Let's change the subject. May I have another cup of coffee?"

"What an anti-climax! From high tragedy to hot coffee! How shocking!"

"Where is Constance?"

"I fancy that she is sleeping yet."

"Was she not put to bed at her usual time?"

"Yes. But the amah says that, once the singing began, she wakened up

and insisted on getting out where she could hear it better. She was out

on the upper verandah all the time. So she didn't waken as early as

usual. But she'll be down soon."

"She should have been made stay in bed."

"Oh, well! we cannot tie her down too hard and fast. She dearly loves

singing, and she has taken a most extraordinary fancy to Dr. Sinclair."

"I do not mind how much fancy she may take to Sinclair. But there are

some of the others who were here last night whom I do not want her to

meet any more than she must. By the way, Sinclair is off to the war."

"Off to the war! What to do?"

"To give his services as a doctor to the Chinese and to try to organize

a Red Cross corps for them."

"How interesting! But is it not very dangerous for a foreigner to

venture among the Chinese just now? Especially one who is a stranger

and does not know the language?"

"It is a little. But Dr. MacKay is over there at present. I also let

Sergeant Gorman go with Sinclair. Each is an expert in his own line.

They are all pretty shrewd. I do not think that they are likely to get

into trouble. Gardenier is lending me a man to take Gorman's place."

"When did they leave?"

"By the first launch this morning."

A light was dawning on Mrs. Beauchamp's mind:

"There was no mention of this at dinner last evening. When did Dr.

Sinclair decide to go?"

"Just after he bade you good-night. He got a letter from MacKay, asking

him to go, and decided at once."

"And all the arrangements had to be made, passports and everything else

drawn up between then and the first launch this morning."

The consul's eyes were dancing and his face was a study:

"It had to be done."

"You base deceiver! After all your talk about my sleeping so soundly,

you were never in bed at all."

The consul laid back his head and laughed till even the grave,

slant-eyed Celestial waiter hurried into the room to see if there was

need of assistance.

"You missed me a whole lot, didn't you, Gwen?"

"I do not want to talk to you."

"Oh, yes, you do! We'll change the subject again."

"You needn't. I shall not talk."

"Yes, you will. How ever did Miss MacAllister get such a spite at

Sinclair as she showed last evening?"

"Spite!" (with immense contempt). "Spite!" (still more contemptuously).

"Well, I do not know what else you would call it. She made game of him

and bally-ragged him at every turn. If he hadn't been so well able to

take care of himself, I should have had to interfere and protect him,

since he was our guest."

"And you think that it was because she had a spite at him? It's a lot a

man, even a married man, knows about the ways of a woman."

"I'll acknowledge it, Gwen. 'There be three things which are too

wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not,' and the most wonderful of

the four are the ways of a maid with a man." He took the chance that

she would not notice the inversion; and she did not. "Solomon was much

more married than I am, and he did not understand the ways of a woman,

Gwen. It's not fair to expect it of me."

She did not know whether to laugh or not. It was hard to resist the

serio-comic, mock-penitent expression on his face. She felt like

punishing him by breaking off the conversation. But the subject was too

interesting to drop. That was what he had counted on, and he judged

wisely.

"I should have thought that a man who had been married nearly a dozen

years, and who had such a wide ante-nuptial experience, ought to be able

to recognize the symptoms when a woman is falling in love."

"Do you mean to say that the way Miss MacAllister treated Sinclair last

evening is a symptom that she is falling in love with him?"

"I do."

"It looks more to me like cruelty to animals."

"She'll make up for the cruelty afterwards."

"Or falling in love with the other fellow."

"Well, it isn't."

"But you didn't act like that with me."

"You silly."

"Serious! I mean it."

"You caught me before I was old enough to know any better. I was

hopelessly gone before I knew what was the matter with me."

"Are you sorry?"

"No, Harry; you know that I'm not."

Their hands touched for a moment across the corner of the little

breakfast table. Their eyes looked at each other as they had looked in

the days when he, the young student interpreter, who had just got his

first step in the service and was home on his first furlough, with all

the romance about him of having lived in the Far East amidst far,

strange peoples, won the love of the young girl, fresh out of a

boarding-school. A flush suffused her delicate face, making it look

very youthful and beautiful.

It was in a gentle tone that the husband continued:

"You really think that this is what is the matter with Miss MacAllister,

that she is in danger of losing her heart to the big Canadian doctor?"

"Yes, I do. She told me that they had a bit of a tiff coming over on

the _Hailoong_, and that she sauced him shamefully. But he got back at

her before they left the boat, and now she wants to get even. She knows

that there is something wrong with her, and has a suspicion what it is.

That is what makes her so hard on him. She doesn't want to give in."

"A case of playing with fire?"

"Yes, I fancy it is."

"Well, it may be only a passing flirtation, quite harmless to all

concerned. But if it is anything more, and she has a notion of turning

this Asiatic trip of hers into a matrimonial venture, by Jove! I

believe that big doctor, with all his notions about being a missionary,

is the best investment she could make in these parts."

"Her mother doesn't think so."

"What has she in view?"

"A title."

"What! Carteret?"

"Yes."

"The thundering old fool!"

"Oh, Harry!"

"I mean it. If you weren't here, Gwen, I'd swear. It's always the way

with those tradespeople who have started as peasants or domestics and

made money. They would sell themselves or their daughters to the devil

for a title. If Beelzebub, the prince of the devils, came along they

would marry a daughter to him, so as to be able to speak of her as Her

Royal Highness the Princess of the Devils."

"Oh, Harry, stop! You mustn't say that. Surely Mr. Carteret is not so

bad as that."

"He's not far short of it."

"You never told me that."

"There are a lot of things I don't tell you. They wouldn't be pleasant

for you to hear, nor for me to tell. And, anyway, in this little

hole-in-the-corner of the world you have to associate with all those

fellows more or less. It's easier for you if you do not know too much

about them."

"But the men here are not all bad, are they?"

"Oh, no! No! I wouldn't have you think that. Some of them, I think

most of them, are as good as you could get at home. But there are

others. And Carteret is one of the others."

"Mrs. MacAllister does not know that."

"Perhaps not. But she has seen enough of the world to know the

difference between a man like Sinclair and one like Carteret."

"I am afraid that it is the title. She told me that his father, the

present lord, is an old man and cannot live long; and that his older

brother, the present heir, is dying of consumption--as she expressed it,

'has only one lung.' So she thinks that Carteret is sure to succeed to

the title soon."

"Yes; and in the meantime the two brothers love each other so that the

heir will not hear of this prospective supplanter being nearer to him

than China is to England. Esau and Jacob! And Mrs. MacAllister would

give her daughter to that scavenger, and the MacAllister money to fix up

the Carteret estates, just to have a title in the family! Gwen, I want

to swear."

"Oh, Harry, you are shocking!"

"Can't help it, Gwen. I must swear."

"Well, Harry, if it will save you from injury----"

"It's damnable! ... Thanks, awfully, Gwen. I feel some better now."

"I hope that you'll not have another attack for some time."

"Then we'll have to talk about something else."

"What a marvellously versatile entertainer Dr. Sinclair is! I think

that he is quite a wonder."

"What is better, he has both brains and gumption. He was as keen on

getting to the front as a hound on a scent. But, unlike most hounds, he

didn't give tongue. He said nothing. Just went, and that at once."

"I was afraid that it would come to a passage at arms between him and

Carteret? Did you ever hear so much insult put into the tone of voice

as Carteret did last evening?"

"It will be a bad day for Carteret when he pushes Sinclair too far.

Most men from Sinclair's country don't take much stock in titles. They

would pull a peer's nose just as soon as a peasant's. That's the kind

of Sinclair.... Hallo, Puss, what time is this to be getting down to

breakfast?"

"Good-morning, daddy. This is a lovely time to be getting down, much

nicer than eight o'clock. Good-morning, mother. Have you been up long?"

"Long enough to have my breakfast eaten. I hear you were a bad girl

last evening, Constance--that you didn't stay in bed or go to sleep till

all hours."

