ind, so
that all he can do is to await developments.

Nearer still, until scarcely five feet separate him from the glowing
orbs, he can even hear the animal's stentorian breathing.

John prepares for a terrible struggle; he holds his hands out so as to
clutch the great beast by the throat as he advances, and his muscles are
strained in order to sustain the shock.

Just when he expects to hear the roar of a hunger-stricken beast, he is
astonished beyond measure at what occurs.

"Scat! you rascal!" exclaims a voice, and there is heard a great
threshing sound, as though some one endeavors to intimidate by the
swinging of arms as well as by sound.

"What! is that you, Professor Sharpe?" demands the doctor, amazed,
delighted, not because he has a companion in misfortune, but on account
of the dissipation of his fears respecting an assault.

In another minute the two are embracing; there is nothing like danger to
bring men together and make them brothers.

There is strength in union, and both of them feel better since the
meeting.

Of course their thoughts are wholly bent on escape, and the talk is of
this. Sharpe has not been so thoroughly searched as his companion, and
soon produces a few matches, with which they proceed to examine their
dungeon.

It is a gloomy prospect.

The walls are heavy and of stone; there is no opening beyond a mere slit
in the corner through which comes wafts of the sweet air without.

As to the door, it would withstand the assault of giants.

Hopeless indeed does it all appear, and yet little do we poor mortals
know what the next minute may bring forth.

While they are seated there, seeking to cheer up each other, it is
John's keen ears that detect the presence of some one at the door.

This is not a new event that may be pregnant with hope--on the contrary,
it is possibly the next downward step in the line of Pauline Potter's
revenge.

When the key turns in the lock, both men are on their feet ready to meet
whatever may be in store for them.

The door swings open.

Instead of a man, they see a woman of Malta. Upon her arm hangs a
lantern. She shades her eyes from its glare and looks upon the prisoners.

To say Doctor Chicago is surprised would be putting it feebly; he is
amazed at the sight of a woman jailer.

Now she fastens her eyes on his face, he can almost feel her gaze. She
advances a step or two.

"Chicago?" she says, inquiringly.

John hardly knows what she mean