Sinclair threw off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work

A yell from one of the Chinese attracted the attention of Sinclair and

Gorman

"I'll be thinking of you, Donald, and you'll be thinking of me"

*I*

*STORM SIGNALS*

"Pardon me, Miss MacAllister! Is there any way in which I can be of

service to you?"

The young lady addressed turned quickly from the deck-rail on which she

had been leaning, and with a defiant toss of her head faced her

questioner. A hot flush of resentment chased from her face the

undeniable pallor of a moment before.

"In what way do you think you can be of service to me, Mr. Sinclair?"

she demanded sharply.

"I thought that you were ill, and----"

"And is it so uncommon to be sea-sick, or is it such a dangerous

ailment, that at the first symptom the patient must be cared for as if

she had the plague?"

"Perhaps not! But I am told that it is uncomfortable."

There was a humorous twinkle in his eyes. At the sight of it hers

flashed, and the flame of her anger rose higher.

"From that I am to understand, Mr. Sinclair, that you are one of those

superior beings who never suffer from sea-sickness."

"I must confess to belonging to that class," he replied good-humouredly.

"I have never experienced its qualms."

"Then I abominate such people. They call themselves 'good sailors.'

They offer sympathy to others, and all the while are laughing in their

sleeves. They are insufferable prigs. I want none of their sympathy."

"But, Miss MacAllister, you misunderstand me. I am not offering you

empty sympathy. I am a medical doctor, and for the present am in charge

of the health of the passengers on this ship."

"Then, Dr. Sinclair, I am not in need of your care. I never yet saw a

doctor who could do anything for sea-sickness. Their treatment is all

make-believe. They know no more about it than any one else. I do not

propose to be the subject of experiments. Good-evening."

She was again leaning on the rail, in an attitude which belied her

defiant words.

"Good-evening," replied the young doctor, as he turned away with a

scarcely perceptible shrug of his shoulders, and with an expression of

mingled amusement and annoyance on his face. A low chuckle of laughter

caught his ear. He was passing the cabin of the chief officer, and the

door stood open.

"What is the matter with you, Mr. McLeod?" he asked, the shade of

annoyance passing from his face, and a good-humoured laugh taking its

place.

"Come in and close the door."

"You heard what she said?"

"Yes. How do you feel after that, doctor?"

"Withered; ready to blow away like a dry leaf in autumn!"

"You look it," laughed the mate, as he glanced admiringly at the big,

handsome man who seemed to take up all the available space in the little

cabin, and who was laughing as heartily as if some one else had suffered

instead of himself.

"Isn't she a haughty one?" continued the chief.

"Who is she, anyway? The captain made us acquainted. But you know he

doesn't go into particulars. She was Miss MacAllister. I was Sinclair.

That was our first encounter. You witnessed the second."

"Her father is senior member of the big London firm of 'MacAllister,

Munro Co., China Merchants.' They have hongs at every open port on the

China Coast. He is making an inspection of all their agencies and has

brought his wife and daughter along for company. Being a Scot, he likes

to keep on good terms with the Lord, who is the giver of all good gifts.

So he is mixing religion with business. In the intervals between

examining accounts and sizing up the stock in their godowns, he is

visiting missions, seeing that the missionaries are up to their pidgin,

and preaching to the natives through interpreters."

"Easy seeing, McLeod, that you're a Scot yourself, or the son of a Scot,

from your faculty of acquiring things. Where did you get all this about

the MacAllisters? They joined us only this afternoon at Amoy."

"Oh, yes! But they were with us from Hong-Kong to Swatow last trip.

You missed that, doctor, by going over to Canton. Miss MacAllister and

I got quite chummy. Bright moonlight; dead calm; too hot to turn in and

sleep! So we just sat out or strolled up and down nearly all night. If

you had been there, I should have had no show. See what you missed."

"If what I got to-day be a fair sample of what I missed last trip,

you're welcome to it."

The mate laid back his head and laughed with boyish glee at the rueful

look which came over his friend's countenance, at the mere memory of the

stinging rebuff he had suffered.

"Do not imagine that your lady friend is always in the humour she showed

to-day, doctor. She is pretty sick, and for the first time, too. She

told me before what a good sailor she was. Never missed a meal at sea!

Never had an inclination to turn over!"

"Did she say that, McLeod? That she was a 'good sailor'?"

"Yes."

"The vixen! And then you heard the way she has just soaked it to me for

being a 'good sailor.'"

McLeod shook with laughter.

"Don't be too hard on her, doctor. She has got it good and plenty this

time, and she's disgusted with herself, disgusted with the sea, the

boat, and everything and everybody connected with them."

"She doesn't hesitate to express her disgust," replied the doctor. "I

blundered upon her at an unlucky moment and received the full contents

of the vials of her wrath."

"Never mind; she will soon get over this. Then she will be quite

angelic."

"I guess she got some Chinese chow at Amoy, which didn't agree with

her."

"Perhaps! But it doesn't need any chow to turn over even good sailors

on a sea like this. The Channel can be dirty when it likes. This is

one of the times it has chosen to be dirtier than usual."

The two young men had stepped out of the mate's cabin and were leaning

on the rail looking at the turbulent sea through which they were

steaming. The coast-line had already faded out of sight in the

gathering gloom, but away to the northwest a great, white light winked

at slow intervals of a minute. The tide was setting strongly in a

southerly direction, and the ship was breasting almost directly against

it. The southwest monsoon meeting the tidal current, and perhaps

several other wayward and variable ocean streams which whisk and swirl

through that vexed channel, was kicking up a perfect chaos of broken

waves. Through this choppy turmoil the _Hailoong_ ploughed her way, all

the while pitching and rolling in an exasperating fashion, no two

successive motions of the ship being alike. None but seasoned sailors

could escape the qualms of sickness in such a sea.

"It certainly is nasty enough," said the doctor; "and the appearance of

the weather does not promise much improvement."

"The storm signals were hoisted as we weighed anchor," replied McLeod.

"They indicated a typhoon near the Philippines, but travelling this way.

The captain thought that we could make the run across before it caught

us. But if we don't see some weather before we cross Tamsui bar, I'm no

prophet."

"Seven bells! Guess I had better polish up a bit for dinner."

"Don't throw away too much labour on yourself, Sinclair. She'll not

appear at table this evening."

"_She_ must have made considerable impression on you, Mac, from the

frequency with which your mind recurs to her," retorted Sinclair, as the

two separated to make hasty preparations for dinner.

*II*

*A LULL*

There were not many at dinner that evening. The _Hailoong_ never had a

very heavy passenger list. Her cabin accommodation was limited. On

this trip half of the small number of passengers were in no humour for

dinner.

When Dr. Sinclair entered the saloon, the chief officer, McLeod, was

already at the table. His watch was nearly due, and he did not stand

upon ceremony. Presently Captain Whiteley came in, and with him a tall,

broad-shouldered man of past middle age. Sinclair had barely time to

note the high, broad forehead, and the square jaw, clean shaven except

for a fringe of side-whiskers, trimmed in old-fashioned style, and

meeting under the chin, before the captain introduced him.

"Mr. MacAllister, this is Dr. Sinclair, a Canadian medical man, spying

out the Far East, and incidentally acting as our ship's doctor."

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Dr. Sinclair. I have been in

your country, and have a great respect for the energy and

progressiveness of your countrymen."

"I am glad to know that you have visited Canada, Mr. MacAllister. It

seems to me that most British business men and British public men are

lamentably ignorant of Britain's dominions beyond the seas. It's

refreshing to meet one who has visited these new lands and knows

something of their possibilities."

"It must be acknowledged that too many of us in the British Isles are

insular and conservative in our ideas. But I have always felt that even

in the matter of trade we cannot make a success, unless we know the

people and the wants of the people with whom we do business. Our firm's

largest foreign trade is with China, and this is my fourth visit to the

China Coast. But we have interests in Canada also, and in connection

with them I have spent some months in the Dominion."

"I am quite sure that your interests there will grow. It is a great

country. There is practically no limit to its possibilities. Even the

Canadians themselves are only now discovering that."

"With such a country, and with such possibilities in it for a young man,

I am surprised, Dr. Sinclair, that you have forsaken it to seek your

fortune on the China Coast."

"Seeking one's fortune, in the ordinary meaning of that phrase, is not

the only thing worth living for, Mr. MacAllister. If that were the main

object in life, I should have remained in Canada."

The keen grey eyes of the successful business man searched the young

doctor's face, as if they would read his very thoughts. But Dr.

Sinclair did not answer their questioning gaze, nor volunteer any

explanation of his statement.

"Dr. Sinclair thinks with you," broke in Captain Whiteley, "that a man

is better of seeing life in different parts of the world, even though he

may end up by finding a snug harbour in some out-of-the-way corner."

"Yes," replied the merchant, "that is wise, if he can make any use of

the experience gained."

"And I think that the doctor is nearly as much interested in missions as

you are, Mr. MacAllister, judging from the way he visits them and

studies them at every port."

"Is that so, Dr. Sinclair?" The keen eyes were again reading his face.

"I am interested in anything which proposes to make this old world

better, and to help the men who are in it. That's why I chose medicine

as a profession. I like to see things for myself. That's why I visit

missions."

"And what are your conclusions?"

"I have hardly come to any conclusions yet. I have been only a few

months on the Coast. Tourists and newspaper correspondents know all

about the Far East after spending ten or twelve hours at each of the

ports touched by the big liners. I am not a genius. I cannot form

conclusions so rapidly. But here is a fellow-countryman of mine who

knows more of missions now than, in all probability, I ever shall know."

As he was speaking a man had entered the dining saloon who would have

attracted attention anywhere. It was not his dress or his stature which

would have caused him to be noticed. Like the rest he wore a

close-fitting suit of white drill. He was of barely middle height,

though well-knit, wiry and erect. But the quick, nervous movements, the

piercing dark eyes, which seemed to take in with one swift glance

everything and everybody in the room, betokened the fiery energy of the

soul which burned within. The high forehead, a trifle narrow perhaps,

and the straight line of the mouth, with its firmly-closed lips,

indicated intensity of purpose and determination. A long black beard

flowed down on his chest, contrasting sharply with the spotless white of

his clothing.

"Mr. MacAllister, have you met Dr. MacKay?"

"I have not had that pleasure. Is this MacKay of Formosa?"

"I am MacKay."

"It is a great pleasure to me to meet you. I have heard so much of your

work."

"I hope it may have been good."

"What else could it be? I am told that it is marvellous what you have

accomplished in so short a time and almost alone."

"All have not that opinion of my work."

"All who spoke of it to me had that opinion. If what they told me is

true, as I believe it is, how could they think otherwise?"

"Different men have different methods. So have different missions.