But Constance--a tall, straight child of nine, with step as light and

graceful as that of a fawn, and a wealth of dark-brown curls framing her

clear-cut features and frank eyes--did not seem to be very penitent:

"Oh, mother, it was just lovely to hear the singing. I could have

listened to you, and daddy, and Miss MacAllister, and Dr. Sinclair all

night."

"Wise child!" remarked her father, somewhat grimly. "She knows the

proper selection to make and whom to put first."

"There were others singing, Constance, besides the ones you mentioned,"

said her mother.

"Oh, yes; I know. I did not recognize some of the voices. But I knew

Mr. Carteret's and Mr. De Vaux's."

"Mr. Carteret is a fine singer."

"Yes, I suppose. But I didn't like the way he sang. He put such a funny

tone in his voice. He kind of---- Oh, I don't know how to describe it.

It sounded like the way Carlo used to howl after daddy sent Fan over to

Amoy."

"Good heavens!"

"And Mr. De Vaux's voice was just like my singing doll after I burst the

bellows in her. She could give only one squeak, and then had to wait

till I put some more wind into her before she could give another."

"That'll do, Constance; we've had enough of your opinions on singing.

Get busy with your breakfast or you'll get none."

"All right, daddy."

"Boy! You tell coolie boys to roll the lawn. Tennis this afternoon.

Can savey?"

"All lite! All lite! My can savey. Loll lawn. A-paw phah-kiu"

(Afternoon strike-ball).

"Oh, goody! Dr. Sinclair will be here."

"No, Constance; Dr. Sinclair will not be here."

"Why, mother?"

"He has gone away over to Keelung to care for the sick and wounded after

the battle."

"Oh, mother!" The finely-curved lips trembled A big tear stole out of

each eye.

"Mother, do you think that he might get killed?"

"No, Connie. I do not think that he is in any danger."

The big tears rolled down the cheeks and dropped.

"Mother, will he come back?"

"Yes, I think that he may come back in a little while."

"I'm so glad!"

"By Jove! I'll have to watch that Sinclair. He makes conquests of both

old and young."

*XIII*

*MORE CONFIDENCES*

In the building at the foot of the hill, near the shore, occupied by

MacAllister, Munro Co. partly as a warehouse and partly as a residence

for the company's European employees, another matrimonial _tete-a-tete_

was taking place. De Vaux and his two or three assistants, the

representatives of the big London firm in North Formosa, had found

temporary quarters in the buildings of the customs' compound or with the

staffs of other firms. Mr. and Mrs. MacAllister and their daughter,

with the native servants, had the living-rooms of the big hong to

themselves.

It was little more than seven o'clock, an extraordinary hour for rising

the morning after a late dinner. But, with characteristic regularity of

habits, Mr. MacAllister was already up and shaving. As was fitting at

such an hour, he was clothed only in pyjamas and slippers. But even

those shapeless garments were worn with an attention to neatness quite

lacking in most men whom a score and a half of years of married life

have made entirely indifferent to personal appearance in the intimacy of

the bed-chamber. He had even taken the trouble to brush his hair, at

least what was left of it--another extraordinary proceeding on the part

of a man who was likely to be seen by no person but his wife.

The shaving process was nearly done. He was carefully feeling the hard

spots on each side of his chin to see if any offending hairs had escaped

the relentless sweep of the razor and still projected within its range.

"Hector, you are a most extraordinary man."

The voice came from within the canopy of the mosquito curtains draped

around the high-posted iron bed which occupied the centre of the room.

"Good-morning, my dear! Is it only now that you have found that out?"

"You are a most extraordinary man."

"What new marvel have you found in me, my dear?"

"To think that there is only about one hour of the twenty-four in this

disgusting climate in which one can sleep comfortably and you would not

allow me to have that, but must get up and disturb me by shaving."

"I am exceedingly sorry if I have disturbed you, my dear. But every

time I wakened during the night you were sleeping very peacefully,

and----"

"Not a bit of it! I have not slept at all."

"And when I got up you were not only sleeping, but snoring gently,

and----"

"That's all nonsense! I've been wide-awake all night."

"And, although I have been about for nearly an hour, you continued to

snore very gently until a moment before you spoke, and----"

"Hector, I'm astonished at you! You know perfectly well that I never

sleep in hot weather. I do not understand why you ever chose to come to

such a country as this in the summer."

"And now you are looking thoroughly refreshed and fit for anything,

and----"

"I'm more tired than when I went to bed."

"And when you have your bath, and comb your hair, and are dressed, you

will be as fresh and beautiful as you were when I brought you to London

from the Highlands thirty years ago."

"Hector, it iss flattering me you would be."

She was sitting up now under the canopy of mosquito curtains. If an

outsider could have looked in, he would probably have agreed that her

husband was flattering shamefully. Unlike him, neatness in private was

not one of her virtues. Her hair, black and luxuriant as in her

girlhood, was tossed and tousled. The flesh, which had grown upon her

with years, ungirt and unrestrained, flowed shapelessly with every

movement.

But her face was still fresh in colour and comely in form. A little

care about her appearance in the privacies of life would have made her

perennially attractive to him, as attractive as when he had taken her as

a bride. Perhaps at the moment she felt this. At any rate, the words

of compliment and admiration were as sweet to the ears of the

middle-aged woman as they had been to the young girl of thirty years

before. Her little irritation about the disturbed slumbers and his

chaffing manner passed like a summer cloud. Unconsciously she fell back

into the accent of her girlhood when she said:

"Hector, it iss flattering me you would be."

He dressed with as much care of his personal appearance as if he were in

London. Then he went out for a walk along the shore, pausing under the

shade of some great banian trees to enjoy the magnificent scenery.

Presently he returned to the room where his wife was now almost ready

for breakfast.

"Our friends on board the _Hailoong_ and the _Locust_ are all up and

active. But there is no stir anywhere else except among the Chinese.

Neither De Vaux nor any of his staff have put in an appearance."

"They have fallen into the ways of this climate," replied his wife, "and

sleep when it is possible to enjoy sleep."

"I am afraid De Vaux will not be in condition to do much to-day. He

drank heavily last evening. He has been in our employ a long time, and

as a rule has done very well. But I wish that he drank less."

"You must remember, Hector, the class to which Mr. De Vaux belongs. He

is of noble family."

"All the more reason why he should keep control of himself. I was

ashamed of him last night."

"But, Hector, people of rank all drink. You must not forget that Mr. De

Vaux is a man of birth."

"Probably he was born some time, my dear. But from all accounts there

does not seem to be much reason to be proud of the manner of it."

"Now, Hector, you ought to make allowance for the nobility. They have

privileges which common people have not."

"They certainly seem to take them."

"That's not fair to people of rank, Hector. They have always been

accustomed to do these things. Now with Dr. Sinclair, for example, it

is quite different. He belongs to the common people and never had the

chance to be anything else but respectable. But Mr. De Vaux and Mr.

Carteret are men of quality. You couldn't expect them to be

teetotallers and--and----"

"Decent," supplied her husband.

"Oh, I didn't mean just that."

"But that's about the fact," persisted Mr. MacAllister.

"No; I never heard anything against them. Mr. De Vaux has lived out

here a long time. He may have fallen into the ways of the East. But I

think that Mr. Carteret is a perfect gentleman."

Her husband looked at her keenly.

"He seemed to be willing to pay a good deal of attention to Jessie last

evening."

"Yes," she replied, without returning his gaze. "He appears to be very

much attracted by her."

"Was she attracted to him in return?"

"Why shouldn't she be? He is a handsome and most accomplished young

man, and has the best prospects of succeeding to the title and estates."

"He is a younger son."

"Yes; but the heir has only one lung."

Her husband gave a short laugh.

"I have known one-lungers to live a long time," he said. "You mentioned

Dr. Sinclair a moment ago. Whatever offence did Jessie take at him

which led her to treat him so disagreeably?"

