Miss Caprice

by St. George Rathborne

  CHAPTER III.

  SAVED BY FIRE.

  She looks up into his eyes; there is a set expression to be seen there,but his face is no whiter than before, although it must be a terribleshock to any man to see the imprint of a mad dog's teeth in the flesh ofhis arm.

  "Oh, it has happened, the worst that could come about! What will you do,doctor?"

  He is a man of medicine, and he knows full well what such a wound means.

  "There is only one thing to be done. Excuse me for a minute or two, LadyRuth."

  He springs away from her side, and, turning with surprise, she sees himdart into the smithy of a worker in iron, just down the road a bit.

  "Let us follow him!" says Philander.

  "Poor, poor boy!" remarks Aunt Gwen.

  "Oh, aunt! do you believe he will go mad?" gasps the younger lady, in atrembling voice.

  "I am afraid; I've known of cases that happened like this. One thing'sin his favor."

  "And that?"

  "He wasn't bit in the face, or on the hand."

  "How does that matter?" demands Sharpe.

  She gives him a look of scorn.

  Then, ignoring her spouse, she says, as if continuing her speech to LadyRuth:

  "The dog's teeth went through several thicknesses of woolen cloth beforeentering the skin. The fabric very probably absorbed the poison. Arattlesnake's fangs are a different thing; they cut through the clothand the poison is then injected from the hollow teeth or fangs."

  "Oh!"

  They have reached the smithy, and, standing in the door-way, witness asingular scene.

  The smith is a brawny native Maltese, with a form a Hercules might envy.He has just taken from the fire a slender rod of iron, one end of whichis hissing hot, even red.

  With this he advances upon John Craig, who has laid his arm, baredalmost to the shoulder, upon a high window ledge.

  Then the iron just touches the flesh, and a little gust of white smokepuffs up.

  "Jove! the boy has grit," mutters Colonel Lionel, unable to restrain hisadmiration, even for a rival in love.

  As if overcome with the sensation of inflicting such pain, the blacksmithshudders and draws back.

  "Again, it is not near enough," cries John Craig.

  The blacksmith shakes his head.

  "I cannot," he says, in English.

  "My life may depend on it, man. This is no time for hesitation. Give methe iron!"

  His words are spoken with authority, and the brawny smith surrenders therod of glowing iron.

  Without an instant's hesitation, only compressing his lips firmlytogether, the Chicagoan presses the red-hot iron upon his arm.

  Then he tosses the hissing thing aside, and begins to draw his shirtover the raw red scar an inch square, which the merciless brand hasseared upon his white arm.

  Seeing the blanched face of Lady Ruth, and the anxious countenances ofthe others near-by, the doctor, who has recovered from the shock, smilesin a reassuring way.

  "I am sorry you saw this; I didn't intend you should. Let us go to thehotel!" he says, slipping a coin in the hand of the honest smith, whoseems loth to accept it.

  Then the party continue down in the direction of the hotel, where theystop while the steamer undergoes repairs.

  "Colonel Blunt, will you do me the favor to come to my room? I want toput a small bandage with iodoform on the burn," he says aside, but LadyRuth hears it.

  "Colonel Blunt, indeed! What sort of trained nurse do you suppose hewould make? I have had experience--you may smile if you like. Tell thecolonel where to find your box of liniments and bandages, and bring itto me."

  "But, my dear Lady--"

  "Not a word, doctor. I shall esteem it an honor; and what I lack inscientific knowledge my aunt can supply."

  This clinches the matter, and John can offer no further argument againsther wish; so Blunt, the Royal Engineer officer, is sent after thedoctor's case, which errand he performs willingly enough, for althoughhe knows this affair has brightened up the chances of his rival, still,as an Englishman, he has a deep, inborn admiration for bravery, nomatter whether shown in a Zulu warrior, armed with war club and assagai,or in a Yankee youth who throws himself between a dusky child of Maltaand a mad dog, to receive the monster's attack.

  So he hastens up stairs to the room which John Alexander Craigtemporarily occupies, opens the door, and speedily returns with thelittle traveling case in which the young physician keeps many importantmedicines, an assortment of ready liniment and lint, with the wonderfulremedial agents known to modern surgery.

  To John's surprise, after he has opened the case and started to arrangethe small bandage, it is gently taken from his hands.

  "Allow me," says the pretty "doll," as he has at times been forced tomentally term Lady Ruth, after she has played with his admiration.

  "But, do you know--"

  "I never told you my uncle was a surgeon, Sir Archibald Gazzam--"

  "What! that great man your uncle!" cries the student, with the deeprespect a young M.D. has for a famous practitioner.

  "Yes; and more than once I have assisted him in some simple case at thehouse. He gave me credit for a fair amount of nerve."

  "Fair amount! Jove! for a girl you have a wonderful quantity. Why, Ibelieve you'd have faced that brute yourself, if I hadn't gone," hesays, enthusiastically, the others being momentarily at the window towitness 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 sentyou out to meet that awful beast?"