Some can see no good in any but their own. My methods differ from those

of others. They have not approved themselves to many of my seniors in

the mission fields of China."

"I shall be glad to study your methods and see your results for myself."

"You shall have the opportunity."

The little group of officers and passengers were ere this seated at the

table. In addition to those already mentioned there was the chief

engineer, Watson, a Scot from the Clyde. There was also a passenger, a

tea-buyer from New York.

The latter sat opposite Dr. MacKay at the mate's left. He had been

listening to the conversation with a look of amused contempt on his

flabby face. At the head of the table the captain, the engineer,

Sinclair, and MacAllister formed one group, who were soon deep in

conversation. The tea-buyer took advantage of their preoccupation to

address his neighbour across the table:

"So you are one of those missionaries."

"I am."

"Been gettin' a pretty fine collection of souls saved."

"I never saved a soul. Never expect to."

The mate chuckled to himself. But the point was lost on the tea-buyer.

He thought that he had scored.

"Glad to see that you have come round to my point of view," he said;

"and that there is one missionary honest enough to acknowledge it."

"And what is your point of view?"

"My point of view is that the red-skins and the black-skins and the

brown-skins and the yaller-skins ain't got any souls, any more than a

dog has."

"I do not know of any reason why the colour of a man's skin should

affect his possession of a soul." MacKay spoke very quietly. The

tea-buyer began to bluster.

"Reason or no reason, no man is going to make me believe that any of the

niggers or Chinees or any of the rest of them have souls. Christian or

no Christian, a nigger is a nigger, a Chinee is a Chinee, a Dago is a

Dago, and a Sheeny is a Sheeny from first to last. All the missionary

talk and missionary money-getting is nothing but damned graft, and the

missionaries know it. Boy! One piecee whiskey-soda! Chop-chop!"

"All lite! Have got." And the "boy," a Chinese waiter perhaps sixty or

seventy years old, quickly and noiselessly brought the bottles.

"I suppose you have had abundance of opportunity to see and judge for

yourself before you came to those conclusions, Mr. Clark," said MacKay.

There was that in his tone which would have made most men careful in

their reply. But Clark was too self-confident to be wary, and repeated

whiskeys and sodas had made him still less cautious.

"You may bet your bottom dollar I have," he replied. "I have known

niggers and Dagos since I was knee-high to a grasshopper; and I have

spent every season on the China Coast for the last five or six years.

Oh, yes! I know what I'm talking about. I know them from the ground

up."

"Doubtless you have visited many of the churches and chapels at the

different ports where you have done business, and have for yourself seen

the natives at worship."

"Me visit their churches! Not on your life! What do you take me for?

I take no stock in any of their joss pidgin. I'd sooner go to a native

temple than to a native church. But I've never been in either."

"Then I am afraid that I must assist your memory, Mr. Clark. You were

in a native church."

"Me? Never!"

"If I am not mistaken, Mr. Clark, you were a passenger on the American

bark _Betsy_, when she was wrecked on South Point, just outside of Saw

Bay, a year ago last November."

"I was. But I don't see what that has to do with the subject we were

discussing."

"The _Betsy's_ boats were all smashed as soon as they touched water."

MacKay was speaking in the dead level tones of suppressed emotion. But

there was something so penetrating in his voice that the conversation at

the other end of the table ceased, and all were listening. "The

Pe-po-hoan or Malay natives there went out through the surf in their

fishing-boats and took every man off safely."

"Yes," replied Clark uneasily, "that's all right enough. But I reckon

we could have made the shore ourselves."

"They took you to their village, called Lam-hong-o: they opened their

church: the preacher gave up his own house to you: they made beds for

you there and fed you."

"Damned poor accommodation, and damned poor grub! Boy! One piecee

whiskey! Be quick about it!"

"All lite! No wanchee soda? My can catchee."

"No! Damn the soda!"

"All lite! All lite! Dammee soda!"

"I shall not say anything, Mr. Clark, of the return those white men with

souls made to those brown men without souls who saved them. But I shall

tell you what would have happened if the missionaries had not gone to

Lam-hong-o; if there had not been a chapel there; if those brown-skins

had not been Christians. Your ship would have been pillaged. Your heads

would have been cut off. Your carcasses would have been fed to the

sharks. But they were Christians. So they saved you. They fed you.

They clothed you. They sent you home with all your belongings that they

were able to save from the sea."

"Right you are, MacKay!" exclaimed Captain Whiteley, bringing his fist

down on the table with a thump which threatened to throw on the floor

the few dishes which the motion of the ship had not already dashed out

of the retaining frames. "Right you are! Nearly thirty years ago I was

on the _Teucer_, Captain Gibson, as senior apprentice with rank of

fourth mate. We were bound from Liverpool to Shanghai, but ran on the

rocks a little farther down the East Coast than the _Betsy_ did. There

were thirty-one of us all told. We got ashore without the loss of a man.

But when those devils of natives were done with us, there were only

three of us left alive--the carpenter, an A.B., and myself. And we

wished that we were dead. We would have been dead, too, before long.

But after being worked as slaves for nine months, a Chinaman, who had

been with the missionaries on the mainland, bought us from the Malays,

and rowed us out to the first foreign ship he saw, the old _Spindrift_.

She took us to Shanghai."

As the captain finished speaking MacKay rose and left the table. As was

his wont, he had eaten sparingly and quickly. MacAllister was pressing

Captain Whiteley for more details of his captivity among the

head-hunters. McLeod was on the point of going out to his watch.

"That was score one on you, Clark," he said to his neighbour. "It

doesn't pay to get too fresh even with a parson."

"I don't see that it's any of your pidgin to stick up for those fakirs,"

retorted the tea-buyer angrily.

"And I don't make it my pidgin," replied McLeod, "but it wasn't up to

you to butt in on a man like MacKay the way you did. He gave you what

you deserved."

"He needn't have flared up so and brought in all those mock-heroics

about what those niggers of his did. I was only jollying him. He made

things a great deal worse than they were."

"He didn't make things half as bad as they were, Clark. What about the

way the native preacher's daughter was used by the men to whom the

preacher gave up his house and his church? Those brown-skins may have

no souls. But MacKay believes they have. To my thinking they have a

good deal more soul than the white-skins who did what was done there.

You fellows went the limit. I wonder that MacKay let you off so easy."

"Oh!--Say!--Damn it, McLeod, that's going too far.--I'll not stand for

that.--Say!--Here!--McLeod!--Wait and we'll break a bottle of

champagne.--Here!--Boy! One piecee champagne!"

"No, thank you, Clark! It's my watch."

At the door the chief officer paused and called back:

"Say, Doc, when you are done feeding that big body of yours, come up on

the bridge."

"All right, Mac. I'll be with you."

*III*

*THE TYPHOON*

When Dr. Sinclair joined his friend on the bridge, a very marked change

had come over the weather. It was intensely hot and sultry even where

the circulation of air was freest. The wind was no longer blowing

steadily from the south-west. It came in short puffs, dying away

entirely between them, and veering around quarter of a circle. The

short, broken waves of earlier in the evening were giving place to a

long swell, coming up from the south. The movement of the ship was much

easier. One or two passengers who had been unable to appear at dinner

had recovered sufficiently to come on deck and escape the unbearable

sultriness and stuffiness of the cabins.

"It's coming all right, doctor. Going to catch us sure. I don't care

so much if it will only wait till daylight. I have no ambition to be

floundering around this channel in a typhoon in the dark."

"How's the glass?"

"Away down, and still going. Haven't seen it so low since the big

typhoon that cleaned up Hong-Kong Harbour a couple of years ago."

"What prospect is there that the big blow will hold off till morning?"

"Oh, pretty fair! The rain hasn't started yet, and on this coast we

generally get splashes of rain for quite a few hours before the real

thing begins. The sea is rising, but not very fast yet. I don't think

we'll see very bad weather till to-morrow."

Just then a merry ripple of woman's laughter sounded from away aft.

"Listen to that, Sinclair," said the mate. "That 'sweet Highland girl'

of yours has evidently recovered sufficiently to come on deck. She's

back there talking to the captain. I hope he may be as gallant as he

sometimes is with our rare lady passengers, and may bring her up here to

view the scenery. I should just like to see how you and she would act

at your first meeting after the little tiff you had to-day. I'm

interested in this case, doctor."

"What the deuce is the matter with you anyway, McLeod? You are talking

a lot of rot to me about a young woman I have never seen before. Surely

our experiences so far have been unpropitious enough. If it were not

that I know about a little girl away back on your own Island, I should

say that those moonlight promenades between Hong-Kong and Swatow had

turned your head."

"Never mind, Doc. You know that a bad beginning makes a good ending.

We people of Highland blood have a sort of second sight. We can see a

bit into the future. I give you fair warning----"

There was another ripple of laughter, this time from forward, almost

under the bridge. Then a woman's voice said:

"Oh, Captain Whiteley, I behaved myself most shockingly to-day."

"Surely not, Miss MacAllister. I couldn't conceive of your doing

anything which wasn't charming."

"You told me that you were a Yorkshireman, Captain Whiteley. After such

a speech as that I believe that you must have been born near Blarney

Castle. But I really did behave shamefully."

"How?"

"I said just awful things to your doctor."

"And what ever did Dr. Sinclair do to deserve those 'awful things'?"

"It was all your fault, Captain Whiteley. When you introduced him, you

did not tell me that he was a doctor. I was sea-sick, and--and in just

dreadful humour. He offered assistance. I did not know that he was a

medical doctor, sauced him, and sent him about his business. And now

what shall I do to make amends? It was all your fault----"

Anything more was lost to the ears of the two young men on the bridge,

as she and the captain strolled slowly aft. But the rippling laughter

reached their ears from time to time.

"Not very penitent, that!" laughed McLeod.

"Did you catch on to the reason she gave for saucing me, because she

didn't know that I was a medical doctor? It was just when she found out

that I was a doctor that she gave me the worst. Doesn't that beat the

Dutch?"

"'O woman! in our hours of ease,

Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,'"

quoted McLeod.

In the light of the binnacle lamp the two friends looked into each

other's eyes and laughed heartily. There was no cynicism, no cheap scoff

at a woman's variableness. Instead there was that manly

healthy-mindedness which can afford to laugh at her inexplicable ways,

and honour and admire her still.

"By the way, McLeod, Dr. MacKay put it all over Clark this evening,

didn't he? I couldn't hear it all. Caught just the last few sentences.

But I thought, from what I heard, that he was giving that old Mormon

some knockout blows."

"You're right he was. But not half as much as he deserved. There are

some white men who come out here who wouldn't be decent company for

pigs. Clark is one of them. I'm no paragon of virtue, and I don't set

up to preach to others. But there are a lot of us on the China Coast

who try to keep decent enough not to be ashamed to go home once in a

while and look our mothers and sisters in the face. There are a number

of others who are simply rotten. They give us all a bad name. Mormon!