Mrs. MacAllister had just finished dressing and arranging her hair, and

was taking a last look at herself in the mirror. She closed her lips

tightly, threw back her head, and gave a little sniff:

"So you think she was offended at him," she said.

"What else could make her act the way she did last evening?"

"I wish that I could believe that you are right. But I am afraid that

you are not."

"What do you mean?"

"I do not believe that she was a bit offended."

"Well, if she wasn't, I cannot see what possessed her to act so badly.

She did everything she could to make him uncomfortable. I feel as if I

ought to make some explanation of her conduct or offer some apology."

There was another sniff as she answered tartly:

"It would be wiser not to."

"But her behaviour was inexcusable and must have seemed so to Dr.

Sinclair."

"All the better if it should remain so."

"Why?"

She made no answer.

"It seems to me," he continued, "that both you and she are inexplicable

sometimes."

"That is because you have the usual stupidity of a man about everything

in which women are concerned."

*XIV*

*THE APPEAL OF THE HEROIC*

"Is Jessie ready for breakfast?"

"Yes, she was ready before we were. She is on the verandah."

"I think we had better sit down. There is no use waiting any longer for

De Vaux. I am afraid that he is not in a condition to appear. You had

better call Jessie."

At that moment the tall, graceful figure of their daughter appeared in

the bright light of the verandah, was framed for an instant in the

doorway, and then came in, seeming to bring a wealth of light and

brightness into the somewhat gloomy apartment where they were to

breakfast. What a picture she made! The rich rose of her cheeks, the

masses of her brown hair, the deep violet eyes were brought into sharp

contrast with the white of her tropic attire.

Her father's eyes rested on her proudly, but fondly. Her mother too was

proud of her rare young beauty, as it seemed to irradiate the room and

drive away the shadows. But her pride in her daughter was different

from the father's. Mr. MacAllister thought of her only as their

daughter--beautiful, winsome, teasing sometimes, but so true in her love

and dutifulness that she had never really caused an anxious thought. He

loved her for her own sake, and hers alone. He felt a twinge of pain

every time the thought entered his mind that the day would come when she

would be separated from them. Mrs. MacAllister thought of her as

possessed not only of grace and beauty, but of that culture and social

training which she herself so sadly lacked. She thought of her as

qualified to be a queen in the world of society; dreamed of the day when

she should bear a great, old family name, perhaps that of a noble house,

and should shed a reflected glory on the MacAllisters, who had acquired

wealth and luxury, but could not contrive a history. Hers was a love of

ambition.

Was the attitude of the daughter towards her father and mother an

instinctive though perhaps unconscious response to the differing

attitudes of her parents to her?

"Good-morning, father! Good-morning, mother!"

The conventional phrases were identical in form. But there was a world

of difference in the accent. She kissed her mother somewhat

perfunctorily. But she threw her arms around her father's neck, kissed

him tenderly, and laid her proud head with its wealth of hair for a

moment on his shoulder. Then she lifted it and asked very demurely:

"Is not Mr. De Vaux to breakfast with us this morning?"

"He promised to do so. But it is already nearly half an hour past the

time we appointed."

"Perhaps he is still being 'Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep.'"

"Whist, Jessie, lass! You mustn't make fun of people's weakness."

"Father, why do men, when they find themselves getting drunk, take

another glass of whiskey and soda, 'just to straighten up'? It seems to

me that every glass of it they take makes them sillier and more stupid

than they were before."

"Why do you ask me, Jessie? You know that I am almost a teetotaller.

You should answer that question yourself. You were championing the

cause of drinking last evening against Dr. Sinclair."

"Now, father, that's not fair." A slight flush appeared on her neck and

flowed upwards, deepening the rich colour of her face. "You know that I

didn't mean that, especially when there were men around me drinking

themselves into imbecility."

"Then, why did you say it?"

Her father's eyes, kindly but keen, were searching her face. She felt a

fresh wave of hot blood mounting upwards:

"Oh, I don't know! You ought to have learned by this time that a woman

cannot always give reasons even to herself why she does things."

"Well, whatever you did it for, you succeeded in making Dr. Sinclair

very uncomfortable for a while."

"He deserves to be made uncomfortable," she flashed back. "He makes

other people feel very uncomfortable sometimes."

She glanced at her mother. Mrs. MacAllister's lips were tightly closed.

Her nose was elevated a bit. She was about to sniff at something. She

had not time. A high-pitched voice was heard outside:

"Get out of my way, boy. Bless my soul! Chop-chop! You are most

exasperating."

A heavy footstep sounded on the stairway leading to the second story,

where the living-rooms were. There were short gasps of laboured

breathing, and De Vaux burst into the room, peering blindly in the

semi-darkness after the brilliant sunshine without.

"Good-morning, Mr. De Vaux. You are just in time to join us at

breakfast. We thought something had occurred to detain you. But we

have just this moment sat down. Pardon us for not waiting on you. We

are delighted that you are able to be with us."

Mrs. MacAllister was kind, almost effusive, in her welcome. But De Vaux

could find no words to excuse his delinquency:

"Mrs. MacAllister! ... I have disgraced myself.... 'Pon my soul! ...

Mr. MacAllister! ... This never happened to me before.... 'Pon my

honour, as a gentleman! ... I'm ashamed of myself.... Miss MacAllister!

... To think that I was to have the honour of having breakfast with

you--and--I was late! ... Bless my soul! ... I do not know what to think

of myself."

The head of the firm was gravely considerate and courteous towards the

firm's agent, whose weakness he had noted the evening before.

"Accidents will happen sometimes, Mr. De Vaux. Allow me to assure you

that you have caused us no inconvenience this morning. Will you not be

seated and have breakfast with us?"

With some difficulty the stream of De Vaux's apologies and the

succession of his bows were interrupted, and he was induced to be

seated. But his face was purple and his eyes were bulging and

bloodshot. Miss MacAllister could not resist the temptation.

"Mr. De Vaux," she said, "I am afraid that you have hurried too much in

the heat. The blood has rushed to your head. I am really concerned

lest you should have an attack of apoplexy. I have always been so

afraid of apoplexy since our old butler died of an attack after

celebrating patriotically but unwisely the bombardment of Alexandria.

Will you not allow me to order a cold soda for you? Boy, one piecee

soda, ice cold!"

"All lite! All lite! One piecee ise col' soda!"

What more she might have said remains unknown, for a warning look and a

shake of the head from her farther prevented her pursuing her victim any

farther. As it was, De Vaux was in a state of gurgling, stuttering

impotence:

"Bless my soul! ... Miss MacAllister! ... Who else would have thought of

it? ... Lord! ... Miss MacAllister! ... You have the kindness of an

angel.... 'Pon my soul, you have! ... I assure you that I am quite

well.... Nothing the matter with me.... Except that I sat up a little

late with Carteret.... Talked over the delightful evening we had....

Nothing else, I assure you.... 'Pon my honour!"

"And how is Mr. Carteret this morning?" inquired Mrs. MacAllister

solicitously. "I hope that he is very well."

"My dear Mrs. MacAllister, make your mind easy about that. He is

sleeping quite naturally and soundly.... 'Pon my word of honour, he is!

... The commissioner tried to waken him to go to the office.... But he

couldn't.... Not even with a bucket of water.... 'Pon my soul, that's

the truth! I never saw a man sleep so soundly.... But he will be all

right by this afternoon. He will waken up for tennis.... He's our

best tennis player.... Bless my soul! There's no danger of his missing

the tennis."

Miss MacAllister had tried to control herself through this expose. But

by the time De Vaux had finished the merry peal of laughter rang out

without restraint. Her mother looked annoyed and mortified. Her father,

scarcely able to conceal a smile, was diplomatically trying to lead De

Vaux to some other subject.

"Did you chance to hear any more news of how the day went at Keelung,

Mr. De Vaux?" he asked. "Have any reports come in from the Chinese

side?"

"Bless my soul! ... How did I forget to tell you? ... I met Captain

Whiteley as I came down.... Mrs. MacAllister, that is one of the

reasons why I was late.... 'Pon my word! I was so upset and ashamed of

myself that I could not present my apologies.... I beg your pardon, Mr.

