Then the other drops a gentle clew to his late movements by asking John which arm it was upon which he was recently vaccinated, which is a puzzler to the young fellow until the name of Malta is mentioned, when he cries: 

“Were you at Valetta, father?”

“I reached there two days after you left.  Bless me, the whole town was still talking over a brave deed that had recently saved a child’s life.”

“Nonsense!”

“Well, it pleased me when I heard the name of the young man who saved the child at the risk of his own life.  I was proud to know I was his father.”

Still no mention of the real cause that has brought him so far from home.  John is baffled.

His recent happiness is dimmed a little, and he has an uneasy feeling as though the unknown were about to happen; a weight rests upon his heart.

A strange thing occurs.  Sir Lionel passes the door, and immediately Craig, Sr., is taken with a spasm of fury.  He acts as if to start to rush out, then faces his son.  John sees his father’s face for the first time convulsed with fury.

“Do you know that man?” he demands.

“Certainly.”

“Is his name Blunt?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I thought I could not be mistaken.  There is something singular that brings him here at this time.  John, is this Reginald Blunt a particular friend of yours?”

“Why, no, sir, in fact, he was my rival for the hand of Ruth Stanhope.  But you call him Reginald; this is Sir Lionel Blunt, a colonel from India and the south of Africa.”

“Then I made a mistake.  It is his cousin.  Yet I knew the face; I knew the face.”

Again John wonders.

“Did a Blunt ever do you a wrong, father?”

“Yes, I have believed so these many years; have been ready to stake my very life upon it; and yet, and yet.  Heaven forgive me for what wicked thoughts I have hugged to my heart.”

These words arouse a wild hope in the mind of John Craig.  Can it be possible his father has after all these years seen light?

The idea is so wonderful that, although hope causes his heart to beat like a trip-hammer, he remains silent.  When the time comes, Craig, Sr., will speak; he knows this of old.

Later on, when John finds himself alone, he begins to think again of the little scheme he has decided to work, for the edification of himself and the future good of Sir Lionel Blunt—­ditto Mademoiselle Pauline, the tragedy queen.

It must be well carried out to produce the intended effect, for these are more than ordinarily sensible people and might resent the interference of outsiders in their private affairs.

Whatever happens must not appear to have been prearranged, but be purely accidental.

Perhaps success may come; it is worth an effort at any rate.

John fears more than ever lest Pauline, in the bitterness of her anger, attempt some injury toward the girl he loves and who has made the sweet confession that he is very dear to her.