Yes, worse than that! He could give points to old Abdul Hamid of

Turkey."

A dash of warm rain driving before a sharp squall of wind struck them.

The _Hailoong_ was rising and falling with the mighty heave of the great

swells which were following each other in regular succession from the

south, each apparently bigger than the last. Captain Whiteley climbed

the ladder to the bridge.

"Looks as if we were in for a bad night, Mr. McLeod."

"Yes, sir; and a worse day to follow."

"From the way the sea is rising, I'm afraid we cannot make Tamsui before

it breaks."

"I am sure we cannot. I'll be satisfied if it only waits till daylight.

We may have our hands full even with the light."

"I see that you have been making things snug. That's right. I'll have a

look at everything before eight bells."

The captain went down to see that every preparation was made. McLeod

spoke to his companion.

"You had better turn in, Sinclair," he said. "Get a bit of rest. You

may be needed to-morrow. Good-night."

"Good-night, Mac."

* * * * *

How long he was in his berth, how much of that time he slept, how much

was spent in more or less conscious efforts to keep from being thrown

about his cabin, Sinclair did not know. Accustomed though he was to the

sea and to storms, there came a time when he could remain in his berth

no longer. The angle at which the ship lay over told him that she was

still holding in her course of the night before. His cabin was still on

the lee side. He opened his door and stepped out, grasping the

hand-rail with all his might to keep from being hurled off his feet.

Such a sight met his eyes as is rarely seen even by the sailor who

spends his life at sea. The _Hailoong_ was heeled over so far that it

seemed hardly possible that she could right herself. It appeared to be

the force of the wind rather than of the waves which had thrown her on

her beam ends, for she did not recover herself as she ought to have done

between the assaults of the billows. Held in that position by sheer

wind pressure, she was deluged with water, rain, spray, torn crests of

waves--the air was full of them, while ever and anon some mountainous

roller, higher than its fellows, swept across her decks in a smother of

green water and snowy foam.

So dark was it that at first Sinclair could scarcely tell whether it was

night or day. Presently he made out some figures clinging desperately

to anything which would afford a hold of safety. He made his way slowly

towards them. They were McLeod and a couple of the crew, looking to the

lashings of the boats.

"Man, but it's a wild morning whatever!" roared the mate in his ear,

lapsing into the idiom of his native province when his feelings were

greatly stirred.

"How is she standing it?"

"Fine, so far! The starboard boats are smashed. No other damage done

that I know of. But it's hard to tell what may be happening to

starboard. Nothing to be seen but water!"

"The engines are working all right," said the doctor, as he noted the

steady throb and quiver running like an undertone through the succession

of terrific shocks the ship was receiving from the waves.

"Ay, and if they don't work all right, it'll not be Watson's fault.

Yon's a grand man whatever."

The mate was off, traversing the tilted deck with marvellous agility and

sureness of foot. The doctor went below to see if he could be of any

service to the passengers. An hour or more passed, and he was again on

deck, working his way forward to get as good a view as possible.

There in the shelter of the forward cabin stood Dr. MacKay. He was

bareheaded; his long, black beard was blowing in the wind; his white

suit was drenched as if he had been overboard; his keen eyes were

striving to pierce the murk of cloud and rain and spray which turned the

day almost into night. He seemed to be expecting to get a glimpse of

the land.

He was not clinging to the hand-rail, but had his hands clasped behind

his back. In spite of the distressing angle at which the ship's deck

was tilted, in spite of her pitching and plunging, he seemed able to

accommodate himself to her every movement. A man of big stature and

splendid physical development himself, Sinclair could not help pausing

for some minutes to admire the poise and self-control of that

comparatively small, spare, but erect and athletic figure. Then he

stepped a little nearer and shouted:

"Do you often have storms like this in Formosa?"

"I have seen as bad; perhaps worse: but not often."

"Do you think that we're near Tamsui?"

"We must be."

"Can we make the harbour?"

"Not this time. We'll be late for the tide."

"A bad wind for putting about and getting out to sea again!"

"'Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of His hand?'"

At that instant a tremendous billow tumbled on board with such a weight

of water that for some moments it seemed as if the _Hailoong_ could not

rise from beneath it. It caught two Chinese deck-hands, tore them from

the bridge supports to which they were clinging, and swept them

helplessly from starboard to port. Like a flash MacKay's left hand shot

out, grasped a thin brown wrist, and swung one of the natives into the

shelter of the cabin. But the other was dashed with terrific force

against the deck-rail, where he lay motionless.

Sinclair sprang forward to help him. A second wave hurled him against

the rail. He did not fall, but performed some weird gymnastics in the

effort to keep his feet. And through the shrieking of the wind and the

roar of the waves he heard a clear, joyous woman's laugh, the same as he

had heard the night before. There in the shelter of the cabin, on

almost the very spot where he had stood a moment before, was Miss

MacAllister, looking like the very spirit of the storm.

That was too much. Even Sinclair's usually unruffled temper began to

give way. He caught up the helpless Chinese as if he had been a child,

and with one quick spring was back to shelter.

"You seem to find it very amusing to see men hurt, Miss MacAllister," he

said almost fiercely.

"I did not know that you were hurt, Dr. Sinclair, or I should not have

laughed. I am so sorry."

"I'm not hurt," said the young man even more ferociously than before;

"but this man is injured, seriously injured, I'm afraid. He's still

unconscious."

"Oh, but I was not laughing at him. I was laughing at you. You would

have laughed yourself if you could have seen the figure you cut going

across the deck. Really, Dr. Sinclair, you would. I simply could not

help it."

She looked up in his face with such a childlike innocence of expression,

such confidence in the validity of the excuse, that even Dr. MacKay's

somewhat stern face relaxed, and he turned away to hide a smile. As for

Dr. Sinclair, he was helpless. He could not remain angry under the

circumstances. His good-humoured laugh broke out as he replied:

"We must accept your confession, believe in your penitence, and grant

you absolution."

He and MacKay went below with the injured Chinese, but in a few minutes

reappeared on deck.

"I have not seen your father to-day, Miss MacAllister," said Dr. MacKay.

"He is in his stateroom with mother. She is very ill and he will not

leave her."

"I must congratulate you on being so good a sailor. You do not show a

symptom of sea-sickness. That is quite remarkable in such a storm as

this."

She shot a quick glance at Sinclair. He did not seem to be paying

attention to what they were saying. But a quizzical smile playing about

his eyes and mouth betrayed his interest in the conversation and his

remembrance of what had taken place the evening before.

"Indeed, Dr. MacKay, I am not a good sailor at all. I have been

sea-sick when there was only a little chop on the water. I was sea-sick

yesterday. I should have been sick to-day, only this storm is so

interesting that I have not had time to think about myself. When the

officers and crew are being tossed about the deck by the waves, like

dead leaves on a burn in autumn, it is really too interesting and

amusing to be missed."

The rare smile lighted up the missionary's face as he glanced at

Sinclair. The latter accepted the challenge, and a quick answer was on

his tongue, when McLeod hurried past. He paused long enough to say to

Sinclair:

"We're opposite the harbour, doctor, but we can't make it." Then he ran

up on the bridge to join Captain Whiteley, who had not left it since

midnight.

The words were intended for Sinclair alone. But a momentary lull in the

storm made them louder than McLeod anticipated. Sinclair's two

companions heard them. Yet neither showed any trace of concern--neither

the mature man who had faced death scores of times on sea and on land,

nor the young woman who had never knowingly been in danger before.

The same brief lull in the force of the wind brought an equally

momentary gleam of light through the darkness, which had up till then

made noonday as gloomy as a late twilight. That gleam lighted for a few

short seconds the landscape, and showed the storm-tossed company where

they were. There directly ahead was the harbour of Tamsui, with the

green and purple hills beyond. There on the nearest hill-top was the

Red Fort which for two and a half centuries had braved such storms as

this. Just beyond it were the low white bungalows of the mission,

nearly hidden in the trees, where anxious eyes were watching for one who

was on that battling ship. There, too, were the black balls hanging on

the yard-arm at the signal station, saying that the tide was falling and

the bar impassable. And the two white beacons for a single instant in

line, and then widening apart, told the seamen that not only the tempest

but the ebb tide, sweeping past the mouth of the harbour, was bearing

them full upon the long curving beach of sand and shells which lay just

to the north, where the surf was beating so furiously.

It takes time to tell. But in reality the respite lasted only a few

seconds. Then the typhoon burst upon them again, with apparently

redoubled violence. The darkness and the tumult of wind and waves were

appalling.

"I wonder that you are not afraid," said Sinclair to Miss MacAllister,

losing sight of their passages at arms in the seriousness of the

situation.

"Should I be afraid?" was her reply.

"Most people would be."

"Are you afraid?"

"No: I do not think I am."

"Well, if you and the other officers who know whatever danger there may

be are not afraid, I do not see why I should. They know the situation.

I do not. When they tell me that there is serious danger, it will be

time enough for me to be frightened."

Then for the first time Sinclair turned upon her a look of genuine

admiration. Up to that moment she had been to him a mischievous,

teasing, whimsical girl, with a quick wit and a ready tongue, who had

been amusing herself at his expense. Now he saw another side to her

character. There was a strong, brave nature under the light, changeful

surface humours he had seen before.

If she were not afraid, there was at least one passenger who was.

During the brief lull in the storm Clark, the tea-buyer, had come on

deck. He had hardly reached it when the second fury of the typhoon

burst upon them. He was now clinging to the hand-rail, with a face so

flabby and ghastly that it was terrible to look upon. He was not

sea-sick. He was too experienced a sailor for that. But he was afraid,

horribly afraid. As the murk and gloom closed down again, and a

gigantic wall of water broke over the ship, making her shudder and

struggle like a living thing in death agony, Clark's voice was heard

rising in a scream above the roar of the elements:

"MacKay, for God's sake, why don't you pray?"

MacKay looked at the man clinging there in abject terror. For a moment

the keen, stern face softened as if in pity. Then it seemed as if the

memory of something--was it of that wreck on the East Coast, and the

evil deeds done in the chapel and the preacher's house there?--flashed

through his mind. His face hardened again, and in a voice like ice he

replied:

"Men who honour God when the days are fine do not have to howl to Him

for help in the time of storm."

What more the terror-stricken boaster of the evening before may have

said was lost on his companions, for something was happening which

engrossed all their attention. Down in the engine-room bells jangled

sharply. The screw began to thresh the water at a tremendous rate. The

_Hailoong_ heeled still farther to port, began to forge ahead, bumped

something, was caught by a mighty wave squarely on the stern, righted

herself, and plunged forward. Then Sinclair realized what was

happening.