MacAllister.... Captain Whiteley told me that Dr. Sinclair was off to

the front this morning before daybreak.... By----! ... 'Pon my soul, I

mean, I was never so surprised in my life."

"Dr. Sinclair! Off to the front!" Mr. and Mrs. MacAllister spoke

together.

"Yes," replied De Vaux. "He has gone to serve as a doctor with the

Chinese army.... Never heard of a man taking such risk.... It's sheer

suicide.... By----! ... 'Pon my soul, it is!"

Mrs. MacAllister glanced at her daughter, and her husband's eyes

followed. Miss MacAllister was sitting up very erect and looking

straight at De Vaux. Her lips were parted. Her face had paled a little.

But her eyes were dark and glowing.

"Did any one go with him?" she asked abruptly.

"I believe that Sergeant Gorman, the constable at the consulate----"

"I mean did any of the gentlemen go? Any of the gentlemen we met at the

consulate last evening?"

"Why! Bless my soul! No! ... Not that I know of!" stuttered De Vaux.

"I wish that I were a man," she flashed back. "I would not see one man

go out to a dangerous duty alone."

"But--but, my dear Miss MacAllister," blurted out De Vaux. "We did not

know that he was going.... 'Pon my honour as a gentleman, we did not!

... He left before we were awake."

"That's one advantage of being a teetotaller," was the quick reply.

Mrs. MacAllister elevated her nose and gave her characteristic sniff:

"I think that Dr. Sinclair is simply foolhardy. It is perfectly absurd

for a man to risk his life for the sake of those dirty Chinese. I do

not know how any one can bear to live among them, let alone having to

touch them." (De Vaux got very red.) "And as for going into a whole

army of them to heal their wounds, it's simply Quixotic" (she pronounced

it Kwy-so-tic), "that's all it is; Quixotic."

De Vaux winced at the pronunciation--perhaps also at the sentiment. He

began to gurgle unintelligibly. As usual, Mr. MacAllister came to the

rescue.

"It was with the hope of getting an opportunity to do medical work among

these people that Dr. Sinclair came to this country. I should think

that the present situation offers him an admirable opening. A physician

or surgeon who is really in love with his work does not stop to consider

whether his patients are attractive or not. His one thought is to heal

them."

"It is all very good to talk about sacrificing oneself to do good,"

replied his wife tartly. "And when I am at home I just love to hear

missionary sermons, and sometimes to attend women's missionary meetings.

But to come out here and live among those natives and think you can make

them any better and get them to know anything about the religion which

educated, intelligent white people believe in, is sheer foolishness. I

am very much disappointed in Dr. Sinclair. It is nothing but

foolishness."

"I think that it is just splendid to do something like that," said her

daughter. "Just think of it, to be over there where hundreds of men are

being brought in wounded and to be the only one who can do anything for

them! And to have those poor creatures wonder at the cures! Why wasn't

I a man?"

"Yes, and have one of the dear, grateful creatures stick a knife into

you when your back is turned," said her mother sarcastically.

But her daughter paid no attention to the interruption:

"Mr. De Vaux, do you know the country over there, around Keelung, where

the fighting is going on? Of course you do. Won't you tell us all

about it?"

So through the remainder of the breakfast she plied De Vaux with

questions, and brought out the fact that he had really a remarkable

store of knowledge about the island and its inhabitants. And all the

while the father looked on, and occasionally thought of her conduct the

evening before, and wondered. But her mother looked unutterable things,

ever and anon interjected an acid remark, which served as pickles to the

bill of fare, and frequently sniffed.

*XV*

*THE LURE OF THE EAST*

Mountain and river, land and sea slept that afternoon in the wealth of

sunshine which flooded the earth. A scarcely perceptible sea-breeze

ever and anon caused the lighter foliage to tremble. The great fronds

of the palm trees hung absolutely motionless, the air quivered in the

heat. Millions of cicadas shrilled in the trees and shrubbery. In some

way or another their ceaseless quavering, shrilling notes seemed to fit

in with the quivering wavelets of atmosphere, until one came to look

upon them as cause and effect and inseparably associated. That tremulous

atmosphere would not be complete without those quavering notes. The

notes would not be complete without the atmosphere.

The native birds were all silent. Only the English sparrows seemed

utterly indifferent to the heat. They fluttered and chirped and fought

just as cheerfully as they would have done in the soft climate of their

native England or amid the Arctic frosts of a Western Canadian January.

Human life was almost as quiescent as that of the birds. Down by the

water-front of the town a number of junks were hastily loading in order

to put to sea with the late afternoon tide. Around the _Hailoong_ a

little fleet of cargo boats clustered, busily discharging their lading

into her hold. McLeod had evidently been successful in his trip

up-river. On the downs back of the consulate and the mission buildings

Chinese soldiers were mounting cannon of many ages and designs on their

earthworks.

These were the only signs of activity. The soldiers and cannon were the

only indications of war. A great quiet rested over the beautiful

landscape, a peace as cloudless as that summer sky.

Clang-clang! Clang-clang! Clang-clang! Clang-clang! Eight bells!

Four o'clock! The brazen notes rang out from the _Hailoong_. Like an

echo they were answered, only in silver tones as soft and sweet as those

of a cathedral chime. Involuntarily one looked around for the

church-spire and waited to hear the hymn tune come floating on the air.

But there was no church, and there was no holy hymn. It was the bell of

the trim little gunboat, _Locust_, resting out there on the bosom of the

river striking the hour of four.

A group of white-clad figures appeared on the bright green of the

consulate lawn. Other figures clad in white, men and women, were moving

in ones and twos along the narrow road on the top of the hill or through

the shrubbery of the consul's garden to join them. It might be a tropic

land and a day of tropic sunshine. The natives of that land, all save

those who were compelled to work, might be seeking shelter from the sun

and waiting for the cool of the evening before again exposing themselves

to its rays. But, like the sparrows from his home land, the Englishman

could not rest. The sun had no terrors for him. If he had no work to

do, he would have sport. The whole English-speaking population who

could get away from their duties, whether residents or transients, were

assembling for the afternoon game of tennis.

Yet they were not foolhardy in their exposure to the sun. They took

precautions. Indeed, the striking thing about their sport was the

trouble they had taken to make it comfortable and enjoyable.

The lawn, if it could not boast the carpet of green velvet which

characterizes an English lawn, was well covered with close-set grass.

In spite of the efforts of the great slugs to burrow it into holes and

throw up pyramids of earth, daily rolling had kept it firm and smooth.

A green wall of hedge, reenforced by wire netting, surrounded it. The

big bulk of the old Dutch fort sheltered half of it from the rays of the

declining sun. An oblong of sail-cloth, stretched between two tall

masts, shaded the other half. The players had rarely ever occasion to

be exposed to the sun. Chinese coolies, in the dark blue and red

uniforms of the consul's service, two behind the players and two at the

net, picked up the balls and handed them to the players. Long,

comfortable settees and chairs, and a table laden with cool drinks,

nestled against the hedge in the shadiest corner.

"Really, Mr. Beauchamp, this is the luxury of tennis. A canopy to

shelter us! Coolies in livery to pick up the balls! I'm surprised that

you do not have proxies to run for us, as they do in cricket when the

veterans play. You really ought to have native boys to do the running."

"We're working on it, Miss MacAllister; we're working on it. Soon we'll

be able to give it to the world. Brand new game! Tropical tennis!

Latest thing in sport! Four players to a side! Two in the inner courts

and two in the outer! Only two rackets to a side! Native boys in

liveries of smiles and sunshine to carry rackets from back to forward

players and vice versa, as occasion to meet the ball requires. Great

discovery! Carteret and I are working on it."

"Magnificent, Mr. Beauchamp! Magnificent!" exclaimed Miss MacAllister

amidst a burst of laughter. "You and Mr. Carteret will be catalogued

with Columbus and Sir Isaac Newton among the great benefactors of the

race. When will you be able to bestow it upon mankind? I do hope that

it may be while I am here."

