CHAPTER VII.

MALTA AND ITS KNIGHTS.

THE voyage continued for some time without any incident worth recording. Gibraltar's stately rock was passed, and favourable breezes sent the "Alligator" rapidly along the blue Mediterranean.

Mrs. Evendale gave a good deal of attention to Shelah, the only child on board, but with little apparent result, except that of rousing the jealousy of Miss Petty, who was annoyed at her charge preferring any one—indeed every one—to herself. Shelah, she knew, was old enough and sharp enough to convey impressions to her parents, which might prejudice them against the guardian, and so injure Miss Petty's chance of having her return voyage made easy and lucrative by the charge of other children. Miss Petty tried petting, but Shelah would not be petted by her.

"My Lammikin," once began Miss Petty, in the presence of several auditors, to whom she wished to give an idea of her tenderness towards her little charge.

"I'm not your Lammikin, you are Miss Wolf!" cried the saucy little girl, encouraged by a laugh from some of the bystanders.

The naughty Lammikin lost no opportunity of trying the patience of her poor guardian. Shelah sat down on Miss Petty's flower-trimmed bonnet, when it had been exchanged for the dinner-cap. Shelah got possession of her guardian's scissors, and snipped a fringe round the handkerchief which Miss Petty had dropped on the floor. The old lady found salt mixed in her tea, and had a good guess as to how it came there. There seemed to be no end of the Lammikin's pranks; but with Mrs. Evendale she never played any.

In due time the island of Malta was reached, and, to the no small pleasure of the passengers, Captain Gump gave them leave to go on shore, strictly limiting, however, the time which they might spend on land. An amusing scene, familiar to those who have touched at Malta, occurred when the passengers first set foot on the historical island. A mob of porters, vehicle-drivers, and other jabbering candidates for employment, who look on pleasure-seekers as their natural prey, swarmed around.

Miss Petty, who knew not a word of Italian, and was frightened and confused by the bustle and noise, fought her way through the rabble as well as she could with the point of her parasol, holding by the hand Shelah, who mightily enjoyed the fun. Mrs. Evendale quietly followed behind, and, singling out a driver more respectable in appearance than the rest, gave him in Italian directions whither to drive.

"Oh, Mrs. Evendale, let us go shopping together!" cried Miss Petty. "I've heard that in Malta there are the sweetest things in silver and lace."

"I am afraid that I cannot accompany you, Miss Petty," said the widow, who was just about to step into the vehicle which she had hired. "My time here is very precious; I must take advantage of the only opportunity which I may ever have of visiting a dear friend, a great invalid, sent to Malta by the advice of the doctors."

"Then take Shelah with you, please do; I can't shop or enjoy anything in peace with this monkey always at my heels."

"I am sorry to have again to say no," replied Mrs. Evendale, who had taken her seat in the conveyance. "If my poor friend were in health, I should certainly take Shelah with me; but the lady is ill, may be dying. Shelah is too lively a child for a sick-room." The vehicle was driven away.

Lammikin turned down the corners of her mouth and looked cross; Miss Petty felt scarcely less so. "It's always the way with those saints," she muttered; "they are never ready to do me a service. Come, Shelah, we can manage for ourselves."

"I'll not go with you; I'll go with Robin!" cried Shelah.

But Robin was nowhere to be seen; he and Harold had landed before the ladies, and taken a different course. The Lammikin had no choice but to go with her guardian.

When the Hartley brothers touched land, Robin enthusiastically exclaimed, "How glorious it is to be in Malta, in Melita, the first spot trodden by an apostle's feet on which I have ever stood!"

"And what a splendid place it is," rejoined Harold, gazing up with interest at the noble buildings which give Malta the appearance of a collection of ancient fortresses. He thought of the olden times when those walls rang with the shouts of the gallant knights of St. John, who, with their fearless devotion, made their rocky island the bulwark of Christendom against the warriors of the Crescent.

"Gallant deeds have been done here," observed Harold, "which will make the name of the Knights of Malta illustrious to the end of time. What a brave stand they made against the tide of Moslem aggression when it came on Europe like a flood! They had inherited the spirit of the Crusaders of old."

"Harold, if you and I had lived in the time of Peter the Hermit," observed Robin, "I think that we both would have been off to Palestine to rescue the Holy Sepulchre; and if in the days when the Turks were trying by fire and sword to carry their false religion into the West, you and I would have taken the vows, and donned the white cross of the Knights of St. John."