"Everybody below!" he shouted. "Quick! The next will catch us on this

side. Dr. MacKay, help Miss MacAllister."

Seizing the helpless Clark, he flung him by main strength into safety.

They were scarcely under cover when a big roller tumbled on board on the

port side. The _Hailoong_ had turned almost completely around, and was

fighting her way out to sea.

All afternoon and far into the night the brave little vessel battled

with the waves to get back to the coast of the mainland. At last her

anxious officers were rewarded by a distant, hazy gleam of light through

the dense, water-laden atmosphere. Fifteen seconds passed, almost

minutes in length. Again the white beam shot athwart the darkness.

Then regularly and growing ever nearer, at intervals of fifteen seconds,

the great white light flashed, showing the way to safety. It was

Turnabout lighthouse, behind which lay Haitan Straits, winding among the

islands, and between them and the mainland shore.

Into one of their many natural harbours the _Hailoong_ cautiously felt

her way, and cast anchor in a quiet basin among the hills. There

nothing but the torrents of rain falling and the roar of the surf beyond

the island barrier remained to tell of the dangers they had passed

through. Then Captain Whiteley left the bridge for the first time in

more than twenty-four hours. Neither he nor his chief officer had found

a chance to sleep for forty-eight hours.

For years afterwards only three persons knew exactly what happened on

the bridge that day. Then when Captain Whiteley was commanding a Castle

boat running to the Cape, and McLeod had a big trans-Pacific liner, the

quarter-master, who with a Chinese sea-cunny had been at the

_Hailoong's_ wheel, felt absolved from the promise he had made to McLeod

to keep the secret, and told what he knew.

When the momentary lifting of the clouds showed the captain that the

wind combined with the ebb of the tide had carried them past the line of

entrance to the harbour, towards the shoaling beach on which the surf

was beating, he shouted to his mate:

"My God, McLeod, we're lost!"

"Not so bad as that yet, sir!" was the reply.

"There isn't room to turn and clear that shoal water. To starboard it's

stern on: to port it's broadside on."

"We haven't tried, sir!"

"Then, for God's sake, McLeod, try!"

The words had hardly left the captain's lips when the engineer received

the signal for full steam ahead, and the mate, springing into the

wheel-house, flung himself on the wheel, and with the combined strength

of three men forced it over. The _Hailoong_ responded gallantly. Her

head swung directly towards the dreaded shoal, passed it, and pointed

out to sea. So close was she that when the wind caught her stern it

dropped just for an instant between two rollers on the hard, smooth

sand. But the next one lifted her, gave her churning screw a chance,

and the ebb tide, which a moment before had been threatening to send her

broadside to destruction, now helped to bear her past the long receding

curve of the sand bank, out into the open sea.

"That was the tightest corner I ever was in," Whiteley used to say

afterwards; "and it was McLeod who took us out."

But McLeod, in a moment of confidence, said to Sinclair:

"Man, but that engineer, Watson, is the jewel whatever! He let his

second handle the levers, while himself held pistols to the heads of the

Chinese stokers, and told them to shovel or die in their tracks. That's

what saved us. He's a jewel. I never saw his likes whatever."

*IV*

*PARRIED*

It was a bright, calm summer day, perfect in its tropical splendour,

when the _Hailoong_ arrived off the port of Tamsui. On the blue,

smiling sea and rich green shore not a trace remained of the furious

storm of two days before. Where, save for one brief gleam, all had been

hidden from sight by the blackness of the tempest and the deluge of rain

and spray, there now lay before the ship's company as fair a landscape

as the eye could wish to look upon.

Immediately in front of them was the broad, brimming river, its

sand-spits and oyster-beds hidden beneath the waters of the full tide.

On the right or southern shore a mountain rose from its margin in an

isolated peak to the height of seventeen hundred feet, clothed with

dense verdure to the very summit. To the left, on a hill and plateau two

hundred feet high, were the red brick buildings of the old Dutch fort,

the residence of the British consul, and the mission schools, and the

white bungalows of the missionaries and customs officers. At the foot

of this hill and along the river bank, the mean buildings of the Chinese

town of Tamsui straggled off until lost to sight around the curve. Its

limits were marked by the little forest of masts of the junks which lay

along in front of the town. In the centre of the river, directly

opposite the mission houses, a trim gunboat rested at anchor. Over all

rose the Taitoon Mountains in successive ranges of green and purple and

blue, the highest and farthest summits blending with the unclouded sky.

Exclamations of delight burst from those of the passengers who had never

looked upon the scene before.

"Father, isn't this just glorious?"

"It certainly is. I have often heard of the beauty of Formosa, but this

first view quite exceeds my expectations."

"It was worth while experiencing that typhoon and being delayed for two

days. It heightens the enjoyment of a scene like this. We should not

have appreciated it so much if we had been favoured with a peaceful

voyage. Do you not think so, Dr. MacKay?"

"Perhaps you are right, Miss MacAllister. But Formosa is always

beautiful to me. It never loses its charm. I have gone up and down it

for more than a dozen years. I never grow weary of it. It never palls

upon me. It is still to me as the first day I saw it 'Ilha Formosa,'

the Beautiful Isle. It always will be Beautiful Formosa."

There was an accent in his reply which spoke of more than love for the

scenery. Miss MacAllister was not slow to detect it. She heard in it

the passionate devotion of a heroic soul to the cause to which he had

given his life. It struck a responsive chord somewhere in her own

being. It was with a softened voice, a voice expressive of sympathy and

admiration, that she said:

"You love the island and its people, Dr. MacKay?"

"I do."

And Sinclair, who chanced to be standing near, as once before during the

storm, saw the veil of her surface waywardness lifted and caught a

glimpse of a character beneath which was capable of serious purpose.

"Mr. McLeod, that sampan over there with the flag is hailing us."

It was the captain's voice which broke in on the conversation of the

group on deck.

"Yes, sir," replied the chief. "It came out from the pilot village, and

has been waiting for us."

"I wonder what's up?"

"I don't know, sir. Hold on, they are signalling from the Customs."

In an instant the chief officer had a glass focussed on the flagpole at

the customs offices. The other officers and the passengers stood silent

while the little fluttering oblongs and triangles of red, white, yellow,

and blue talked.

"What do they say, chief?"

"Wait for a pilot. Danger."

"A pilot! The devil! What do they take us for? Some tramp which has

never been here before? Perhaps the typhoon shifted the bar."

While he spoke, McLeod had swung his glass upon the approaching Chinese

boat. Two fishermen, standing up and pushing forward on their long

oars, were driving it rapidly through the water. Their bodies, naked to

the waist, and their legs, bare save for the shortest of cotton

trousers, were covered with perspiration and shone in the sun like

burnished copper. In the stern sat a Chinese in a dress which was an

indescribable cross between Chinese official robes and a Western

uniform.

"That's a Chinese military or naval officer of some kind, sir," said the

mate. "They must be in a mix-up with somebody. Perhaps the French have

taken it into their heads to annex Formosa."

The sampan shot alongside, and with unexpected agility the Chinese

officer clambered up the sea-ladder.

"The captain will please to excuse me," he said in slow, precise

English, "for offering to pilot his ship into the harbour. The

captain's skill as a pilot is well known to me. The government of China

regrets to find itself in a state of war with the government of France.

Therefore, His Excellency, the Provincial Governor of Formosa, has laid

down mines for the defence of the port of Tamsui. As I have knowledge

of the position of the mines, he has commanded me to pilot the captain's

ship past the mines into the harbour."

He concluded his little speech with a profound bow. The captain's reply

was brief:

"The ship is yours, sir."

Another profound bow, and the Chinese officer was in charge.

Captain Whiteley turned to Mr. MacAllister.

"I am sorry, sir," he said, "that the French have taken the notion to

transfer their scrimmage with the Chinese to Formosa just at this

moment. It will interfere with your plans."

"It probably will interfere somewhat with our movements. But, on the

other hand, it may be of advantage to us. We are out to learn, and are

not hampered by lack of time. I am deeply interested in your pilot. He

seems perfectly at home, and to know his business thoroughly."

"Not the slightest doubt of that! This is not the first time he has

navigated a ship. Very likely he has spent years of apprenticeship on

board a British or American man-of-war."

"Is China getting her young man trained like that?"

"They are getting themselves trained. The government isn't awake yet.

But many of the young men are. The old China is passing. This is one

of the pioneers of the new China which is coming. It will take time.

But when it does come, mark my words, the Western nations will have to

sit up and take notice."

Meanwhile the _Hailoong_, under the command of her Oriental pilot,

crossed the bar and zigzagged her way slowly up the river, following

invisible channels through the field of hidden mines until she reached

her berth at the customs jetty.

Leaning on the rail, Sinclair watched with keenest interest the little

crowd of foreigners and natives gathered on the shore and jetty, waiting

for the passengers to disembark. He had met a number of them on a

former trip to this port, and occasionally waved his hand or gave a

greeting to some one he recognized.

There was a sprinkling of officers of the Imperial Maritime Customs,

sunburned young Britons for the most part, who had taken service under

the brilliant Irishman whose genius had saved the Chinese Government

from bankruptcy. There were the representatives of the various foreign

business firms, all British, glad to leave their hongs for an hour, to

experience the little excitement caused by the coming of the weekly

steamer, and to welcome those whom they had almost given up for lost.

The foreign community doctor had found time from his not very pressing

duties to come down to the landing and call a "Wie geht es Ihnen?" to

his confrere on board the _Hailoong_.

Contrasting with the close-fitting snow-white garments of the foreigners

were the long, blue, or mauve silk gowns with, in some cases, sleeveless

yellow jackets over them, of the Chinese Christian preachers and

students who were there to do honour to Dr. MacKay. Darting back and

forth, chattering, screaming, quarrelling in high-pitched nasal tones,

were bronzed, sweating, almost naked coolies, each trying to get ahead

of the other and earn the most cash.

It was a scene of which Sinclair never tired. Fascinated by this strange

mingling of the East and the West he leaned over the rail, watching

every movement. A quick step approached him:

"Dr. Sinclair, as soon as your duties here are done, you will come to my

house and be my guest. The college coolies will bring up your baggage.

If I am not there, Mrs. MacKay will receive you and look after your

wants."

"Thank you, Dr. MacKay. I shall be very glad to accept your hospitality

for a time. I shall probably be with you to-morrow."

MacKay was gone as quickly as he had come. A minute or two later his

native converts were receiving him with the oft-repeated salutation:

"Peng-an, Kai Bok-su! Kai Bok-su, peng-an!" (Peace, Pastor MacKay!

Pastor MacKay, peace!).

One of the oldest preachers walked off with him up the narrow, climbing

path. The rest tailed out in single file behind.

