"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?