His stricken arm pains him, but he has not the slightest fear as to the ultimate outcome of that episode; the self-inflicted scorching with the hot iron effectually ended that.
At last he draws out the piece of paper which Philander secured in the room that marked their downfall, the paper that bears the signature of Sister Magdalen.
Lady Ruth's reminiscence has thus proved of great value to him.
He takes out one of the notes which came periodically to him—it is the one that bore the postmark of Valetta, Malta. Holding the two side by side, he eagerly compares them.
"Yes, the same hand penned both—I would swear to that."
Long he muses, sitting there. The papers have been put away, his cigar falls unheeded to the floor, and his thoughts fly far away.
Finally he arises, with a sigh, and seeks his room, to rest very poorly, between the pain of his arm and the worry of his mind.
Another day dawns upon Valetta.
As yet the tourists, who sojourn at the city of Malta by the sea, have received no intimation that the disabled steamer is in a condition to proceed.
This means another day on the island, for which few are really sorry, as Valetta is not an unpleasant place in winter.