He overhauls her just on the outskirts of the Place du Gouvernement, and as he brushes past quickly raises his hand to snatch aside the flowing vail.
Again his heart almost stands still, and the sacred word "mother" trembles on his lips, as he bends forward to get a quick glance of the face that must be disclosed by the shifting of the vail.
His quick movement is not without its result. The vail is drawn aside, and John Craig receives a staggering blow as he gazes upon the shriveled countenance of an old woman.
It is impossible that this can be his mother—perish the thought!—and yet the garb is one seldom seen on the streets of Algiers.
His almost palsied hand drops the vail. Lucky for him will it be if no jealous Moor's eyes have seen the action.
The Sister does not cry out, and call upon those who are present to avenge the insult—even had she been a Moorish lady, the demand for punishment would not come from her, but from those of the sterner sex near-by.
Instead, she stands there as if waiting for him to speak—stands there like a statue in black.
John at once apologizes for his rudeness—he is already sorry for what he has done.
"Madame, pardon. I believed you were one very dear to me, one who wears the insignia of your order, one for whom I have searched far and near, half the world over—my mother."
"It was a bold act, young sir, but far be it from me to denounce you. Tell me, how would you know this mother?" she asks, in a thick voice.