"Perhaps we might have done so," replied Harold, "for we should not have understood better than others did in those times that our Lord's kingdom is not to be spread by earthly weapons. The warfare of the knights in the days of old is no bad type of that before us in India. All Christians should be crusaders, in the sense of bearing the Cross and fighting its battles; we missionaries, set apart and specially devoted to the noblest of warfares, may be called, if you will, the present Order of the Knights of St. John."

The idea took the fancy of Robin. "Had not the knights to take a special vow of purity and obedience," he said; "were they not to protect women, take up the cause of the oppressed, and fight against evil wherever they met it? This is exactly what we have to do. We have to set up our banner on a Rock. Our weapons are not sword nor spear, nor our armour the glittering casque and mail, but we have to wield the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God, and wear the breastplate of righteousness, and for a helmet the hope of salvation."

Harold smiled at the enthusiasm of his young brother. "One part of the comparison you have omitted," said he. "Do you not remember the knight's solemn night-watch beside his weapons before he was esteemed worthy to use them? For the missionary knight of St. John there is some preparation required corresponding to this."

"I am afraid that I have not thought enough of preparation," said Robin; "though I have prayed, and that from my heart. How would you have us keep our vigil?"

"By increased watchfulness, prayerfulness, and submission to whatever trials God may appoint," replied Harold. "Our Leader will not leave His warriors without discipline, often far more prolonged and painful than the night-watch of the Knights of St. John."

These words were often to recur to the mind of Robin, as if, when they were spoken, coming events had indeed cast their dark shadow before.

"Now, whither shall we first bend our steps?" said Harold.

"I don't care for seeing Romish cathedrals, still less for staring into shops when I've no money to spend," replied Robin. "I've been making inquiries as to how far it is to the memorable bay, where St. Paul and his companions are said to have landed after their shipwreck. I long to see the place, and have just time to go there if I make all speed."

"I am not sure whether you have time for the expedition," said Harold Hartley. "What if the 'Alligator' should steam off without you? I doubt whether Captain Gump would wait for the Queen herself."

"I shall take care not to be late," cried Robin; "only lend me your watch."

Harold did so, and the active young Englishman went off at full speed.

"I must make some use of my time too," thought Harold; "the missionary knight should always be on duty; here are some of my shafts ready;" and he drew from his vest some small copies of single gospels in the Italian language, which he had brought from England for distribution in Malta.

"This is the Word of God," said the young missionary to an intelligent-looking man, who was engaged in selling fruit. Harold had learnt these few words in Italian from Mrs. Evendale, on purpose to use them thus.

But the man's hand was not stretched out to receive the precious gift; he shook his head, and said something in Italian which Harold could not understand, except that it implied refusal.

Nothing discouraged, the distributor went on his way, to find some more hopeful subject. He next tried a lad who had books under his arm. "He at least will be able to read," thought Harold.

"Bad book—forbidden by the priests," was the youth's reply in Italian.

The third person to whom a gospel was offered was a woman. She looked timidly round her, saw a Romish priest standing at the corner of the street, and hurried away.

"It is evident that Malta is not a place where the Scriptures are welcomed," thought Harold, sadly, as he replaced his rejected books in his vest. "Rome's constant opposition to the circulation of the Word of God amongst the poor is one of the clearest proofs that her doctrines will not bear its searching light."

Harold was near a shop, and remembering that he had lost his pen-knife, he went in to replace it by buying one which he chanced to see in the window. The trifling purchase was soon made; turning to quit the shop, Harold saw the seller of fruit by his side. The man furtively stretched out his hand, and Hartley, understanding the gesture, for nothing was said, placed in that hand the Gospel, which was received with a silent look of joy.

"One seed sown," thought Harold; "may the Lord give His blessing to it! I have heard that this island of Malta, now famed for its orange groves, was originally only bare rock, and that all its soil had to be conveyed in ships from the mainland. Such efforts were made to cultivate fruit, and such success attended the efforts. Shall the children of this world always be wiser than the children of light? Shall the energetic men of earth look on difficulties as 'things to be overcome,' whilst God's servants magnify them into impossibilities."

Harold's reflections were interrupted by Miss Petty's meeting him as he passed out of the shop. She looked flustered, excited, and eager.

