“Oh!”

They have reached the smithy, and, standing in the door-way, witness a singular scene.

The smith is a brawny native Maltese, with a form a Hercules might envy.  He has just taken from the fire a slender rod of iron, one end of which is hissing hot, even red.

With this he advances upon John Craig, who has laid his arm, bared almost to the shoulder, upon a high window ledge.

Then the iron just touches the flesh, and a little gust of white smoke puffs up.

“Jove! the boy has grit,” mutters Colonel Lionel, unable to restrain his admiration, even for a rival in love.

As if overcome with the sensation of inflicting such pain, the blacksmith shudders and draws back.

“Again, it is not near enough,” cries John Craig.

The blacksmith shakes his head.

“I cannot,” he says, in English.

“My life may depend on it, man.  This is no time for hesitation.  Give me the iron!”

His words are spoken with authority, and the brawny smith surrenders the rod of glowing iron.

Without an instant’s hesitation, only compressing his lips firmly together, the Chicagoan presses the red-hot iron upon his arm.

Then he tosses the hissing thing aside, and begins to draw his shirt over the raw red scar an inch square, which the merciless brand has seared upon his white arm.

Seeing the blanched face of Lady Ruth, and the anxious countenances of the others near-by, the doctor, who has recovered from the shock, smiles in a reassuring way.

“I am sorry you saw this; I didn’t intend you should.  Let us go to the hotel!” he says, slipping a coin in the hand of the honest smith, who seems loth to accept it.

Then the party continue down in the direction of the hotel, where they stop while the steamer undergoes repairs.

“Colonel Blunt, will you do me the favor to come to my room?  I want to put a small bandage with iodoform on the burn,” he says aside, but Lady Ruth hears it.

“Colonel Blunt, indeed!  What sort of trained nurse do you suppose he would make?  I have had experience—­you may smile if you like.  Tell the colonel where to find your box of liniments and bandages, and bring it to me.”

“But, my dear Lady—­”

“Not a word, doctor.  I shall esteem it an honor; and what I lack in scientific knowledge my aunt can supply.”

This clinches the matter, and John can offer no further argument against her wish; so Blunt, the Royal Engineer officer, is sent after the doctor’s case, which errand he performs willingly enough, for although he knows this affair has brightened up the chances of his rival, still, as an Englishman, he has a deep, inborn admiration for bravery, no matter whether shown in a Zulu warrior, armed with war club and assagai, or in a Yankee youth who throws himself between a dusky child of Malta and a mad dog, to receive the monster’s attack.