SPRUNG ALEAK!
Lady Ruth captures him very soon after breakfast by means of a clever little piece of diplomacy. John is really amused at the manner in which she manages this affair, and allows himself to be carried off to enjoy a bird's-eye view of the harbor which she has discovered at the end of the piazza, and which he must pass an opinion upon.
The others do not follow, Philander and Aunt Gwen, because they know what is going on, and Sir Lionel, on account of a bore of a British nobleman who has fastened upon him, and talks an incessant streak.
Miss Caprice, as Aunt Gwen has christened Lady Ruth, suddenly develops a new phase in the conversation.
"Do you know what time it was when you came in last night?" she says, shaking a finger at him, whereat John laughingly declares his ignorance, having failed to take note of it.
"Just a quarter of two."
"Is it possible? Really, I—"
"Now, it would be only justice to myself to tell how I happened to know. Awaking from sleep with a slight headache, I arose to get my smelling-salts, and noted the time.
"Just then I heard Aunt Gwen's angelic voice calling down. My first fear was that Uncle Philander had gone off on some sort of racket, and was returning in no condition for a gentleman, for which suspicion I humbly beg his pardon, for he's just as lovely as a man ever could be."
"A fine little fellow, I'll declare, and he stood by me like a hero," declares John, with great earnestness.
"Well, I'm a woman, you know, and curious. I poked my head out of the window, and saw that you were with the professor. Of course, I knew he was all right, then."
The charming naivette with which she makes this engaging remark almost takes John's breath away. He feels a mad desire to take her in his arms, and to call her "you blessed darling," or some other similarly foolish pet name.
Fortunately he contents himself with putting his feelings into a burning look, the ardor of which causes the cheeks of the young ma'mselle to grow as red as fire, and she looking the other way at the time.
"I promised to tell you what success I had in my search," he begins, knowing the confession to be inevitable.
Now she looks at him eagerly, expectantly.
"Yes, and I have tried to read the result in your face, but fear that it has not been flattering."
So he tells her all, dealing lightly with the matter of Miss Pauline, though she is such an important factor in the game that she cannot be ignored.
Lady Ruth looks him directly in the eyes with her own steel blue orbs, so honest, so strong, that John has always delighted to meet their gaze, nor does he avoid it now.
"Perhaps I have no business to ask, Doctor Craig, but this Pauline Potter—what is she to you, what was she to you that she goes to all this trouble? Have you a secret of hers which she desires to gain?"
"I desire to retain your good opinion, Lady Ruth, and consequently am anxious that you should know all. I shall not spare myself one iota."
So he explains how the fascinating actress caught his boyish fancy some two years previous, and how devoted he had been to her until he learned of her duplicity.
Then followed his denunciation in the presence of several admirers, after which he had not seen her again until the night before.
All of which is told in a frank way, and listened to with earnestness.
At the conclusion of his narrative, John looks again into Lady Ruth's face to see whether she condemns him or not, and is gratified to discover a smile there.
"I think you are little to blame, Doctor Chicago. Like all young men, you were dazzled by the bright star that flashed before your eyes; but your illusion lasted only a brief time, for which you may be thankful. As to this woman's endeavor to regain your regard, it shows what a brazen creature she is."
The fine contempt she feels is written on her face, and John is glad he made a full confession of the whole matter.
"I hope I will never see her again," he says, in a penitent way.
"So do I," she echoes, and then turns a trifle red, hastily adding: "for your sake, doctor. Now, tell me what you hope to do about finding your mother."
Thus, with the diplomacy of a general, upon finding herself growing uncomfortable she instantly changes the situation, and brings a new question to the fore.
John does not notice this. He is too well pleased with the fact that she overlooks his indiscretion, and still grants him her valued friendship.
He goes on to explain his plans.
They are not elaborate. The paper which Philander Sharpe discovered gives him a new clew, and this he means to push to the utmost.
He anticipates success, but is gradually learning to tone down his enthusiasm, realizing that difficulties beset his way.
Thus all has been told, and he has not lost rating with the proud English girl, for whose good opinion he is coming to be solicitous.
Presently Aunt Gwen is heard calling her niece, and they think it time to join the rest, as the plans of the day are being discussed.
There are still many things to be seen on the Island of Malta by the curious. A few even start for the city of Civita Vecchia in the center of the island, but our friends decide against such an expedition, as there is a chance of delay, and the captain may refuse to hold his vessel an hour longer than is absolutely necessary.
Again they start out, and in seeing various curious things the day is gradually passed.
John is glad that no sign is discovered that would indicate the presence of Pauline Potter near them.
He has feared lest the vindictive actress might take it into her head to suddenly appear, and publicly denounce him as her recreant lover, and thinking thus, is especially glad that he told Lady Ruth the whole story.
So the day ends.
It has been a remarkably pleasant one to all of them, and John has certainly enjoyed it to the utmost. When I say all, there should be an exception, for Sir Lionel is in anything but an angelic frame of mind.
He has been wont to look upon the young American's chances with regard to winning Lady Ruth as exceedingly slim, when such a hero as himself enters the field.
That is an Englishman's egotism sure enough. To him Doctor Chicago seems only a boy, and he looks upon John's daring to enter the lists against him as a specimen of Yankee assurance.
This day teaches Sir Lionel that nothing can account for the vagaries of a girl's mind. She even shows a decided preference for the society of the American, allows him to carry her parasol, to assist her up the steps when they visit the signal tower, and on several occasions they manage to slip off by themselves, and can be seen eagerly comparing notes and exchanging opinions respecting the magnificent views that are to be suddenly discovered at various points.
