John looks at her steadily.

"Lady Ruth, it may sound strange to you after what I have said, but my
memories of my mother are all confined to the far past, to a period when
I was a mere child; but they are none the less previous on that account."

She looks puzzled, as well she may.

"Do you mean she is--dead?"

"Heaven forbid, but I have not seen her in all these years. That is one
reason I am abroad, Lady Ruth. I have a sacred mission to perform--to
find my mother--to seek the solution of a mystery which has embittered
my life. Perhaps some time, if we know each other a little better, I may
confide a strange and sad story to you."

"Just as you please, doctor," she replies, with deep feeling in her
voice, and at this moment the others bustle in.

"You must show yourself on the balcony. The dear people clamor for a
sight of you, and I am really afraid they'll tear the house down soon if
you don't appear before them," says Aunt Gwen, with unusual vigor.

"Yes, they unquestionably desire to publicly show their appreciation of
your services, and I for one feel proud to be an American this day."

"Philander!"

"Excuse me, my dear. John, my boy, allow me to lead you out."

"One minute, please," says Lady Ruth, who has made a comfortable sling
of a long white silk kerchief, which she wore around her neck.

This she insists on securing over John's shoulder.

"That arm must be painful. I know it from my long experience as the
reliable assistant of my surgeon uncle. You will be glad to have this."

"But--for such a mere scratch--people will laugh at me," he protests,
feebly, though it may be noticed that he makes no effort to deliver
himself from the silk sling which she is now tying.

"People laugh at you! A mere scratch! Confound it, boy, there isn't a
man living who would go through with what you have to-day for a cool,
hundred thousand. I know one man a million would not tempt," cries the
professor.

"I suppose I must submit," and accompanied by Philander, with the two
women bringing up the rear, he passes out upon the balcony, where the
colonel of Royal Engineers has remained, to be a curious spectator of
the scene.

At sight of the hero of the street drama, those in the square before the
hotel shout and cheer. They are mostly natives, but men and women feel
very strongly drawn toward this young, smooth-faced American who risked
his life to save a child, and that child a Maltese boy.

John bows, and p