says, enthusiastically, the others being momentarily at the window to
witness a procession pass the hotel, with the dead dog on a litter.

"No, no, I could not do that; but, Doctor Chicago, was that what sent
you out to meet that awful beast?"

Her head is bent over her work, so that the intense blush remains
unseen, but it fades away at his cool reply.

"Oh, no; quite another thing! I told you I never considered myself a
coward, and when I saw that dear little child apparently doomed to a
terrible death, I could see the eyes of one I revere looking at me, and
though death were sure I could not refrain."

He says this quietly and earnestly, yet without an apparent desire to
arouse any feelings of chagrin on her side.

Lady Ruth bites her lips, but her hands are steady, and the touch is
exceedingly gentle as she binds up the ugly red mark which he has
inflicted on himself with what she is disposed to term Spartan-like
courage.

"There; it is done, doctor."

"And neatly done, too," says Aunt Gwen, with a nod and a look of pride.

"I thank you sincerely, Lady Ruth."

"Ah! you are a thousand times welcome. There is not a woman in Valetta
who would not feel it an honor to bind up the wound of the hero who