There was another quicker and lighter step, accompanied by the rustle of

a woman's garments. Sinclair turned to find himself face to face with

Miss MacAllister. Her eyes were sparkling with mischief, her hand was

extended in farewell:

"Good-bye, Dr. Sinclair. I have enjoyed this voyage so much. I hope

that we shall meet again. But, if we should not, I shall never forget

your rescue of that Chinese, the heroism and the grace you displayed.

Really, I never shall."

It was premeditated, and she intended to escape the moment the shaft was

shot. But Sinclair was not so nonplussed as he had been at their first

encounter. He held her hand firmly so that she could not get away, long

enough to reply:

"Good-bye, Miss MacAllister. I am delighted to know that I have given

you pleasure. I should be happy to make a similar exhibition of myself

any day, if it would only contribute to your enjoyment."

He released her hand and she escaped into the saloon. The colour which

overspread her face was not all the flush of triumph. This time she had

met the unexpected.

"Well parried, Doc," said a voice beside him. "That fair tyrant was

beginning to think that you were an easy mark. But you gave her as much

as you got this time.... Here's a chit for you.... From the consulate."

"Where's the boy?" said Sinclair, taking the letter McLeod held out to

him. "I had better sign his chit-book."

"You don't need to. I signed for you. There's the boy going back,"

replied the mate, pointing to a Chinese in the dark blue and red uniform

of the British consul's service, climbing the steep path up to where the

old Dutch fort and the consul's house crowned the lofty hill above them.

"Don't think that you are the only one to get a _billet-doux_ like that.

The captain and I are among the favoured. It's a bid to dinner at the

consulate to-morrow evening."

Sinclair opened and glanced at the note. It was a brief and formal

invitation:

"Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp request the pleasure of the company of Dr.

Donald Sinclair at dinner at 7:30 on Tuesday the 5th instant.

H. B. M. Consulate,

Tamsui,

August 4th, 1884."

"I guess I'll be able to go. Though I promised to put myself in

MacKay's hands to-morrow, and he may have something else on for me."

"No danger! MacKay knows everything that's going on as well as the next

one. He will not ask you to do anything which will conflict with a

dinner at the consulate. If he's at home, he'll be there himself. You

just lay out to be present. Mrs. Beauchamp is famous for the chow she

provides. Where she gets it out here off the earth, I don't know. And

for entertaining guests, she and Beauchamp haven't their equals on the

Coast."

"You're a great pleader, Mac. I'll give you my word. I'll go."

"And the Highland girl will be there."

"Look here, McLeod, you're gone batty on that subject. I know an

address in Prince Edward Island. If you continue to talk as foolishly as

you have been doing the last few days, I'll write and peach on you."

"Oh, no, you won't! But just to change the subject, look at old De Vaux

meeting them. He's so excited that I shouldn't wonder to see him take

an apoplectic fit."

Mr. MacAllister, his wife, and daughter had just left the boat. A

large, fleshy man, with a clean-shaven, florid face, bulging blue eyes,

and all his features except the double chin bunched unnecessarily close

together, was hurrying forward to meet them in a state of perspiring

excitement and nervousness. He was carrying his white sun-helmet in one

hand, mopping his brows with a huge handkerchief held in the other, and

all the while the mid-summer tropical sun was beaming down on his

shining face, and on his head with its quite inadequate covering of

hair.

"Mr. MacAllister! ... You cannot know what pleasure it gives me to

welcome you to Formosa.... 'Pon my soul, you cannot! ... I have been

twenty years in Formosa, and this is the greatest pleasure I have

experienced.... 'Pon my honour, it is!"

"Glad to see you again, Mr. De Vaux. If I remember right, the last time

we saw each other was in our office at Amoy, five years ago last May."

"That is so, Mr. MacAllister.... Lord, what a memory you have! ... I

don't know another man on the China Coast who would have remembered a

date like that.... 'Pon my soul, I do not!"

"Mr. De Vaux, I wish you to meet my wife and daughter. My dear, allow

me to present Mr. De Vaux. My wife, Mr. De Vaux. My daughter, Mr. De

Vaux."

The stout man bent double in profound bows, dropping his hat to the very

ground, gurgling something almost inarticulate with excitement:

"Mrs. MacAllister! ... I am so pleased! ... Bless my soul! Miss

MacAllister.... This is the happiest moment of my life.... 'Pon my

honour, it is!"

Above them on the deck Sinclair was saying to McLeod:

"Who is this De Vaux, anyway? Of course, I know that he is chief agent

in Formosa of MacAllister, Munro Co. But who is he and what are his

antecedents?"

"That is just the question," replied McLeod. "We know, and we don't

know. We know that the Honourable Lionel Percival Dudley de Vaux is the

oldest known son of the late Lord Eversleigh, the oldest brother or

half-brother of the present lord. But why he is out here sweltering and

swearing in this steambath of a climate while his younger brother enjoys

the cool shade of his ancestral parks and halls, and holds down a seat

in the Lords, no one seems to know. Some say that he is the son of the

late lord by a Scotch marriage in his wild-oat stage; some that he is a

son born to the late lord by the countess dowager before wedlock. At

any rate, he was shipped to the Far East as a boy, and here he has been

these more than twenty years, pensioned, they say, to keep out of

England."

"He seems to be very excitable," said Sinclair, as he looked down at the

stout, perspiring individual, who was still holding his hat in his hand,

still bowing, still gurgling in a high-toned voice, while his face and

head grew redder and shinier every moment.

"Yes, he is now. When he came out first, they say that he was a regular

Lord Chesterfield in his manners. But he was here alone for years. No

comforts but drink and a yellow woman. He took to both. These with the

isolation and the climate have made him what he is. When he meets a

white woman he loses his head completely. Any little irritation in

business sends him right up in the air. Then he swears. We call him

old De Vaux. In fact he has hardly reached middle age. The life here

is killing him. If he doesn't die of apoplexy one of those days, he'll

commit suicide. And he's not a bad old soul. Just the victim of his

parent's wrong-doing. Poor old De Vaux!"

Just then they heard Miss MacAllister saying in a tone of utmost

concern:

"Mr. De Vaux, will you not put on your hat? I am so afraid that your

head will get sunburned."

"A sunstroke you mean, my dear," said her father, "a sunstroke."

"No, father, I mean sunburned. Really, Mr. De Vaux's head is becoming

quite crimson."

"Lord! ... Miss MacAllister! ... How good of you to notice that! ...

Bless my soul! ... I never thought of it.... 'Pon my honour, I didn't!

... A man should put on his hat in a sun like this.... 'Pon my soul, he

should!..."

He was still executing a sort of war-dance around the ladies and still

holding his hat in his hand. Mr. MacAllister took him gently by the arm.

"My dear De Vaux," he said, "it has been exceedingly kind of you to come

down to meet us as you have done, and to provide those sedan chairs, for

I can see that it is you who have engaged them. With your permission,

we'll go to our quarters now. The captain promised to see that our

baggage was sent over at once. After tiffin, I am sure that you will be

so good as to accompany me to call on the consul."

As the four chairs were borne off along the narrow road by the shore,

McLeod said to Sinclair:

"MacAllister's a trump. He saved the situation. Old De Vaux was just

ready to go up like a balloon, and--swear."

And Sinclair thought to himself as he turned away:

"Miss MacAllister has found another victim."

*V*

*INTRODUCTIONS*

A few minutes before the time appointed for dinner, Sinclair strolled

over to the consulate. A couple of the I.M.C. officers joined him on

the way. Out on the broad verandah the consul and his wife were

receiving their guests, taking every advantage possible of the slight

coolness of the evening air. None had yet gone inside. Some lounged on

the verandah. Most were strolling about the grounds, on the gravelled

walks or the green of the tennis lawn between the house and the old

Dutch fort.

Many coloured paper lanterns hung from the cocoanut and areca palms,

were nestled in the clumps of oleanders, or were strung on wires around

the verandah. On the side of the house shaded from the sunset glow,

native servants were already lighting them.

It was a scene of rare beauty. The broad river gleaming between its

lofty banks: the green mountain towering up on the opposite shore: the

glassy ocean stretching away to where the sun had sunk to rest in its

waters: the old fort lifting its dark, massive walls and battlements,

undecayed by centuries of tropical storm and tropical sun, against the

pale yellow and rose and purple of the sunset sky: the strange, rich

vegetation of a tropic clime, amidst which moved men and women in

conventional evening dress, as they would have done in the drawing-rooms

of England.

Save for the shrilling of the cicadas and the quiet voices of the hosts

and their guests, the air was as still as if it had never known

disturbance. Yet all that day, from eight A.M. till nearly sundown, it

had quivered with the roar of heavy ordnance and the rattle of machine

guns. Less than twenty miles away, across those hills to the east, the

French fleet had poured a tempest of shot and shell from its long naval

guns and mitrailleuses into the Chinese forts at Keelung, and the

Chinese had replied from their Krupps and Armstrongs till their defences

tumbled about their ears. Now the game of war was over for the day, and

all seemed as peaceful as if it had never been played. But the

conversation of the guests continually reverted to the tempest which had

so suddenly broken upon the island.

Just at the hour set for dinner the little gunboat, the _Locust_, which

had been away since early dawn, was seen steaming up the harbour. As

she passed the consulate, a boat dropped from her and pulled swiftly in

towards the jetty. At the sight of it the host and hostess led the way

into the brightly-lighted drawing-room.

"Commander Gardenier has made jolly good time," said the consul. "We

can well afford to wait a few minutes for him. He'll be here directly.

In the meantime we can get acquainted."

While the host was busy with introductions, Sinclair had time to

consider the company. He had met almost all before. But he had not by

any means satisfied his keen interest in their personal characteristics.

One by one he studied the men and women before him, taking in with the

celerity of one who has long practised it as an art the physical type of

each, and estimating the mental peculiarities which lay behind the

outward forms.

The first was the consul. Of barely middle height, but perfectly

proportioned, every movement betrayed muscles trained and developed by

consistent physical exercise. The keen, bright blue eyes, looking out

of a sunburned face, the small, closely-clipped moustache, the nervous,

vigorous movements, hardly needed the confirmation of his short, quick

sentences and decisive accents to tell the story of his character. The

interests of his country would not suffer at his hands for lack of

courage or decision.

Mrs. Beauchamp was a small woman, somewhat delicate in appearance. Her

slight figure was well set off by the rich simplicity of her evening

gown. The quiet ease of her manners spoke of a lifetime spent in the

atmosphere of polite society.

