A PAINFUL DISCOVERY.
Several days passed by. One gets accustomed to everything, and we were
getting used to the big fires at night and all the mysterious warnings
we had had, and I was getting very tired of not being able to run about
as in the old days before we came to Pekin. It was a lovely morning,
and I made up my mind to go round and see my friend, Mrs. Ross. I was
allowed to go and see Mrs. Ross, but when there I was never supposed to
be out of her sight. Father was busy when I left, so I did not see him,
but Phoebe, our old servant, followed me with a great many injunctions
and warnings--at which, I am sorry to say, I only laughed. The sunshine
seemed to intoxicate me--I revelled in it--I could no longer feel any
fear; afterwards I thought I must have been mad that morning. I turned
round in the middle of my flight down the path which led to the house in
which Captain and Mrs. Ross lived.
"Phoebe," I cried, shaking back my curls, which, somehow, always would
come tumbling about my face, "Phoebe, you may depend upon it the Chinese
are not nearly so black as they're painted; anyway, black or yellow, or
whatever they are, it's a lovely day, and I'm going to enjoy myself."
"And what am I to tell your pa, Miss Nina?"
"Oh, tell him anything you like--why, tell him the truth to be
sure--that I've gone to spend the morning with Mrs. Ross."
"Miss Nina, I don't like the looks of you this morning. When your eyes
are as if there was little imps a-dancing in 'em, then I looks out for
squalls."
"Thank you, Phoebe," I said, laughing and making her a mocking curtsey.
"My eyes feel very flattered, I can assure you."
"Oh, they're well enough, and bright enough," she replied, grudgingly,
"but I should like to see a bit more soberness about them; why, when I
was your age, miss, I was married. Mr. Larkins--
"Poor man," I ejaculated under my breath.
Phoebe did not hear; she was lost in reminiscences of the past.
"Poor, dear Mr. Larkins, he were took quite sudden like; his mother died
of heart complaint, and yet I never thought to say to Larkins, 'Who
knows, my dear, but you might be took the same yourself, one day.'"
"I should think not, Phoebe; it would have made poor Mr. Larkins very
uncomfortable if you had. I daresay," I added, under my breath, "he was
none too happy as it was," but, like all deaf people, the very thing I
did not mean her to hear she heard at once, and turned upon me angrily.
"Not happy, miss! As happy as the day was long was Mr. Larkins, and a
deal happier if the days be these here days in China."
"Oh, Phoebe, the day is bright enough; there is nothing wrong with
that."
"The day is all right for them as wasn't kept awake all night by those
bloodthirsty villains."
"I heard nothing, Phoebe; I was asleep."
"It's all very well for them as can sleep; but, there, you're only a
child, after all."
"Why, Phoebe, you said a minute ago that I was old enough to be
married," and with this parting shot I ran away.
Poor old Phoebe; our troubles pressed sore upon her. I had never seen
her so put out before. She had been in our family for forty years, and
was, therefore, privileged to be very disagreeable sometimes. As I ran
down the path I met Mr. Crawford; he saluted, hesitated, and finally
stopped short.
"Whither away, Miss Nina?"
He had such a kind, honest face, one of those you feel instinctively you
can trust.
"I am going to see Mrs. Ross."
"All by yourself? Pardon me, does the Colonel know of your intention?"
"Oh, yes--that is, I don't know; father was out when I left, but Phoebe
saw me go, and I had to listen to lectures yards long. I hope," I
added, saucily, "that I shall not have to listen to any more."
His boyish face had grown quite grave, his honest eyes had a look of
apprehension in them, but he spoke lightly.
"I see you are a very determined young lady, but perhaps you will allow
me to accompany you so far; then, when I have seen you safe in Mrs.
Ross's hands, I can make my report to the Colonel and set his mind at
rest."
"Oh, you can come if you like," I replied, grandly. I was accustomed to
have a great deal of attention; indeed, I could not have received much
more had I been a little princess. "One would think I was the most
precious thing in the world."
"Well, are you not?" he asked, gravely.
"It depends what precious means," I replied, sapiently. "If it means
very good, I am afraid I am not that--at least, not half so good as
Cicely."
"Who is Cicely?"
"Cicely St. John; she is my cousin; she is altogether lovely," I cried,
with enthusiasm, "and so is Uncle Paul; he is a missionary out here at
Chen-si."
"A missionary--and at Chen-si--then God help him!"
He said the last under his breath, but I heard him.
"Oh, Mr. Crawford," I cried, earnestly, for I love Uncle Paul dearly,
"you do not think he is in danger?"
"I should think he probably left, Miss Nina, before the troubles began,
and you know," reassuringly, "'Ill news flies apace,' so that, as you
have heard nothing to the contrary, you may take it for granted he is
all right."
We had got to the end of our walk now, but he opened the gate for me,
and still lingered.
"I want to know that you are quite safe," he said, smiling. "You see
what a gaoler I am. Ah, there is Mrs. Ross."
I ran to her and kissed her joyfully.
"Nina, darling, how delightful; come to spend a long day with me, I
hope?"
"I should like to," I replied, "if Mr. Crawford will let father know."
"Your obedient slave, Miss Nina; I will be sure to acquaint the Colonel,
and now I must be going."
"Won't you come in, Mr. Crawford?" said Mrs. Ross.