"It would have been before this, were it not that Carteret and I differ

on a small point, a mere detail."

"And what is that?"

"I think it sufficient to provide the players with easy-chairs in which

to rest between strokes. But Carteret wants them to be permanently

suspended in hammocks, and that the balls must be so served as to enable

the players to return them without arising from a reclining position."

There was a peal of laughter at the consul's little absurdity. Carteret

joined in with the rest. But his pallid face flushed at the palpable

thrust at his well-known indolence.

Commander Gardenier was unable to come. But his second in command,

Lieutenant Lanyon, a young Irishman, was delighted to escape the routine

of duty on board ship for a day ashore and the company of some

attractive ladies. With the headlong courage of his race, whether in

love or in war, he immediately asked Miss MacAllister to be his partner

in the first set, without waiting to see if that were agreeable to his

host, who was arranging the players. His frank, boyish, open-eyed

admiration of his choice was so good to see that the consul, usually a

bit of an autocrat in all such matters, laughingly accepted the

situation.

"Carteret, will you take my wife as partner and defend the honour of the

island? These two reckless young visitors have evidently taken it upon

themselves to challenge the residents."

"Certainly, Mr. Beauchamp. I shall be delighted to have so skilful a

partner as Mrs. Beauchamp. We shall endeavour to give a good account of

ourselves. From their manner I should judge that our opponents are

perfectly confident of winning."

He looked to where the young naval officer and Miss MacAllister were

standing. They were already deep in conversation and apparently

entirely oblivious to the rest of the company. He heard Lanyon say:

"By Jove! luck has come my way to-day. Little did I think when we were

ordered to Tamsui that there would be such fortune before me as to meet

any one like you. It does my heart good just to look at you."

Miss MacAllister laughed merrily.

"Do you always express yourself so frankly on so short acquaintance, Mr.

Lanyon?" she asked. "I'm afraid that I cannot believe much of that. I

think that you are Irish. You probably said the same thing to the last

partner you had."

"By my soul, I did not. How could I? She was forty if she was a day,

and ugly as sin."

His partner's laugh pealed out again. There was no resisting such an

implication.

"Very nicely put, Mr. Lanyon. Now I know that you are Irish."

Just then Mrs. Beauchamp called to them:

"Come, come, Mr. Lanyon. I cannot allow this. You are monopolizing Miss

MacAllister and delaying the play."

"By my faith," was the quick reply, "it's myself that would be mortial

glad to monopolize her."

"Oh, Mr. Lanyon, this is shocking. On less than half an hour's

acquaintance, too! If you say anything more like that I'll not be your

partner."

"Then, if there's any danger of your leaving me, I'll take it all back

with my mouth; but I'll think it in my heart just the same."

Carteret's pale face, a little paler to-day than usual, had the same

expression of studied contempt as when he met Sinclair the evening

before. His lips parted to utter some sarcastic remark when Mrs.

Beauchamp interposed:

"It's your service, Miss MacAllister. Will you not begin?"

In a moment the lawn was animate with the quick-moving white figures of

the players, and the blue and red of the attendant coolies. The

contestants were all experts at the sport, and the set might have been

prolonged indefinitely had it not been that Lanyon would not serve a

fast ball to Mrs. Beauchamp. Again and again she assured him that she

was quite capable of receiving a fast service and that he must not throw

the game away. But the young lieutenant's Irish gallantry would not

allow him to volley such balls at her as he drove at Carteret. On the

other hand, the latter had no such scruples, but played to win.

Consequently he and his partner did win rather handily.

When the set was over and others had taken their places, Carteret found

an opportunity to engage Miss MacAllister in conversation as they were

seated in the shade of the old fort.

"I was disappointed not to have the pleasure of being your partner," he

said. "I had been looking forward to it all day."

Instantly there flashed into her mind the picture of him De Vaux had

painted that morning at breakfast, and she could scarcely repress a

laugh. She wondered to herself how much of the day he had been in a

condition to think of her. But she answered readily:

"I should be very pleased to be your partner for a set, Mr. Carteret.

There will probably be an opportunity later. You are an expert at

tennis."

"We all ought to be experts in this place," he replied. "We get plenty

of practice. Outside of office hours there are only two pastimes open

to us--cards on wet days and tennis when the weather is fine."

"Why," she exclaimed, "I should not have thought that! From what I have

seen of Tamsui, I think that it is quite lively. With dinners and

tennis, with warships coming and going, with always the possibility of

seeing a row among the Chinese or between them and somebody else, I

think it must be really exciting living here. I should think that it

would be great sport."

"You may think so, Miss MacAllister, from what you have seen of it. But

the condition you have seen is quite abnormal. We do not have London

merchants nor ladies from London drawing-rooms visiting us every week.

Neither do we have the company of naval officers on ordinary occasions.

Perhaps, if we had more ladies, we might have the attention and

protection of our gallant seamen more frequently."

His voice had the sneering tone of the evening before. Miss

MacAllister's eyes flashed ominously. He saw the danger signal and

quickly changed the tone and the topic:

"Really, Miss MacAllister, as a general rule this place is beastly dull.

There are so few to associate with. No matter how enjoyable their

company may be at first, it simply becomes unbearable when you have no

one else, don't you know?"

"Do you think that is a universal rule, Mr. Carteret?"

He saw that he had made a tactical blunder, beat a hasty retreat, and

executed a flank attack:

"I assure you, Miss MacAllister, that I had reference only to those with

whom one is forced to associate in the casual relations of life. We are

not associated by choice, but by the caprice of fortune or by

compulsion. And the realization of the compulsion makes the association

the more unbearable. We get to hate the very sight of one another."

"I can quite understand that," she replied. "I learned that when I had

to spend a year in a very select boarding-school, with a principal and

teachers whom I hated, and not one girl of whom I could make a real

friend. I was more alone than if I had been like Robinson Crusoe on his

island."

He was quick to pursue the advantage:

"That is it exactly. I should be far less lonely if I were entirely

alone or if I had only one companion, so long as that companion were

congenial."

She looked sympathetically at him, but did not speak.

"That is the tragedy of life in the Far East," he continued. "That is

why so many men take to drink."

She thought of the evening before and of what De Vaux had let out at

breakfast. She said nothing; so he went on:

"That is why so many men become inveterate gamblers; why so many who

came out with high hopes of accomplishing something end by committing

suicide."

As he talked on in this strain, quietly, yet evidently with deep

feeling, Miss MacAllister began to ask herself if she had not, in her

own mind, judged this young aristocrat too harshly. Perhaps he was not

so bad as she had thought him the evening before, when she had refused

any longer to play his accompaniments. Perhaps there was some excuse for

his being in the condition which De Vaux had blundered out to them that

morning.

At any rate, he seemed to be revealing to her another side of his

character. She had met him first as the graceful, polished man of the

world, a little cynical perhaps, and yet so courteous in his manners

towards her as to hide the unpleasant characteristics. She had noted

his contemptuous attitude towards Sinclair, his look and tone of studied

insult. She had caught a glimpse of the greedy, lustful expression in

his eyes as he bent over her at the piano, and, before the evening was

done, the leer of intoxication.

But here was another aspect which she had not looked for. Without

appearing to seek sympathy, he was appealing to her feelings, and in

spite of herself she responded:

"I had not thought of the life out here in that way," she said. "It had

appeared quite fascinating to me."

"So it appears to nearly everybody at first. But after a while it palls

upon them. At last it becomes unbearable."

"Then why do they not go home, or to Australia or America or somewhere

else where they would be among their own people?"

"We are forgotten at home. We should be strangers there. And as for

Australia or America, life out here unfits a man to succeed in lands

where everybody must be his own servant and where there is no road to

success but by hard work."

A little ray of comprehension shot into Miss MacAllister's mind. It was

with a touch of impatience that she answered:

"But, Mr. Carteret, you do not mean to say that you have been long

enough here to unfit you for work anywhere else. If you do not like the

life, why do you stay here?"

