“Yes, I saw it.  She would give us no rest until we procured a later copy of the same paper, and there she read the truth.  Sister Magdalen was all smiles from that hour; she said that Heaven had indeed answered her prayer.”

“Tell me, is she here now?” holding his breath with suspense.

“Oh! no, she went away several weeks ago.  We shall not see her again unless she chances to be one of three lay delegates now on their way here from a sister sanctuary.”

“Then you can give me hope; let me know where I may find her?”

“If I see my duty in that way, Doctor Craig,” is the astonishing reply he receives.

He conceives the idea what this may mean.

“Madame, I am ready to do what I can for the good of your order if you will bring about this long anticipated meeting.”

“Your word shall be your bond.  We need five hundred dollars to endow another bed in the hospital at Rome.”

“It shall be yours; I swear it.”

“Hush, impious man!  Your word is enough.  On my part I promise that ere an hour goes by you shall be in a fair way to look upon the face of one who loves you more dearly than if you had never been lost to her.”

John hears and believes; he is not suspicious enough to put a double meaning upon the words.

“An hour—­so soon?  What am I to do in order to gain this consummation of my hopes?” he asks, in deep surprise.

“Nothing, only be content to remain here as my guests.”

John looks at Philander and the latter nods, for it all seems clear and above board.

“We agree, madame,” says the young doctor.

The Mother Superior, as they take her to be, bows her head solemnly.

“It is well,” she says, and touches a bell.

Almost immediately the native servant appears, to whom she speaks in low tones, while John wonders when so great a revolution in the affairs of orders like this occurred whereby they are enabled to have men-servants.

Hardly has the native vanished than another sister appears, carrying a small tray upon which are seen a crystal bottle full of grape juice, three odd glasses and a plate of plain flat cakes.

“Doctor Craig, our order refuses the use of wines; this is the pure juice of the grape, expressed at our own vineyard on this island.  It is as harmless as water, but refreshing.  It is our simple habit to invite our guests to join us in this way; we believe in the Arab rule of breaking bread; those with whom we take salt are ever more our friends.  You will not, cannot refuse.”

How should they?

John looks at the professor, and in turn the latter looks at John.

“Madame, you have given me cause for happiness; we will join you in your simple lunch,” returns the young man.

“You are wounded,” noticing his arm in its sling.

“Not seriously.”

“By chance I saw your adventure this day.  I am proud to have the hero of that noble deed for my guest.”