The street itself was full of interest to the young Americans. Sauntering along--themselves attracting no little favourable attention in their natty white uniforms--they met cabmen driving their little horses at full speed, English ladies elegantly dressed side by side with the natives in their huge black one-sided hoods, flocks of goats, to be milked at the doors of customers, smart British officers, swarthy-faced Hindoos, and beggars without end. "This is the Church of St. John," said Liddon, as the naval party entered an imposing portal, flanked by two huge towers. "Here the Knights used to worship, when they were not otherwise engaged----" "To wit, in fighting!" interpolated Starr. "Well, I must say those old fellows did well whatever they undertook. Look at those marbles and paintings!" With hushed voices the three young men passed down the long aisle, to one of the chapels where they were shown various relics which, Liddon said, had been held in the deepest veneration by the builders of the church in those strange old days. There were some of the bones of St. Thomas of Canterbury, one of the stones cast at St. Stephen, the right foot of Lazarus, and a thorn from the sacred crown. However sceptical the Americans might have been as to the genuineness of these relics, they showed in their faces and demeanour only their respect for the belief of those who treasured them. A party of tourists came up at the same time, and two or three pretty girls giggled effusively over the objects displayed. "Come on!" muttered Dobson in disgust. "Let's get out of this. There are times when I'm ashamed of my race!" and turning on their heels the young men left the church. The gay scenes in the sunny street restored their good humour, and they visited successively a catacomb chapel--where the vaults were ornamented with fantastically arranged bones of departed monks and knights--an old city gate, and some interesting rock-hewn depositories of grain. "Not a cat yet, except a yellow one that don't count!" murmured Bob sadly, as they turned their steps toward the final great attraction of Valetta, the Governor's Palace, in St. George's Square. "It was formerly," explained their omniscient guide, "the palace of the Grand Master of the Knights of St. John, and contains some of the principal treasures of the Order. Here is the Armory," he added, as they entered a large hall, containing rows of figures clad in antique armour, and a wealth of weapons and armour of ancient times. Here, too, was the sword, battle-axe, and coat-of-mail of the leader of the corsairs who assisted the Turks in the famous siege of Fort St. Elmo; the trumpet which sounded the retreat of the Knights from Rhodes, in 1523; and a cannon made of a copper tube and wound with tarred rope, used by the Turks, Liddon said, during their siege of that island.