"_Pro bono familiae_," he replied with a bitter laugh. "Because of the

affection of my beloved elder brother."

"The consul tells me that he enjoys himself here," she said, avoiding

any discussion of his family affairs. "He says that there is very good

shooting and some of the best sea-bathing he has ever experienced."

"He is welcome to the shooting, tramping over the hills and through the

rice fields in a climate like this. As for the bathing, any pleasure in

it is spoiled by the walk home in the heat afterwards."

At that instant the consul, who was playing, returned a ball with such a

screw on it that after falling in his opponent's court it bounded back

over the net. His opponent, in a mad effort to return it, plunged

headlong into the net and fell. In celebration of which achievement the

consul threw his racket high in the air, turned a handspring, and ended

up by reversing himself and walking across the court on his hands, with

his feet in the air.

"Splendid, Mr. Beauchamp!" cried Miss MacAllister. "Brilliantly done!

Especially the gymnastic performance!"

"Right-oh, Miss MacAllister!" exclaimed a deep voice behind her. "The

consul is acrobat enough to make a shining success as a sailor man."

It was Captain Whiteley, come up to drink a cup of tea and say good-bye

before casting off for Hong-Kong.

"Oh, Captain Whiteley, I'm so glad to see you before you go! But what

is this I hear? You have let your doctor go off to Keelung to carve

Chinese, and perhaps be carved himself. I am surprised at you."

"Not my fault, I assure you, Miss MacAllister. He was bound to go. He

is of age. I could not restrain him."

"I think it is just splendid of him to go. That is the sort of thing I

admire in a man. If I were a man, that is what I should like to do."

"I am awfully glad, Miss MacAllister, that Sinclair has at last done

something which pleases you. I was beginning to be afraid that you were

offended with him past the possibility of reconciliation."

She looked at him sharply. His face was lamblike in its innocence, but

his eyes were twinkling.

"That will do, Captain Whiteley. You have said quite enough."

The telltale colour deepened in her face, and her mother, who was

talking to Carteret nearby, heard and saw, closed her lips tightly, and

sniffed.

The little party of white-clad players were still on the lawn when the

_Hailoong_ moved down the river, zigzagged her way through the field of

mines, and once well beyond the bar steamed straight out over the

motionless sea in the path of red-gold light from the setting sun. It

seemed the breaking of the one link between them and the outside world.

In the soft stillness of that evening in the Orient, London with its mud

and smoke, its roar of traffic, its drab colours and familiar,

unromantic life, seemed so far away that it might have belonged to

another world.

Strange to say, it was not of London that Miss MacAllister was thinking.

Again and again she surprised herself thinking of the big, fair-haired

Canadian doctor. She tried to picture to herself his surroundings amid

the sick and suffering, the men torn with shot and shell. She could not

help contrasting them with the peaceful environment of the consul's

tennis party, where men had been enjoying themselves in the company of

the ladies, and incidentally emptying long glasses of whiskey and soda

or sipping tea.

She recalled the looks of the man himself, his clean-cut features,

straightforward gaze, his good-humour even when she was badgering him,

and the hearty, boyish laugh when he and McLeod were plotting some

mischief together. Involuntarily she contrasted him with the cynical

discontent, the weary air and self-pity of the man with whom she had

talked that afternoon. If Sinclair could have known her conclusions, he

would have been well content.

*XVI*

*SERGEANT WHATISNAME*

But Sinclair did not know. Perhaps at that moment he was not thinking

much about her. He was just entering on his long night's work among the

wounded. Every power of mind was concentrated on the problem of those

pain-racked human beings and how to relieve their sufferings.

And yet ever and anon, when he had finished an operation and his mind

relaxed as his hands almost mechanically followed the familiar process

of bandaging, a picture floated before his eyes. It was only a

transparency, through which he could see every line of the brown limb or

body he was binding up with care But it was as clear to him as though it

had been done on canvas by the brush of a painter. It was the picture

of a proudly-carried head, with a crown of brown hair, a beautiful oval

face with rich colour, dark violet eyes dancing with fun, and full red

lips parted in a teasing laugh, which made the hot blood tingle in his

face at the very memory of it.

As the days passed by he had more time to think of that face. The first

strenuous days over, the pressure on his time and strength relaxed

somewhat. A number of the greatest sufferers died. But in the majority

of cases the singular toughness and marvellous recuperative power of the

Chinese seconded his skilful surgery. Many a man who, if he had

belonged to any Western nation, would have been invalided home, never to

be able to rejoin the colours, in ten days or two weeks' time left the

hospital and returned to his regiment. There were but few wounded being

brought in. The French were unable to advance beyond the shore line.

The Chinese were unable to dislodge the French from the foothold they

had obtained. Consequently, for nearly a month after the bombardment

there was little fighting.

The weather, though exceedingly hot, was not unhealthy. In any case,

those who might be sick preferred to go to their own doctors for medical

treatment. While they acknowledged the superiority of the foreigner in

surgery, they unhesitatingly maintained that their own physicians were

unequalled in their knowledge of medicine.

The most common disease was the ever-present malarial fever. It was

caused by two devils--the negative devil who industriously fanned the

victim to give him chills and the positive devil who worked a furnace

overtime to give him his spells of fever. As the foreign surgeon was a

stranger to the country and supposed to have little acquaintance with

those diligent devils, the preference was given to the incantations of

native priests or the indescribable decoctions of native doctors.

As a result, Sinclair's duties had grown lighter every day. The

service, which at first had taxed to the utmost even his splendid

strength and vigour, had become less and less arduous, until, except for

the necessity of living on native food, he had come to look upon it as a

sort of picnic. Most of the dressings and all the preliminary

examinations of new cases he was able to leave to his assistants. Dr.

MacKay had gone to visit his converts at various places where bands of

freebooters, taking advantage of the disturbed state of the country, had

thrown themselves upon the defenceless Christians, robbing, maltreating,

torturing, and sometimes putting to death. But he left behind his

student companions, whose knowledge of dressing wounds and giving simple

treatments and acting the part of nurses, relieved the surgeon of much

of his burden.

But it was principally on Sergeant Gorman that he had learned to rely.

Every day revealed some new capability in that versatile Irishman. It

was, however, in drilling and instructing an ambulance brigade that his

capability was most evident. He was a master of the art of teaching men

any form of military drill. But he was more than that. He was a born

leader of men. Sinclair marvelled at the rapidity with which these

uncouth, chattering Chinese peasants, who never by any accident had kept

step for a dozen paces, and who never ceased their jabbering at any

command given by their own officers, were reduced to silence and

mastered squad and stretcher drill. They were raw material to begin

with. Some of them were worse. The Chinese officers had drafted into

this service some of the roughest characters in their regiments, to be

rid of them. Yet these, who were accustomed to threaten to shoot their

own officers when an unwelcome command was given, gave absolute and

prompt obedience to this red-headed foreign devil, whom they had never

seen till a few days before, who spoke their language imperfectly, and

carried no weapon save a bit of a withe he had cut for a swagger-stick.

As Sinclair looked on he could not help but wonder at the

shortsightedness and snobbery in the British army, which made officers

of callow youths who knew nothing of war or leadership, and many of whom

never would, and refused a commission to a man like this, whose mastery

of men amounted to genius.

The middle of the month had passed. It was drawing towards sunset of a

hot August day. The two men who had already grown into a fast

friendship were out where the courtyard of their improvised hospital

opened on the bank of the river. One of the wings and a clump of

bamboos sheltered them from the still ardent rays of the sun. The

evening breeze was just beginning to breathe along the river.

Dr. Sinclair was stretched on a long, bamboo reclining chair, which had

been sent him from the headquarters of General Liu Ming-chuan. His

hands were clasped behind his head. He was looking up at the sky, where

an occasional fleck of cloud was changing from white to gold and crimson

in the light of the sunset. In his white trousers, white canvas shoes,

white negligee shirt, open at the neck, and with the shadow of a smile

playing about his eyes and mouth, he looked the very personification of

whole-hearted content. Sergeant Gorman was sitting opposite to him on a

camp-chair of his own construction, smoking a short dudeen.