In sharp contrast was Mrs. MacAllister--large, stout, middle-aged, with

raven black hair, and the bright colour characteristic of her Highland

people still warm in her cheeks. Considering the occasion and the

tropic heat, she was over-dressed. More noticeable still was the fact

that she was not at home in her present surroundings. With her husband

she had risen from a humble station in life to wealth, and the entree

into social circles which wealth gives. The wife of the great London

merchant and financier must not be overlooked. Oh, no! Indeed, she had

no desire to be overlooked. She had brought from an almost menial

position an exaggerated reverence for the gentry, and the ambition to

associate with them. Yet she was never at ease in their company. Her

husband showed the poise of one who could adapt himself to any position

in life, and manifested no embarrassment or awkwardness in any company.

But Mrs. MacAllister was never free from constraint at social functions,

and her attempts to appear at home sometimes resulted in disaster.

There was another married woman present--Mrs. Thomson, the wife of Dr.

MacKay's colleague. Youthful in face and figure, she was dressed

plainly, almost to the verge of severity. But her quick wit and

vivacious manner gathered a little group of the guests about her, and

more than atoned for the commonplace dulness of her husband.

Standing among some tropic plants just outside a French window,

Sinclair, unobserved himself, was able to study each one in succession.

But ever and anon his eyes turned to where nearly half the men present

had gathered around the only other woman who was there to grace the

occasion. Miss MacAllister was facing him, and he could note every play

of expression on her countenance. There was a rapid exchange of

conversation, and she had an answer for every one. The rippling laughter

he had heard on the deck of the _Hailoong_ now sounded over the murmur

of voices in the drawing-room.

"What a queenly stature and bearing!" Sinclair thought to himself.

It was true. Miss MacAllister was taller than all but one of the little

circle of men gathered about her. She held her small head, with its

wavy crown of rich brown hair, as if she were proud of her commanding

height. Her eyes, so dark a blue that in the light of the candles they

seemed black, looked right over the heads of the men of average stature.

Yet, if her height was masculine, there was nothing masculine about her

figure. Though well proportioned and vigorous, it gave the general

impression of slightness. Neither was there a trace of masculinity

about the face. It was thoroughly feminine, with its somewhat low

forehead, its small, straight nose, the rich, Highland colour in the

softly-rounded cheeks, the small chin, and the lips parted in merry

laughter--a thoroughly girlish face.

Keeping himself in the shadow, and looking at her in the bright light of

the drawing-room, Sinclair thought that rarely, if ever, had he seen a

more strikingly beautiful woman. He wondered that he had not noticed it

before. Then he laughed to himself as he remembered that, during their

short acquaintance, he had so often suffered from her raillery that he

had been in little humour for appreciation or admiration.

"A pretty picture, that!" said McLeod's voice at his shoulder. "I am

glad to see you enjoying it, doctor."

"Until I get better acquainted I prefer looking on to taking part in the

conversation. It's an interesting study."

"Isn't she a beauty? That evening rig sets her off to perfection."

McLeod generally used nautical terms to describe dress, on which he was

not an expert.

"I see that you are still on the same tack," replied Sinclair, with a

laugh. "But really I agree with you that the 'rig' does suit her, and

that she is a beauty. Who is that tall, dark fellow who is trying to

monopolize the conversation with her?"

"English remittance man. A younger son, no better than he ought to be.

Sent out here to be rid of him. In a moment of weakness the I.G.[#]

gave him a place on the customs.... But here comes Beauchamp."

[#] Sir Robert Hart, Inspector-General of Chinese customs, was

familiarly known as the I.G.

"Is this where you are, Sinclair? I have been looking around for you.

Have you met every one yet?"

"I believe so, Mr. Beauchamp, except the tall gentleman talking to Miss

MacAllister."

"Come along then and I'll introduce you before I have to receive

Gardenier.... Miss MacAllister, I am sure you will pardon me for

interrupting your conversation. I should like to make these gentlemen

acquainted.... Dr. Sinclair, the Honourable Reginald Carteret of the

Imperial Maritime Customs staff.... Will you excuse me now? I see

Commander Gardenier at the door."

Sinclair saluted Carteret with the frank, easy courtesy which suited so

well his big, powerful frame and pleasant countenance. The

acknowledgment was a slight, stiff bow and a brief:

"Glad to make your acquaintance, I'm sure."

The tone and the words stung Sinclair. His face lost something of its

good-humour. His lips closed tightly. A gleam of anger showed for an

instant in his blue eyes. The signs of irritation passed quickly. But

it was in a colder and more formal tone that he uttered some

commonplaces, to which Carteret made a commonplace reply.

Slight as were the changes of tone and manner, they were not lost on

Miss MacAllister. She had noted the unconscious ease with which

Sinclair had met Carteret, and had been surprised at the

superciliousness, almost insolence, of the latter's response. She had

caught that momentary flash of the eye, betraying the rising anger,

immediately brought under control.

Then as the two young men exchanged a sentence or two of polite

formalities, she mentally compared them. Both were tall men--with the

possible exception of her father, much the tallest men in the company.

Neither was less than six feet in height. The Englishman was the

slighter of the two, though fairly athletic in appearance. He was

black-haired and dark-eyed. A black moustache and well-trimmed pointed

beard gave him a foreign appearance and made him look older than his

five-and-twenty years.

The Canadian was equally tall, but broad-shouldered and deep-chested.

The massive head with its abundance of loosely-curled hair, so light in

colour as to be almost golden, the clear-cut features, fair complexion,

and singularly bright blue eyes reminded her of pictures of idealized

Vikings she had seen at home. Perhaps it was more than a fanciful

resemblance. Sinclair's forefathers had come from Caithness to Canada,

and the blood of Norsemen probably flowed in his veins. Though older by

a couple of years than the Englishman, Sinclair's fair, clean-shaven

face looked years younger than Carteret's. In spite of the maturity of

the broad, white forehead, it was almost a boyish face, with its

cheerful, eager outlook on life.

"Allow me to apologize, Miss MacAllister, for having interrupted your

conversation with Mr. Carteret. The consul simply projected me into the

midst of it."

"A heavy projectile, Dr. Sinclair, for so light an explosive! With the

thunder of the bombardment still in our ears, I suppose that we cannot

help talking in terms of cannonading. But I assure you that no

apologies are necessary. I am ever so glad to meet again a companion of

our eventful voyage."

She looked so charmingly sincere that Sinclair wondered to himself if

she really meant it.

"Attention! The consul is marshalling the company for dining-room

parade," said Mr. Boville, the commissioner of customs.

"Exactly seven minutes and forty seconds late," said Carteret, looking

at his watch. "Beauchamp will not recover from this for a year. He'll

have to report it to the Foreign Office and ask that his leave be

postponed six months as a punishment."

"Why? Is Mr. Beauchamp so particular about being punctual?" asked Miss

MacAllister.

"Latest for an engagement he was ever known to be, three minutes and

fifteen seconds. That was because of a typhoon."

"Pity that there were not more like him!" said the commissioner tartly.

"Commander Gardenier, you will conduct my wife to the dining-room. Mr.

MacAllister, will you take in Mrs. Thomson? And Mr. Boville, Miss

MacAllister. The less fortunate gentlemen will follow."

Offering his arm to Mrs. MacAllister, the consul led the way.

*VI*

*ON THE DEFENSIVE*

The commissioner of customs had the honour of conducting Miss

MacAllister to the table, because his official position and his long

years of residence in the island gave him precedence over the newcomers,

or those who were engaged in mercantile pursuits. In appearance he was

ill-suited to be the escort of such a young and queenly person. He was

middle-aged, very bald, rotund in figure, and so short that his head was

hardly level with her shoulder.

When she took Boville's proffered arm, she realized how absurd their

disproportionate statures must appear. Involuntarily she glanced around

to find Sinclair. He was just offering his arm to McLeod, for lack of a

lady companion. A moment later she heard their voices at her back, and

knew that they had taken their places in the little procession

immediately behind her and the commissioner. Then the voices ceased,

and instinctively she felt that they were laughing silently. Her figure

stiffened, and she held her head a trifle higher than before. Her

escort made the most of his five feet one or two, but do his best he

couldn't get the shiny top of his head above her shoulder.

As they entered the dining-room she caught a glimpse of McLeod's face.

He was laughing undisguisedly. When she took her place at the table she

found herself facing Sinclair. He was not looking at her. He was

watching the last of the guests filing in, and was trying to look

unconcerned. But there was a suspicious quivering of his mouth and a

sparkle in his eyes. Her quick Celtic blood took fire at once.

"He's laughing at me," she thought to herself. "How dare he? There's no

limit to the presumption of those Canadians. But I'll teach him."

Strange to say, she quite forgot how she had laughed at him on board the

_Hailoong_. Stranger still, she seemed to take no offence at the

laughter of McLeod, who also was a Canadian.

As soon as they were seated, the natives out on the verandah began to

pull the cords; the punkah began to wave to and fro and creak. It

wouldn't have been a punkah if it hadn't creaked. The consul, who had

nerves, had striven to put an end to the creaking, but had failed. The

creak was an essential part of the punkah. But there was no creaking

about the movements of the waiters. Noiseless as spectres, the "boys"

in their long blue gowns moved quickly in and out, back and forth, their

felt-soled shoes sliding silently over the smooth tiled floor.

"Commander Gardenier, we have all been models of patience. No one has

asked you how the day went at Keelung. But you cannot expect us to wait

much longer. Such virtue would be superhuman. Do tell the company what

all the noise was about to-day and who got the better of it."

A murmur of applause greeted the consul's request, and all eyes turned

towards the bronzed sailor who sat beside Mrs. Beauchamp. He seemed a

little uncomfortable under the expectant gaze of so many eyes and

answered modestly:

"I do not know that I can tell you much about it. The French had three

ships at it. On their part the Chinese in the big new fort on the east

side of the harbour and in the old fortifications on the west side were

engaged. Between them they put up a pretty scrap for a while."

"Really! Did the Chinese actually pretend to offer any resistance to

the French?" inquired Carteret.

"There was no pretending. They offered resistance, and a very effectual

one for a time," replied Gardenier. "You know, Beauchamp, the lie of

the harbour?"

The consul nodded.

"The old corvette _Villars_ was anchored in the inner harbour, opposite

the south side of Palm Island. She pelted away with her guns and

mitrailleuses at the new fort at a thousand-yard range. The little

gunboat _Lutin_ lay close in shore on the west side and hammered the old

fortifications there. Admiral Lespes, in _La Galissonniere_, lay in the

outer harbour and raked both sides with his long guns."

"I should think that he would be in little danger there," said one of

the merchants. "The Chinese gunners couldn't hit a range of mountains,

let alone a ship, at that range."

"That is just where you are mistaken. They put three holes into _La

Galissonniere_ just above water-line, almost as soon as the game

commenced. If they didn't beat off the French to-day, it was not the

fault of their gunners. It was because their works could not stand the

French fire. The Chinese worked their guns till their forts were

knocked to pieces."