"I fear I cannot," he replied. "I have to report myself at
headquarters. I was on guard last night."
"Any fresh news?" asked Mrs. Ross.
"Nothing but the usual story of the last few days. They have been firing
a lot more houses, and the visions and apparitions are as numerous as
ever."
"And the Red Hand?" asked Mrs. Ross, shuddering.
"Oh, we have got quite accustomed to it by this time," he replied.
He spoke lightly to reassure us, but it was easy to detect a vein of
apprehensiveness behind his light tone.
Mrs. Ross looked pensive, and this pensive look added to her beauty and
made her entrancing.
"Well, Nina," she said, when we were alone, "what would you like to do
this morning?"
"Anything you like, darling," I replied, eagerly. "I am so tired of
doing nothing and sitting in all day. I know what I should like," I
cried, excitedly; "I should like to go into the park."
"The park?" said Mrs. Ross, turning her liquid gaze to the window.
"Yes, it looks inviting this morning. I wonder if we could. I fear
George would not like it--he can't bear me to leave the house; but,
really, everything seems very quiet this morning, I don't see why we
shouldn't go a little way. One does get so tired, as you say, of
sitting in the house. It seems strange," she added, smiling, "the park
being such an excitement to us. It was positively none when we could go
any day, but 'Circumstances alter cases,' to quote a very trite proverb,
and I fear you and I, Nina, are very human, and share the universal
longing for what is out of reach."
"Yes. Do you know," I replied, laughing, "father never will forbid me
anything, because he says he knows I should want to do it immediately?"
"What a character you are giving yourself," smiling. "At any rate you
are true; and, if you loved, you would be easily guided."
"Yes, that is it," I cried. "I would do anything for love's sake; I
love father, and so I would not hurt him for the world; his wishes are
my law."
"Do you know," said Mrs. Ross, turning her lovely eyes on me with a new
expression in their depths, "without meaning it, you have exactly
described the relationship which exists between the renewed soul and the
Father? I shall never forget that sermon your uncle preached on that
subject. 'And because ye are sons, God has sent forth the Spirit of His
Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father.' I don't know what makes me
tell you this, but I have never felt the same since that day."
"No one ever does feel the same after meeting Uncle Paul; but the worst
of it is I get so naughty again when I am away from him."
"So very, very naughty," she said, playfully, "and this is one of your
wicked deeds I fear, and I am aiding and abetting you."
"You darling," I said, fondly, locking my arms in hers, "I don't know
what I should have done in this place without you; and what a nice
morning this is, and how pleasant it is here under the trees."
"Yes, but we had better keep the house in view; you see I have the
caution which comes with age!"
And so we strolled on under the trees, and forgot our troubles for one
short morning. The air seemed deliciously sweet and fresh, though, a
few days later, it grew unbearably hot. We were just thinking of
returning to the house when in the distance I saw a curious object on
the ground; it lay under the trees about 200 yards away, and nothing
would content me but that I must go and find out what it was. In vain
Mrs. Ross expostulated, and pointed out the danger of going so far and
getting out of touch with the houses; the spirit of mischief prompted
me, and I ran away laughing. Lilian followed, entreating me to stop,
but, I am sorry to say, the more excited she grew the more I laughed and
the faster I ran--on and on, until I got quite close to the object which
had excited my curiosity. Judge of my horror when, on looking down, I
found it was one of our own soldiers lying there, dead; he had evidently
been murdered by the Boxers.
I felt sobered in a moment. The beauty of the day had gone, and the sun
seemed cruel now, as it blazed pitilessly down on the man's white,
upturned face. I recognized him at once, for he had been for years in
my father's regiment, and was a great favourite with us all.
And now he lay there in the bright sunshine, dead. I knelt by his side,
quite forgetting the danger we were in, until Lilian Ross came up and
almost dragged me away.
"Nina," she said, "you must be mad; come back with me this instant. We
are out of sight of home, and any moment we may be stopped."
I rose sobbing, and quite subdued now, prepared to follow her quietly,
feeling indifferent to everything. It was too late. As we retraced our
steps, we heard wild shouting and cries, that awful cry that woke the
stillness of the night--"Kill, kill."
Lilian turned as white as snow. I realized that it was through my
rashness; we were probably doomed to a cruel death. I felt it keenly,
because I saw that I had sacrificed Lilian as well as myself, but she
never reproached me.
"Nina," she whispered, hurriedly, "have you got your satchet with you?"
The fear in her lovely eyes was reflected, I know, in mine.
"Yes," I said, fumbling with my hand in the bosom of my dress, "it is
here."
"That is right, we may need it. I do not fear death, not since I met
Mr. St. John; but torture--" and she shuddered.
"Oh, Lilian, and I have brought you to this. I shall never forgive
myself--never."
"You did not mean it, darling."
"No, but it comes to the same thing."
"It may be possible for us to escape, even now; let us take this turn,
Nina, it will lead us round by the other entrance."
The horrid sounds were coming nearer--we turned to flee, but it was too
late. They caught a glimpse of us as we disappeared, and with wild,
horrible cries they came rushing after us. A sensation of cruel
fear--the knowledge that certain death stared us in the face--a quick
review, as in a mirror, of all my past life--an agonized prayer for
help, a sickening sensation of pain--and then a blank. And then----