and white, the size of whichis astonishing.
Her face they do not see, as a gauze vail hides it from mortal view.
In this city of orders, where the nations of the world seem to vie witheach other in creating strange commanderies, it is nothing to meet withsuch a garb.
John Craig is a gentleman; he rises from his chair and bows; dittoPhilander, who keeps a little in his rear, as becomes a sensible,well-behaved "shadow."
The dress of the woman gives John an idea she is at the head of somecharitable organization which has set rules for dress and duty, althoughhis knowledge of such matters is not most profound.
"Madame, pardon this intrusion," he says, at the same time wonderingwhether she is English, French, or a native of Malta.
Her reply comes in a low voice, and tells him she is as familiar withthe English language as himself, no matter what her nationality.
"It is no intrusion, Doctor Craig. I have been expecting you."
"Indeed; you surprise me, madame, since I sent no word of my coming."
"Ah! a little bird sent me the news."
"Do you know why I enter your abode without an invitation, madame?"
"You seek news, Doctor Craig."
"That is true."
"News of one who has long been lost; news concerning a member of ourholy order; the dear sister who has consecrated her life to charity, andwho, under my fostering care, has long since redeemed her past--SisterMagdalen."
The words almost unnerve John; he has a feeling that perhaps Heavenmeans to be kind and allow him the bliss he craves.
"Ah! madame, you know my secret. It is true. I would find her, wouldhear from her own lips the story of the past. I believe you can helpme. She has occupied this house."
"That very chair upon which you are seated sustained her fainting formone afternoon when she came in. I thought she was dying. In her hand shecarried a paper, an American daily. I glanced at it to see if I couldlearn the truth, and saw it there as plain as day. She had read a noticeof a fire in Chicago where a young man named John Craig, said to be amedical student, perished."
"Did she see that account? It was cruel. The next day's paper refutedthe lie, and explained how he escaped," says John, warmly.
"Yes, I saw it. She would give us no rest until we procured a later copyof the same paper, and there she read the truth. Sister Magdalen was allsmiles from that hour; she said that Heaven had indeed answered herprayer."
"Tell me, is she here now?" holding his breath with suspense.
"Oh! no, she went away sever
al weeks ago. We shall not see her againunless she chances to be one of three lay delegates now on their wayhere from a sister sanctuary."
"Then you can give me hope; let me know where I may find her?"
"If I see my duty in that way, Doctor Craig," is the astonishing replyhe receives.
He conceives the idea what this may mean.
"Madame, I am ready to do what I can for the good of your order if youwill bring about this long anticipated meeting."
"Your word shall be your bond. We need five hundred dollars to endowanother bed in the hospital at Rome."
"It shall be yours; I swear it."
"Hush, impious man! Your word is enough. On my part I promise that erean hour goes by you shall be in a fair way to look upon the face of onewho 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 doublemeaning upon the words.
"An hour--so soon? What am I to do in order to gain this consummation ofmy 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 andabove 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 lowtones, while John wonders when so great a revolution in the affairs oforders like this occurred whereby they are enabled to have men-servants.
Hardly has the native vanished than another sister appears, carrying asmall 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 purejuice of the grape, expressed at our own vineyard on this island. It isas harmless as water, but refreshing. It is our simple habit to inviteour guests to join us in this way; we believe in the Arab rule ofbreaking 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 yoursimple 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 ofthat 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 thisplant is grown in Malta for export.
The liquid is cold and very refreshing. John has a dozen questions onthe tip of his tongue, all of which relate to Sister Magdalen, but hedoes not put them, for his thoughts become somewhat incoherent, and itis so comfortable sitting there.
When the Mother Superior raises her vail to sip from the amber glass ofunfermented wine John Craig, M.D., has sense enough to notice twothings; the hand that holds the glass is plump and fair, and the lipsunder 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 withsomething of eagerness.
Surely the room is growing very close; a window opened would be a goodthing he believes, and yet somehow lacks the energy to open it, turnshis head, and sees the professor lying back in his chair _fast asleep_.
This gives him a faint shock, but his nerves are deadened; nothing wouldsurprise him very much now, unless an earthquake occurred.
"Rest your head, Doctor Craig; the back of the chair is verycomfortable," he hears a soft voice say.
Warm breath fans his face. The Mother Superior has thrown aside thatugly bonnet; it is a young, face, a fair face, surrounded by goldencurls, that looks down upon him, as with a stage laugh the woman restsone hand on the head of the drugged medical student from Chicago, toexclaim:
"At last! he belongs to Pauline Potter!"