Another day dawns upon Valetta.

As yet the tourists, who sojourn at the city of Malta by the sea, have
received no intimation that the disabled steamer is in a condition to
proceed.

This means another day on the island, for which few are really sorry, as
Valetta is not an unpleasant place in winter.

Our friends gather around the breakfast-table, and conversation is
brisk. More than once Lady Ruth watches the face of John Craig. She is
anxious to hear what success he met with on the preceding night, and
will doubtless find an opportunity for a quiet little chat after the
meal.

On his part, Craig is uneasy, feeling that he owes her a recital of
facts, and yet loth to tell her anything about Pauline Potter, for he
is ashamed of his boyish infatuation with regard to the Chicago actress.

So he dallies over his breakfast, hoping that something will turn up to
lead their thoughts in another channel, and at least give them a longer
respite. Perhaps a message will come from the steamer announcing an
immediate sailing.

He is eager to be off. Whatever was in the note Philander picked up in
the house of the Strada Mezzodi, it has given John a feverish anxiety to
reach some other port.

Ah! here is the good captain of the Hyperion himself, a jolly sea-dog
whom every passenger clings to in time of storm and trouble, and who