"Oh! Dear Mr. Hartley, I'm so delighted to see you; you are the very person whom I wanted to meet!" she exclaimed. "Do just lend me twelve shillings at once, for I've spent my last sixpence already in lace. Malta, with its shops full of beautiful things, is the place to empty the purse of a Crœsus!"

"I am no Crœsus," said Harold; "and I have not so much as twelve shillings with me."

"Then lend me ten; I daresay that I can beat the jeweller down. I never in my life saw so perfect a brooch—a peacock in filagree silver."

"Excuse me, Miss Petty," said Harold smiling, "but would it not be well to resist even the temptation of buying a silver filagree peacock, rather than go into debt?"

"Oh! I want your money, not your preaching," cried Theresa. "There's Mr. Bolton coming, he does not keep such a tight grasp over his money; he'll lend the twelve shillings, I'm sure, and I'm just dying to get that brooch!"

Mr. Bolton was a careless, good-humoured young planter, who kept coin loose about his person. He was always joking at Miss Petty, paying her absurd compliments, and laughing at her behind her back because she had the folly to believe them. The young man on receiving her pathetic appeal, dived into his pocket, and pulled out a piece of gold. Miss Petty received it with childish delight, hurried into a neighbouring shop, and after a little while returned rejoicing in the possession of the peacock brooch, which she fastened into her collar.

"But where is your Lammikin, Miss Petty?" inquired Bolton. The question came with startling effect, as if awakening the guardian suddenly from an agreeable dream.

"Where?" she repeated, nervously looking to the right and the left, but neither on the right nor the left was to be seen a trace of Shelah. Miss Petty, absorbed in the purchase of silver and lace, had not given a thought to the restless child whose charge she had undertaken. The guardian was overcome with alarm at missing the baronet's daughter.

Then began a distressing search; Bolton accompanying poor Miss Petty, more for the sake of the fun of the thing than from any intention of giving her help. Theresa interrogated passers-by in English, rushed in and out of shops, and shouted the name of her charge till the street rang, and people stared at the crazy Inglezi.

"Let's get the crier to go about the town," suggested Bolton, laughing: "Lost—a Lammikin, a lively young Lammikin. Reward offered for her recovery—a shilling and a filagree silver brooch!"

"Oh, don't worry me!" exclaimed poor Miss Petty. Her trouble might well invite compassion. She wrung her hands, she cried, she sobbed, then again began asking every one whom she met whether he had seen a red-haired little girl in a scarlet hat.

The heat was great; the paved street reflecting the rays of the sun almost burned Miss Petty's thin boots, and sorely tried her now blistered feet.

[Illustration: "Let's get the crier to go about the town," suggested Bolton, laughing: "Lost—a Lammikin, a lively young Lammikin. Reward offered for her recovery—a shilling and a filagree silver brooch!"]

At last, when passing the door of a handsome Romanist church, the sound—for the first time welcome—of a child's passionate roar from within broke on the searchers' ears. No one but Shelah could roar like that.

"Lammikin's inside, as sure as a gun!" cried Bolton.

The guardian, as fast as her weary limbs could carry her, hurried up the broad steps of the church, and through the open door, Miss Petty saw Shelah inside in the grasp of an angry tonsured priest, who held her as a raven might hold a mouse, whilst the child struggled and roared. Why did the priest thus capture her? What dire offence had been committed by the poor little Irish girl?

"Let her go! Please, Mr. Priest, let her go!" cried Miss Petty, not a little frightened, for a curious crowd was gathering round, and dreadful stories which she had read of the Inquisition flashed through the guardian's mind.

The priest released his grasp, and said something which Miss Petty could not understand, glancing indignantly at a receptacle for holy water near the entrance of the church.

"What have you done, you mischievous mouse?" asked Miss Petty of Shelah. "You are always at something naughty."

"Not naughty. I was only thirsty, and drank out of that thing." She pointed to the marble receptacle. "Wasn't it put there for people to drink?"

"You are always getting me into trouble," said the angry guardian. "The Papists will be wanting to burn you for this. Let's get back to the ship as fast as we can."

Shelah was too young a culprit not to be forgiven, and neither priest nor people interfered to prevent her departure. Heartily glad was Shelah, still more glad was her guardian, when they found themselves again with their fellow-passengers, on the deck of the "Alligator", steaming away from Malta.