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

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

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

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

  "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 Valettawho would not feel it an honor to bind up the wound of the hero whosaved that Maltese child," says this young lady, frankly.

  More shouts without.

  This time the men of Valetta are clamoring for the American to showhimself. They do not know much of America, but they recognize true gritwherever they meet it.

  Of course, a rush is made for the balcony, but John remains behind.

  He is feeling somewhat weak after the exciting events of the afternoon.

  And, as he sits there, smiling to hear the clamor without--for he ishuman, this young Chicago M.D.--some one touches his arm.

  "Lady Ruth, I thought you went out with the rest," he stammers, with aguilty blush, for it chances that at the very moment he is thinking ofher, and what a soft, electric touch she has, so soothing, so verydelightful.

  "I did not go; I was watching you."

  "An interesting study, surely."

  "It was to me. I desired to know whether you secretly feared the resultsof your wound."

  "And I did not dream you were so concerned about me. Considering thematter calmly, I am disposed to believe there is now no danger--that thehot iron radically destroyed the last chance of infection."

  "I am very glad to hear you say so."

  "You care a little, then?"

  How quickly she is on her guard.

  "Because I would not see a brave boy needlessly sacrificed."

  "You look on me as a boy. I am twenty-three."

  "My own age, sir. That gives me the right
to feel myself your senior."

  "How so?"

  "You know a woman is older at twenty-three than a man. Then you do notwear a beard."

  "I shall cultivate one from this hour. Why, a year ago I looked like apard, but was influenced to change."

  Again that quick flash of intelligence.

  "Ah! Doctor Chicago has left a lady love in the city on the lake."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Several remarks you have made; the one just now, and then in referenceto the spur that sent you to face that dog. Ah! my friend, it must havebeen a strong motive to influence you like that."

  He overlooks the peculiar patronizing air, such as a young womansometimes assumes toward a boy her junior.

  "Lady Ruth, the person you refer to, the thought of whom sent me to savethat child, bears what is to me the holiest name on earth--mother."

  She draws a quick breath.

  "Forgive me. I was rude."

  "Not at all. My words admitted of just such a meaning as you placed uponthem."

  "You left her in Chicago, of course."

  John looks at her steadily.

  "Lady Ruth, it may sound strange to you after what I have said, but mymemories of my mother are all confined to the far past, to a period whenI was a mere child; but they are none the less previous on that account."

  She looks puzzled, as well she may.

  "Do you mean she is--dead?"

  "Heaven forbid, but I have not seen her in all these years. That is onereason I am abroad, Lady Ruth. I have a sacred mission to perform--tofind my mother--to seek the solution of a mystery which has embitteredmy life. Perhaps some time, if we know each other a little better, I mayconfide a strange and sad story to you."

  "Just as you please, doctor," she replies, with deep feeling in hervoice, and at this moment the others bustle in.

  "You must show yourself on the balcony. The dear people clamor for asight of you, and I am really afraid they'll tear the house down soon ifyou don't appear before them," says Aunt Gwen, with unusual vigor.

  "Yes, they unquestionably desire to publicly show their appreciation ofyour services, and I for one feel proud to be an American this day."

  "Philander!"

  "Excuse me, my dear. John, my boy, allow me to lead you out."

  "One minute, please," says Lady Ruth, who has made a comfortable slingof a long white silk kerchief, which she wore around her neck.

  This she insists on securing over John's shoulder.

  "That arm must be painful. I know it from my long experience as thereliable assistant of my surgeon uncle. You will be glad to have this."

  "But--for such a mere scratch--people will laugh at me," he protests,feebly, though it may be noticed that he makes no effort to deliverhimself from the silk sling which she is now tying.

  "People laugh at you! A mere scratch! Confound it, boy, there isn't aman living who would go through with what you have to-day for a cool,hundred thousand. I know one man a million would not tempt," cries theprofessor.

  "I suppose I must submit," and accompanied by Philander, with the twowomen bringing up the rear, he passes out upon the balcony, where thecolonel of Royal Engineers has remained, to be a curious spectator ofthe scene.

  At sight of the hero of the street drama, those in the square before thehotel shout and cheer. They are mostly natives, but men and women feelvery strongly drawn toward this young, smooth-faced American who riskedhis life to save a child, and that child a Maltese boy.

  John bows, and presses his uninjured hand upon his heart, bows again,and retires.

  Slowly the crowd disperses.

  Lady Ruth completely ignores the colonel, but that veteran is notcrushed by any means. He watches the capricious maiden with a quizzicallight in his eye, which shows that he has not yet lost confidence in thekindness of fate, or his own charms as a beau.

  Lionel Blunt's success in life has come from the fact that he has everbeen ready to watch his chance and take advantage of every possibleopportunity.

  So night settles over Malta, over the dreamy, blue Mediterranean, overthe singular city of Valetta, where this little company of tourists havebeen temporarily marooned, and where Doctor Chicago, aided by fate, hasbeen enabled to make his first charge upon the heart of the proudEnglish girl, Lady Ruth.