"Did the French land any men?" inquired Boville.

"Yes," replied Gardenier. "When we left Keelung, a landing-party of

marines had just hoisted the French flag on the ruined Chinese fort."

"Then Keelung is in the hands of the French?"

"Yes. That is if by Keelung you mean a strip of a few hundred feet wide

around the harbour. But the hills all around that again are occupied by

the Chinese."

"Little difference that will make," said Carteret. "The Celestials have

had all they want. At the first sign of a French advance they'll run,

and never stop running till they reach Taipeh."

"I'm not so sure about that," replied Gardenier, a trifle coldly. "In

the first place, the French have no land forces with which to make an

advance. In the second place, the Chinese are better fighters than you

give them credit for, Mr. Carteret. All they need is a good leader, and

I believe that they have such a man in Liu Ming-chuan."

"And in the third place," said Beauchamp, "the Keelung climate is enough

to defeat the French if there were no Chinese. By the time their

transports arrive the northeast monsoon will be about due. Then the Lord

help them! One of the wettest spots on earth. Boville, what is the

annual rainfall over there?"

"One hundred and fifty-eight inches on the average. One year it lacked

only an inch and a half of the two hundred."

"One hundred and fifty-eight inches," repeated MacAllister. "That does

not convey much meaning to my mind. How does it compare with some

climates we do know? That of London, for example?"

"Ashamed to say that I don't know London's rainfall," said the consul.

"All I remember is that it seemed to do little else but rain there when

I was a boy. Boville? ... Carteret? ... You are Londoners.... What?

Do none of you know? ... Shocking ignorance!"

"I do not want to put forward my opinion on the climate of London in a

company of Englishmen," said Sinclair; "but I believe the rainfall there

is about twenty-five inches."

"Easy seeing that you have not lived in England," said Carteret, with

the same contemptuous tone he had already used when introduced to

Sinclair. "A hundred inches would be more like it."

"Dr. Sinclair is right," said Commander Gardenier, who had been

consulting a tiny memorandum book. "No considerable part of the British

Isles exceeds eighty inches, and London has twenty-five."

Miss MacAllister flashed a quick glance at Sinclair. There was

admiration in it; admiration that he should know this simple scientific

fact which those who had better opportunities did not know. She had

noted this peculiarity in him before, his remarkable fund of accurate

information on all manner of subjects.

Then her mind took a curious twist. What right had he to know the

rainfall of London? What business had this colonial to know a fact

about London which a company of Londoners did not know? It was another

proof of his presumption. She'd take some of his self-confidence out of

him. She'd teach him.

The conversation drifted on about the climate, the war, the probability

of a bombardment at Tamsui, the prospects of an easy victory which most

conceded to the French.

"I believe that you are rating the Chinese too low," said the consul, in

reply to a number of expressions of such views. "From what I have seen

of the new Imperial Commissioner, Liu Ming-chuan, he will give the

French more than they bargained for. As Commander Gardenier says,

leaders are what the Chinese need. When they get a few more men trained

in Western ideas, they are going to surprise the world. What do you

think, Mr. De Vaux? You have known them longer than any of us."

"'Pon my soul, Beauchamp, I believe you are right! ... The Chinese are a

smarter people than they get credit for.... 'Pon my honour, they are!

... And they're honest, too.... The last time I was in America, a man I

had business with in New York said that he did not know how I could

stand living among those pig-tails, as he called them.... He wouldn't

live among them for a hundred thousand a year.... It vexed me.... I

told him that I'd rather do business with a good Chinese firm any time

than with some Yankees.... 'Pon my soul, I would! ... Do you know, that

duffer cheated me the very next day!"

There was a burst of laughter at De Vaux's injured tone.

"It's a fact," he continued, his face and head growing redder and his

voice higher at every sentence. "And to think of that scoundrel casting

reflections on the Chinese! ... Bless my soul! ... It vexes me so! ...

By----! ... I mean it's a thundering shame the way the Chinese have been

treated by some white people."

"What Mr. De Vaux says is true enough," said the consul. "I am sorry

Dr. MacKay is not here. He could give us more information about the

preparations the Chinese have made than any one else. But I understand

that he has gone over to the vicinity of Keelung to look after some of

his converts who are in the danger zone. Is that not so, Dr. Sinclair?"

"Yes," replied Sinclair. "He could hardly wait for tiffin yesterday, he

was in such a hurry to catch the first launch up river."

"I saw him landing from the launch at Twatutia," added one of the

merchants. "He barely bade me the time of day, and set off on foot for

Keelung at such a rate that the Chinese with him had to run to keep up.

I never saw the like of him. I wonder that the heat does not kill him."

"It is perfectly marvellous the amount of work he goes through, no

matter how exhausting the heat may be," said Mrs. Beauchamp. "No person

need ever tell me again that missionaries take easy times."

"Dr. Sinclair, I'm so sorry! I do believe that I have all the wines

here beside me, and your glasses are empty. Will you not allow me to

pass some to you? Which shall it be, claret or sherry or port?"

It was Miss MacAllister, speaking in so clear a voice that it caught

everybody's ear and attracted the notice of all to the fact that, while

the wines had frequently circulated around the table, Sinclair's glasses

had never been filled. A slight flush, scarcely noticeable under the

tan, climbed into visibility above the line which separated the sunburn

from the white of the broad forehead. The attention suddenly

concentrated on him was evidently unwelcome. But it was with perfect

courtesy and good-humour that he replied:

"No apologies are necessary, Miss MacAllister. To do without wine is no

privation to me. My glasses are not empty because the wines have not

been offered to me."

"Oh! Perhaps you are a teetotaller."

"If you wish to so describe me."

"Really! How interesting! I do not think that I ever met one before."

"Your own glasses have been filled, but, if I am not mistaken, they are

yet untasted, Miss MacAllister."

"Oh, yes! That's all very well for a woman. But I mean a man. I am

sure that I never before met a man who couldn't enjoy a glass of wine,

except some ministers and very immature youths in Bands of Hope."

A laugh went round the table. Sinclair joined in it. But the flush

deepened on his forehead.

"My dear," interrupted Mr. MacAllister, "I am afraid that you are

forgetting your father. I am practically a total abstainer."

"Oh, I know, father! But then you are an elderly man, and something of

a preacher, too. Such virtue is to be expected in you. But Dr.

Sinclair is a young man and--a medical doctor. To find such

extraordinary rectitude in him is, as the Scotch would say, 'no canny.'"

Again the laugh went round at the doctor's expense. The fair tyrant was

getting even with him. Mrs. Thomson, realizing the disadvantage he was

at in this verbal passage at arms with a woman, spoke up in her

fellow-countryman's behalf:

"You must remember, Miss MacAllister, that different countries have

different customs. In your home surroundings it may have been a manly

thing to use intoxicants. Where Dr. Sinclair comes from one of the

highest standards of manliness is to be a total abstainer."

"And pray tell us where such lofty standards prevail?" asked Carteret.

"Where was Dr. Sinclair reared?"

"On a Canadian farm." Sinclair's voice had a defiant ring.

"I shouldn't think that it would be the most up-to-date school of social

usages in the world." Carteret's tone was a trifle more insolent than

before.

"Perhaps not, Mr. Carteret. But there was one thing we did learn there.

We learned----" A biting retort was on his tongue. His eyes met those

of the hostess. He paused and softened it. "We learned to give to

others the same liberty of opinion as we claimed for ourselves. You

claim the liberty to use wine. I do not interfere with your liberty. I

claim the liberty to abstain. I expect, Mr. Carteret, the same courtesy

in return."

Carteret's face flushed a dark red. He, the son of an English peer, to

be taught a lesson in courtesy by the son of a Canadian farmer. Before

he had time to frame an answer Mrs. Beauchamp interposed:

"Dr. Sinclair is perfectly right to claim liberty on this question. Our

social usages are apt to become tyrannical. I like, every once in a

while, to see some one independent enough to revolt against them."

"I am glad to hear you say so, Mrs. Beauchamp," said Commander

Gardenier. "I was just beginning to wonder where I came in. I am an

abstainer. It is not because I was trained to it from a boy, for I

wasn't. Nor is it because of any pledge. It is because of my

experience in the navy. I have seen so many of the most promising

careers in the service come to nothing, and so many of my seniors go

down and out through drink, that I felt it my duty to give it up. At

our mess those who wish to drink even the Queen's health in water are

free to do so."

"This discussion must stop right now," broke in the consul, "or, by

Jove! every man at the table will be confessing himself a teetotaller,

except De Vaux and myself. We shall not forsake the good old ways,

shall we, De Vaux?"

"Bless my soul, no, Beauchamp! A little wine for thy stomach's sake,"

replied De Vaux amidst a burst of laughter, for this was one of the most

evident weaknesses of this scion of a noble house. Already his

high-pitched voice was noticeably thick.

Then the ladies retired to the drawing-room, leaving the men to their

cigars, wine, and black coffee. Miss MacAllister knew that she had made

Sinclair uncomfortable for a time. But she had also the consciousness

that her little coup had not been so successful as she had intended.

Sinclair had come out of the predicament she had contrived for him with

rather the better of her. And, curious as it may seem, her feelings

were a bit injured.

*VII*

*SPARRING FOR ADVANTAGE*

"I think we ought to have some music," said Mrs. Beauchamp, as the men

rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room. "There is nothing which takes

me back home like the old home songs. I believe that there is

considerable talent in our company this evening. May we not have some

songs?"

"Nothing in the world I like better! 'Pon my soul, there isn't,"

exclaimed De Vaux, who was talking very freely and was disposed to be

gallant towards the ladies. He raised his voice, trembling perhaps with

emotion, to a high pitch, and said: "Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to

have the honour on your behalf of requesting our hostess to favour us

with a song. Bless my soul! I'd rather hear her sing to the

accompaniment of her guitar than Patti or Albani, or any other of their

prima donnas. 'Pon my honour, I would! ... Mrs. Beauchamp, will you not

accede to our united request and give us the happiness of hearing you?"

He finished with a bow intended to be as profound as those of his Lord

Chesterfield days. He seemed unconscious of the limitations imposed on

him by the aldermanic proportions which had come to him since his slim

and graceful youth.

Mrs. Beauchamp rose with a smile which had more of sadness than of

mirth, glanced at her husband, and permitted De Vaux to conduct her to a

seat near the piano and to bring her guitar. The consul sat down at the

piano, ran his fingers over the keys, touching soft chords, to which the

guitar was brought into tune. Then to the accompaniment of the two

instruments Mrs. Beauchamp sang in a voice, not strong, but sweet and

sympathetic, a tender old English love song.

"By----! ... Bless my soul, I mean, it makes me homesick to hear those

old songs!" exclaimed De Vaux, amidst the applause. His voice was high

and trembling. There was a suspicious redness and moisture in his eyes.