That afternoon General Liu Ming-chuan, accompanied by his staff, had

paid a visit of inspection to their hospital. With a frankness and

candour which could not be misunderstood, he had commended the work they

had done, and on his own behalf and that of China had thanked them for

their services. While his visit and appreciation were pleasant to them

personally, it meant more than that. Henceforth there was to be no more

of the open opposition they had experienced from the native doctors and

priests, and even from some of the officers. It was no wonder that

Sinclair was feeling well content.

"Do you know, Gorman, this job suits me fine. If I could get a

permanent sit at something like this, with enough salary to live

decently, I think I could be happy."

"An' if you do," replied Gorman, dropping back into the brogue as he

always did when he was in good-humour, whether fighting or chatting with

a friend--"an' if you do, wud you jist kape me in moind as your furst

assistant?"

"That I would," replied Sinclair. "I do not know how I should get along

without you."

"Begorra, an' it's glad I am to hear you say so; for it's more p'ace of

moind I have here than iver I've had since the furst toime me

mother-in-law came to bliss me home wid her prisince--since she furst

beamed upon us like the sun thr'u' a gatherin' storm."

"The only thing which catches me here is the grub. I do not like this

Chinese chow."

"Faith thin, it seems to like you."

"How's that?"

"You're gettin' fat on it."

"Do you really think so?"

"Bedad and I don't think so. I'm sure of it."

Sinclair solicited tested the tightness of his belt; lazily raised

himself and examined it to find out at what hole it was buckled.

"Afraid you're wrong this time, Gorman. Not getting it round the waist

anyway. Buckled in the same hole and not a bit tighter than before.

"Thin you're gettin' it round the jaws of you. Checks and double chin

loike a howly father starvin' in Lent."

"Surely it's not so bad as that! I'll have to get more exercise.

Nothing like training to keep down flesh. Run four or five miles of a

morning. That's what will do it."

"Bedad thin, if that's thrue, that American gineral the Chinese have

must have run all the way from Ameriky. Did iver you clap your two eyes

on such a split-the-wind?"

"He sure is thin," replied Sinclair in the idiom of his native land.

"As we used to say in Canada, he'd be handy to send on an errand down a

pump."

"Faith," replied the Irishman, determined not to be beaten in

exaggeration, "the pump would need to have a good valve or he'd leak

out."

"You have it," laughed Sinclair. "I'll quit."

"Now, what do you make of him, anyway?"

"New England Yankee by his twang. Vermont by his build. Been in the

South by his pronunciation of some words. But when he swears Montana is

written all over him."

Now, if that isn't divilish cliver of you to spot him loike that! Now,

isn't it? But did ever you hear such a name? Silas Z. Leatherbottom!

Be the powers, if I had a name loike that, I'd change it or die in the

attempt. Silas Z. Leatherbottom!"

"It would have been a mighty handy name to have had when you were under

the Wallopin' Master," retorted Sinclair.

"Whisht now, docther dear. It's unfeelin' of you to call up painful

memories. May the saints forgive me, but I cannot sit comfortable an'

think of him."

Sinclair's boyish, care-free laugh rang out as Gorman left his

camp-stool and began to pace restlessly up and down, making grimaces and

gestures, half vengeful, half humorous.

"Be the powers of Knocktopher, but it wud be a pleasure jist to be

twishtin' this bit of a shtick about the big body of him. The yells of

him wud be the sw'atest music in me ears, barrin' always the lament at

me mother-in-law's wake."

"Egskews me, gentlemen" (with a marked emphasis on the "me"). "Egskews

me for intrewding on yewr private deliberations. But I had a leetle

proposition to make to one of yew gentlemen, an' I reckoned thet yew

wouldn't object to me droppin' in on yew t' talk it over."

"Certainly not, General Leatherbottom," replied Sinclair, rising to

receive him. "We are delighted to have you call. Have a seat."

Sergeant Gorman had clapped his swagger-stick under his left arm,

clicked his heels together, stood at attention, and saluted as if by

instinct.

"Naow, by the Jumpin' Jemina, thet's what I call neatly done. Thet's

whar yew Britishers get away on us. When it comes to fightin' we kin

fight. Don't take no second place to ennybody I ever met, an' I've met

some few in my time. But when it comes to takin' Indians or niggers or

Chinks in hand lickin' them into shape, an' teachin' them haow to fight

civilized thet's whar you've got us beat to a stand-still."

He was a tall man, a very tall man, two or three inches over six feet.

But he was narrow-shouldered slab-sided, and marvellously thin. His

small head seemed lost in a great cavern of a sun-helmet. A long,

faded, yellow moustache drooped over the hollow cheeks and angular jaws.

He sat down on the proffered camp-chair, hitching a holster containing a

huge .44 Colt round a little more to one side, to allow him to sit back

with comfort. His legs were so long that his knees stuck up at an acute

angle. When he threw one over the other, they were so thin that they

seemed to twine around each other in serpentine fashion.

He accepted a pipe, lighted it, leaned forward with one sharp elbow on a

sharp knee, the hand helping to hold the pipe in his mouth as he talked.

The other arm was across his knee and the long, bony hand hanging down.

"Ef yew gentlemen will egskews me, I'll make my proposition, an' we'll

perceed to bizness. But fust I'd like t' give yew a leetle of my

auttybiography, so's yew'll understand the sityewation."

With many quaint oaths and ingenious expletives, he told how he had

served as a private in a Vermont infantry regiment in the Civil War, had

been wounded and taken prisoner. After the war he had drifted into the

cavalry and been engaged in Indian wars in the Dakotas and Montana. He

was with Benteen's companies when Custer and his three hundred were

massacred by the Sioux under Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse. Then he had

turned miner, and after much experience in the Black Hills, as well as

in Montana and Idaho, had drifted to Formosa and had been engaged in

developing gold workings but a little distance from where they sat when

the war broke out.

"An' naow, gentlemen, I'm a general of brigade in the service of His

Imperial Majesty of China, gettin' 's much dust in a month 's I could in

a year of minin'. An' thet's why I am fur the time bein' a dewtiful

subject of His Imperial Bigness.

"Mebbe yew'll b'lieve me, I hev seen sum fightin'. An' I ain't partiklar

ef I see sum more. An' I hev idears whar t' plant an army, an' haow t'

plan a defence or lay a trap. But this bizness of drillin' Chinks so's

they'll walk t'gether, an' shoot t'gether, and dew what they're told

without all talkin' at once like the sisters at a meetin'-house

sewin'-bee, an' all gettin' tied up into a gol-durned tarnation tangle,

thet's what knocks the spots off yewrs trewly.

"Naow, gentlemen, my proposition is thet the sergeant here jest step

over with me to General Liew, an' take service with him till the end of

the war. The general was mighty pleased with thet ar ambulance corpse

of yourn. He'd make you a kurnel, second in command of a brigade. An'

the spondoolix! Lots of it! Got it to burn! More'n a candidate for

congress at election time! Money don't count with him no haow. Ef yew

lick these ar Chinks into fightin' shape, I'll plan the campaign an'

we'll whale those _parley-voos_ into the sea in no time. Then we'll get

a concession an' the gold mine. Naow, what dew yew think of thet?"

"That sounds pretty good, sergeant," said Sinclair. "It looks like a

chance for you.

"Thet's what I call a putty payin' proposition. Will yew take it?"

"Thank you, sir; I think not."

Leatherbottom opened his small, light-blue eyes as wide as the cavernous

depths of their sockets would allow, removed the pipe from his mouth,

and spat far out into the river:

"Naow will yew tell me haow it is thet yew will not take on a payin'

proposition like thet? Dew yew forget the spondoolix?"

"I do not, sir."

"Then, will yew tell me why?"

"I have fought for twenty-four years under one flag. There is only one

other that I would fight under."

"I presyewme thet is the stars and stripes, the flag of the Yew.S.A.?"