The British soldier is too old a campaigner not to know what all this signifies, though the bull-dog elements in his composition will not let him dream of giving up as yet.
"It's all owing to that beastly little affair of yesterday. The boy made a big jump in her estimation, when he saved that child. It was a brave act. I don't want to say a word to the contrary, and the lad has grit, more than I ever dreamed of; but I want Lady Ruth, by Jove, more than I ever wanted anything in all my life, and as I've said before, when a British soldier fails to succeed one way, he will another."
Thinking thus, Sir Lionel cudgels his brains during the day, in order to invent some coup de grace by means of which he may cleverly regain his lost prestige.
When a man allows his passions to get the better of his judgment and sense of fair play, he is really but a single step from being a scoundrel, and although Sir Lionel would have vehemently scouted the suspicion of his doing anything to sully his fair name, he nevertheless, in his desperation at being worsted in a love affair by a mere boy, goes about some things that are hardly fair.
It has been decided that the little party shall go aboard after supper, by the light of the young moon, which will be nearly overhead.
Two boats have been engaged to wait for them at the quay.
It is at this time Sir Lionel hopes to make his point, and to accomplish it he does not hesitate to descend to a low plane, and even imperil human life.
When they reach the quay a breeze is blowing, but not strong enough to cause any uneasiness.
The party place their luggage in one boat.
Then comes a pretty piece of by-play that really reflects credit upon the engineering skill of the soldier, for it is his hand that pulls the strings.
Lady Ruth steps into one boat. One of the men having stopped John to ask him something, the colonel is given a chance to occupy the same boat, and, when Doctor Chicago arrives, he is told by the boatman that this craft having two passengers, and being smaller than the other, can carry no more.
Sir Lionel as they push off sings out to him, pleasantly:
"A Roland for an Oliver, Chicago."
John smothers his chagrin and enters the other, boat with Aunt Gwen and the professor. After all, it is only for a brief time, and surely he can afford to give Sir Lionel that pleasure.
Thus they set out.
Lady Ruth appears to be in good spirits, for they can hear her voice in song, blending with the bass of the baronet, floating over the waves, which are really rougher than any of them had anticipated.
The lights of the steamer can be seen, and they head for her.
Suddenly the song ceases to float across the water. It comes so suddenly to a stop that John Craig sits up in the other boat and clutches the arm of the professor.
"Listen! I thought I heard a slight scream."
"Nonsense!" exclaims Aunt Gwen.
"That British prig—"
"Sir Lionel is a gentleman. He would not sully his reputation by a word or deed."
"There—again."
"That time I heard it, too. Boatman, bend to your oars, and pull. There is something wrong with the other boat," cries the professor.
Then across the bounding waters comes a hail, in the lion-like voice of the Briton. A hail that stirs the blood in their veins until it runs like molten lava—a hail that tells of danger.
"Ho! there, this way, quick! We're sinking! sprung aleak!"
Such is the cry that comes to them.
All are at once alarmed. The boatman is pulling well, but, to John's excited fancy, it seems as though they hardly move.
He springs up, and takes one of the oars.
"Professor, mind the helm!" he cries.
"Ay, ay!" sings out that worthy, adapting himself immediately to the situation.
The young American is hardly an athlete, although he belongs to one of Chicago's best boat clubs.
He has an incentive now which causes him to strain every muscle, and under the united strength of two men the boat dances over the billows in the quarter whence the cry of help was heard.
It nevertheless takes them nearly five minutes to reach the scene, and this is the longest five minutes John ever knew.
Only the voice of the boatman is heard, still calling, and by this they know that the climax has already come.
A dreadful fear almost palsies John's heart as they reach the scene.
The boatman is discovered, clinging to the oars, and showing some evidence of alarm. Perhaps he has had more than he bargained for.
John helps him in.
"Where are the others?" he cries, hoarsely.
"I am afraid, lost."
"Just Heaven! What has happened?"
"Boat sprung leak—go down fast. Soldier say he save lady, but struck his head on boat and lose senses. I saw them no more."
It is horrible!
"Did the boat sink?" asks John, huskily.
"I do not know."
"Would it sink under such circumstances?" he asks their own boatman, who also has the appearance of being rattled. When they entered into a little trickery with Sir Lionel, they had no idea it would turn out so tragically, and the possible serious consequences now staring them in the face make them uneasy.
"No; it could not," returns that worthy.
"Then, if floating still, we must find it. Our only chance lies there."
Fortunately John is, in a measure, self-possessed. He at least shows himself equal to the emergency.
They pull in the direction where it is most likely they will find what they seek.
John twists his neck as he rows, and endeavors to scan the sea around them. Again and again he calls out, hoping in the fullness of his heart that some answering cry may come back.
What leaden seconds those are—never can they forget them.
"I see something!" says Aunt Gwen, who is crouching in the bow, regardless of the spray that now and then spatters her.
"Where away?" demands John, eagerly.
"Straight ahead."
They pull with fierce energy.
"Can you make it out?"
"It's the swamped boat," replies Aunt Gwen, who has remarkable eyes for one of her age.
John shouts again.
"Boat ahoy!"
This time an answer comes back, but not in the roar of the British lion.
"Here—come quickly—I am nearly worn-out!"
John's heart gives a great bound.
"Thank Heaven! It is Lady Ruth!" he says.