"I've been more than twenty years in this forgotten island. But when I

hear Mrs. Beauchamp sing such a song as that I protest I want to take

the first boat home. 'Pon my honour, I do!"

"Oh, no! You'll not go back to England just yet, De Vaux," said the

consul. "We shouldn't know Formosa without you. But I'll tell you what

you will do. You'll sing something for us yourself, will you not?"

"Yes, yes, De Vaux!" exclaimed several voices. "Do sing something. Sing

'Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep.'"

"That's De Vaux's Royal George," whispered McLeod to Sinclair. "He

always sings that. But he won't sing it yet a while. He'll need a few

more drinks first."

"'Pon my soul, it's awfully good of you to ask me! I do not profess to

be a singer. Really! I do not.... But, since you have been so good as

to ask me, I shall do my best, on one condition, that Mrs. Beauchamp

will honour me by playing my accompaniment.... Mrs. Beauchamp, will you

be so kind?" Another bow meant to be profound.

"Certainly, Mr. De Vaux, with pleasure."

In a voice which had once been a sweet tenor, but was now fat and

breathless, he sang, "Silver Threads Among the Gold." He had to take a

breath in the middle of every long note. As for the high ones, he just

touched them. Then his breath failed him, leaving the audience to

imagine the rest. But when he was rewarded with a round of applause he

responded with an encore, "In the Gloaming." His head was becoming

crimson with the effort. Perspiration streamed down his face and neck,

in spite of the constant use of his handkerchief. His collar had melted

and fallen limply against his coat. The starch of his shirt front had

disappeared, leaving it but a crumpled rag.

Some of the guests were insisting on a third number, when the consul

came to the rescue:

"This sort of thing mustn't go any further. If my wife and De Vaux

continue singing such sentimental songs, they'll have us all homesick.

We cannot afford to ship all the English residents of North Formosa by

the _Hailoong_ to-morrow. Just to change the current of your thoughts,

I'll make a break and give you something different."

He took his place at the piano, and to his own accompaniment sang with

great spirit, in a strong baritone voice, the old English song, "A

Hunting We Will Go."

The applause was as enthusiastic as the spirit in which he had sung, and

he was pressed for an encore. The consul replied with mock stage bows,

but refused to sing again. He had done his part in chasing away the

blue devils of homesickness. Now it was some other body's turn to

perform. He knew Miss MacAllister could sing. Would she not continue

the good work and give them something rousing?

Miss MacAllister did not wait to be urged, but responded at once. Her

voice was a rich, strong soprano. With a verve and fire worthy of her

choice, she sang Lady Nairn's stirring war-song, "The Hundred Pipers."

To the insistent demand for another song she replied with "The March of

the Cameron Men." With her stately figure at its full height, head

thrown back, and eyes which seemed to look away beyond her tropic

surroundings to the hills of old Scotland, she sang as if possessed by

the spirit of generations of Highland ancestors.

Sinclair, from his place over by the mantel-piece, was looking at her

with undisguised admiration.

"Isn't she magnificent? Yon's a prize for some man! ... Sinclair, man,

why don't you go in and win? If you don't try, I'll be ashamed of you,

whatever."

It was McLeod. He was speaking in a low tone, only for his friend's

ear. But he who had been the personification of coolness during the

typhoon was now fairly quivering with excitement. The songs of his

people had fired his blood.

"You needn't be ashamed of me, Mac. I'm going to try."

"Good for you! I'll back you to win."

"Don't stake too much on me, Mac. I'm new to this game. You might lose

heavily. Carteret is ahead of me."

"That dirty snob!" exclaimed McLeod in a tone of disgust. "He wants her

in just the same way as he wants every pretty woman he sees. And then

her money would help to repair the Carteret fortunes. It's an insult to

a good woman to mention him in relation to her."

"All the same she and her family are not supposed to know the things

that you know against him, whatever they may be. He belongs to a titled

family. That counts for a lot with most people who have risen from the

ranks. Her mother is greatly taken with him."

"Yes, but the daughter is not."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"I'd stake my life on it. But look, Carteret is going to sing."

It was evident that Carteret had expected to sing, for he had just

returned from the cloak-room with a roll of music in his hand. He

placed it on the piano, and then turning to Miss MacAllister he

conducted her to the instrument with almost an excess of courtesy. Yet

his manners were easy and graceful. If at times he seemed to exceed the

requirements of etiquette, his ultra politeness accorded well with his

Gallic cast of countenance and the cut of beard which he affected.

His voice was a tenor, not very strong, but pure in tone and evidently

well-trained. The first selection was "Drink to Me Only with Thine

Eyes." It was sung with feeling. The strength of his voice accorded

well with the size of the drawing-room, and passion was thrown into the

tender lines. As an encore he sang another love song, still more

amorous in sentiment and manner.

"His musical talent is Carteret's hope of promotion if he remains in the

customs," said Boville, who was one of a little group of guests near to

where Sinclair stood. "He thinks that, if he could get the opportunity

to sing before the I.G., he would be promoted to Pekin at once."

"Or better still, if he should succeed in marrying a handsome wife who

is musical," said a merchant. "I am told that the I.G. is even more

considerate of a subordinate with an accomplished wife than one who

possesses the accomplishments himself."

"He has the voice already, and now he seems to be making a bold stroke

for the gifted wife," interjected another.

"I shouldn't wish Miss MacAllister any ill," replied Boville. "But I do

hope something will happen to take him off my hands. If the I.G. wants

him, he will be most welcome to the fellow, so long as I am well quit of

him."

Sinclair took no part in the conversation. But he heard every word.

The careless references to Miss MacAllister hurt him in a way which

surprised himself. The callousness of the suggestion that Carteret

should get promotion by marrying her cut him to the quick. How could

any one entertain such an idea?

Then he wondered at himself. What was Miss MacAllister to him? A

passing stranger, who had taken it into her whimsical head to amuse

herself at his expense. Already she had succeeded in making him feel

most uncomfortable; indeed, for a time something of a laughing-stock.

What need he care? She was nothing to him, and he was nothing to her but

the subject of an evening's laughter. What a fool he had been to accept

McLeod's challenge! He would have to straighten that out in the

morning. Then they both would have shaken off the glamour of that face

and figure, and those martial Highland songs which had so stirred their

blood. They would be in their cool senses then. They had not been when

the one had made and the other had accepted the challenge.

Meanwhile Miss MacAllister and Carteret were still at the piano. She

was slowly turning over some music. He was bending low as if to see it,

and perhaps to choose another song. All the while he was speaking to

her in a soft voice, and she was making monosyllabic replies. She

realized that his head was sinking lower and his face closer to hers.

She felt his hot breath on her face and neck and shoulder. It was hot

and heavy with wine.

She turned her head slightly but quickly towards him. She saw his eyes

fixed greedily on the rich beauties of form only half concealed by her

low evening dress. Her face flamed crimson, and she rose hastily from

the piano, disregarding his appeal that she should play just one more

selection.

As she passed from the instrument to a chair she heard the consul say:

"Sinclair, you're the most confoundedly comfortable-looking duffer I

ever saw in a dress suit."

"That's because the tailor who made my suit put side pockets in the

trousers," was the reply. "You would be just as comfortable if you had

pockets to put your hands in. I have noticed you trying to get them

into the seams half a dozen times this evening."

"You're right there. But it's not my fault. I laid it on that tailor

in Hong-Kong as a parting injunction to put pockets in my trousers. And

he promised. When the suit arrived they had none, and I was five

hundred miles too far away to get my hands on him and wring the beast's

neck."

"Fortunate for the beast!"

"Yes. But he'll get his punishment yet, that tailor will. He has a lot

to answer for. I have sworn outwardly often, and inwardly more times

than could be numbered, whenever I have had these clothes on. I envy

you. You do look comfortable in that suit. It fits you as if you had

been born in it, and with your hands in the trousers' pockets."

Miss MacAllister, looking at Sinclair from the seat she had taken near

the French window, agreed with the consul's judgment. The big Canadian

was in conventional evening dress, except for one slight concession made

to the heat of the climate. Instead of the low-cut vest he wore a broad

kamarband of black silk about his waist. The only trace of jewellery

was the gold locket on the end of a black leather watch guard, which

hung over the kamarband. There was a total absence of dressiness. But

as the girl who had been for years familiar with London drawing-rooms

looked at the strong, clean-cut features, the massive head with its fair

hair contrasting with the black clothing, the lazy grace of the powerful

frame leaning against the mantel-piece, she thought to herself that she

had never seen a man who had on him more of the marks of being to the

manner born. Yet he was the self-confessed son of a Canadian farmer,

and reared on a Canadian farm. She found it hard to remain offended

with this big, good-looking, good-tempered man.

Involuntarily she compared him again with Carteret, the son of a noble

English family. The latter was now talking to Mrs. Beauchamp. She

could see that his ordinarily somewhat pallid face was flushed and there

was an expression in his eyes which was not pleasant to see. She

thought again of that greedy look and of the hot breath, heavy with

wine. She turned her eyes once more towards Sinclair. He was talking

to the consul and smiling. The distinction between the two young men

took shape in her mind. Sinclair was clean and his smile was frank and

pure as that of a child.

She heard the consul saying to him:

"McLeod tells me that you sing."

"McLeod tells a lot of things he knows very little about. I shall have

to lay an injunction upon him to hold his peace."

"That's all right for some other time. But for the present you do not

deny the charge that you do sing."

"I'll plead guilty to disturbing my neighbours sometimes by singing

college songs and such things. But I have none of them here and no music

for the accompanist."

"Just what we want; something lively. If there's a chorus, we'll all

join in. Give me an idea how it goes and I can chord for you."

Beauchamp ran his fingers over the keys while Sinclair hummed or lilted

the tune. Soon the proper chord was struck. Sinclair repeated the

words of the chorus till all got them. Then he sang a rollicking

college song. When he reached the chorus all joined in, and for the

first time the walls of the old Dutch fort and the listening palms and

oleanders and magnolias heard the jolly abandon of "The Old Ontario

Strand."

When the chorus was reached the second time, Sinclair relinquished the

leadership of the air to Miss MacAllister. She took it as if by

prearrangement, while he dropped into his rightful place and supplied

the undertone of a bass powerful enough to balance the voices of all the

rest of the company.

When it was finished there was an outbreak of applause and even cheers,

which showed that all reserve had disappeared and the company were

prepared to give themselves up with childish delight to singing.

Another college song was sung with the same spirit as the first, and

Sinclair was pressed to lead still another.

"I will," he said at last, "if you will allow me to choose one as

characteristic of our French Canadian people as those we were favoured

with by Miss MacAllister are of the Highland Scotch."