“I want to introduce some one to you, some one you would see sooner or later.  Sir, this is Lady Ruth Stanhope, a young lady to whom I have lost my heart, and my promised wife.”

“What!” exclaimed Craig, Sr., “bless my soul, you’re only a boy, John.”

“Twenty-three, sir,” promptly.

“Yes, you’re right.  Time flies.  You’ve given me quite a little shock, but, by Jove!  I’m already favorably impressed with your taste.  Will you allow me the privilege of a kiss, my dear?”

“Sir!” indignantly, for in the dim light she does not see that his mustache is snow-white, as is also his hair.

Her tragic attitude rather alarms John.

“Ruth, it’s my father!” he cries.

This alters the case.

“Your father!  Oh!  John, has he—­” She sees the warning finger her betrothed raises up, and stops suddenly, for she has been about to say something relative to the presence of Sister Magdalen in the city.

The elder Craig raises the shade, and in the new light Lady Ruth sees a remarkably handsome man of middle age, even distinguished in his manner.

Then he is John’s father, too, and that makes quite a difference.  She approaches, with hand extended.

“Forgive me, sir.  I did not dream John’s father was within five thousand miles of Algiers.”

“And if you have agreed to be my only boy’s wife you must be my daughter, too.”

This time he bestows a paternal salute upon her velvety cheek.  Possibly Lady Ruth is ready to believe she is entering the Craig family very rapidly; but with a woman’s idea of the eternal fitness of small things, she feels very much pleased to know that her future father-in-law is such a distinguished-looking gentleman.

As is proper, she excuses herself, and leaves the room.  Doubtless father and son have much to talk over.

When John finds himself alone with the parent for whom he has ever felt the greatest respect without deep filial affection, he grows anxious again.

What can have brought the other across the sea at this particular time?  Is it connected with the facts he cherishes; the presence of this other one in Algiers? and if so, what does Duncan Craig mean to do; cut him off with a penny because he has dared allow the longing in his heart to have its way, and has endeavored to find the mother so long lost?

When he steals another look at the elder Craig’s face, he cannot see that there is anything like deep anger there, and yet John admits that he is not a good hand at analyzing motives.

He dares not mention the matter himself, and is therefore bound to wait until his respected father speaks, if he does so at all.

Craig, Sr., talks of his trip, declares he is delighted with the glimpse he has had of Algiers, and wonders how it would pay a good doctor to settle down there for the winter months; at which John declares it would just suit him.