"It is not, sir."

"Then, will yew tell me what flag it is?" asked the general in evident

surprise.

"The green flag with the golden harp, the flag of a self-governing

Ireland!"

"But there ain't no army 'lowed to carry sech a flag."

"Then, till there is, I'll still fight under the old flag and the old

queen I have served more than half my life."

"An' yew air an' Irishman?"

"Yes, sir."

"An' a Roman Catholic?"

"I am, sir."

"Wall--I'll--be--gol--durned!"

Sergeant Gorman's moustache and eyebrows fairly bristled. The little,

shrewd blue eyes of the Indian fighter were quick to notice it:

"Egskews me, sergeant; I ain't meant no offence. 'Twas only thet I had

been informed thet the Irish will hev a Fourth-of-July celebration the

day the Yewnion Jack gits out of thet ar island fur good."

"Then you were misinformed, sir."

"Wall, I reckon it's a case of live an' l'arn. When I was t' hum I

thought the Yew.S.A. were putty near the hull thing. When I came out

here I putty soon found out they warn't. When I was in our country,

a-listenin' to the politicians, I thought every Irishman was jest

thirstin' fur the blood of the English. I came out here an' naow yew

tell me they ain't. Will you egskews me? I hev sum things t' l'arn

yet."

"Certainly, sir. We all make mistakes."

"Thank yew. But why yew'd refewse t' change yewr flag when yew knew

thet the spondoolix was sure, thet beats me. Oh, wall, I reckon every

man has his own way of lookin' at things. Say, doctor, whar's the

elder?"

"Do you mean Dr. MacKay?';

"Sartin."

"Oh, he left several days ago to visit some of his converts. I guess

the heathen have been roughing things a bit and making it hot for the

Christians. He went to see if he could help them out."

"Do he carry weepons?"

"I believe not."

"Wall, thet beats all. I've seen some putty nervy things. I've seen

whar Custer an' his three hundred rode slap-bang into Sittin' Bull an'

his red devils on the Little Big Horn, an' got skulped, every man of

them. But they hed guns an' hed a chance. But t' go out among these ar

yellow heathen, when they're rampagin' fur the blood of furriners,

without so much 's even a .32 t' put the fear of God into them thet's

what I call temptin' Providence. It's givin' Providence a chance t' let

them dew their durndest and save itself the trubble of interferin'."

The sun had gone down and the moon had taken its place riding in silver

radiance across the cloudless sky. General Leatherbottom rose to go.

Sinclair and Gorman accompanied him through the hospital to the street

door. A squad of the sergeant's ambulance corps, who were on guard,

presented arms with the precision and unity of European veterans.

With democratic freedom the general thrust his long, bony hand first

into Sinclair's, then into Gorman's:

"Never seen the beat of thet ambulance corpse of yourn, fur the time

yew've had 'em. But, by the Jumpin' Jemina, I'd like to hev seen yew

lickin' the regiments of my brigade into shape."

*XVII*

*WOLVES AND THEIR PREY*

The end of August found the French and Chinese in the same state of

impasse. As a consequence there was little bloodshed, and few wounded

were being brought into the hospital. If it had not been for the

shocking carelessness of the Chinese in handling firearms and

explosives, there would have been almost none. Time began to hang

somewhat heavy on the hands of Dr. Sinclair and his assistant.

"Getting mighty slow here," he remarked to Gorman one day.

"Slower than promotion for merit in the service," was the reply.

"You haven't it so bad. You can always amuse yourself drilling 'that

ambulance corpse of yourn,' as General Leatherbottom calls it."

"Divil a bit: There's nothin' more for me to t'ache thim. Tuk till it

loike ducks to wather. Can imitate me till if they were wanst in

service outfit I'd swear it was the multiplication table of meself

a'marchin' down the road."

Sinclair laughed.

"That's just what I've been noticing," he said. "When you took hold of

them every man jack toed in. Now they all turn their toes out at a

little more than an angle of forty-five degrees, just as you do. And

right down to that little spindly chap, twenty-five inches around the

hips, they all strut as if they were as broad in the beam as yourself."

"Bedad thin, I'm not the only wan! It's the same wid your bhoys inside.

They're jist reduced copies of yourself. They bate Banagher for

imitation."

"Suppose we leave those fellows to look after things for a couple of

days and run over to Tamsui while business is slack. If things were to

brighten up a bit here, we might not get another chance."

"Faith, an' I'm wid you. But, begorra, we had better see to it that

each of us has a bit of a shtick an' a gun handy. I hear that there are

disturbances iverywhere, an' it's little manners the haythen are showin'

to Europeans since the Frinch shtarted to mix it up wid thim."

"The last time he passed, Dr. MacKay told me that there was a good deal

of rioting and some murdering. But he seemed to go about his work as if

it were perfectly safe. And, so far as I could find out, he never

carries any weapons."

"May the saints preserve him, that is a man! I was born a Roman

Catholic, an' I intind to die a Roman Catholic. But, if it was advice

about me sowl's salvation I was wantin'--and betune you an' me I'm

needin' it badly enough--it's to him I'd go rather than to a church full

of the priests that are feedin' fat on me paternal estate."

Their arrangements were soon made, and they were off. Even on the

much-travelled way between the camp before Keelung and the capital there

were evidences of disorder and lawlessness. Bands of marauders were

out. Many of them were well armed, as they included numbers of

irregular levies who had deserted with the arms and ammunition with

which they had been supplied when they enlisted. Wayfarers had been

robbed, and some who resisted had been murdered. Lonely farmhouses were

looted and burned. In some cases the men were killed and the women

foully abused. Some considerable towns had been attacked and terrorized

into paying tribute.

But it was on the native Christians that the heaviest blow fell. Nearly

everywhere they were hounded down, their little churches were destroyed,

their houses were ransacked, their goods pillaged, and themselves

cruelly beaten and tortured. Even when they succeeded in reaching

hiding-places, they were often betrayed by their own relatives and given

over to the inhuman cruelties of the heathen.

So serious was the danger that the consul issued a warning to his

nationals and those of other nations for whom he acted not to venture

beyond the limits of the port, where they could be under the protection

of the gunboat, as well as of the Chinese garrison. At that moment Dr.

MacKay, Sinclair, and Gorman were the only white men who were outside of

the protection of large forces of disciplined soldiers.

Several times on their way Sinclair and his companion were faced by

armed men. But they moved resolutely forward. As the marauders opened

up to let them pass Sinclair caught the word "I-seng" (the life-healer),

while Gorman laughed to hear himself described as "Ang-mng-kui (the

red-haired devil). Their reputations had preceded them and stood them in

good stead.

Elsewhere tragedies were being enacted. Five or six miles south of the

road which they were travelling, nestling in among the foothills of the

great mountain-chain which occupied all the centre of the island, was

the prosperous town of Sin-tiam. There the missionary had gathered

together a congregation of worshippers and built a church of unplastered

stone.

With the eye for beauty in nature which characterized him, he had chosen

a site at one end of the town, where a little dell smiled between some

verdured hills and the river. In front of the church door lay a beach

of shingle, round which curved the swift, clear green waters of the

Sin-tiam River. Its farther bank rose steeply from the water's edge, a

hillside luxuriant with trees and vines, ferns and grasses, their vivid

green all starred with roses and morning-glories, or the massed beauties

of myrtle-trees and honeysuckle. Behind the first abrupt hill rose

higher hills, and beyond these mountains, in whose impenetrable jungles

and savage retreats the wild headhunters had their home. Behind these

again giant peaks towered into the heavens.

Into this paradise of beauty, bloodthirsty, heathen men burst and their

rage turned it into a perdition. Early one fair summer morning the black

flags of a party of marauders were seen approaching the town. The

respectable citizens, whether heathen or Christian, hurriedly closed and

barricaded their shops and houses. The worst element of the population

rushed out to join the freebooters.

Like a pack of hungry wolves they entered the town on the run, yelling,

screaming, beating drums, blowing horns, firing their guns. It was

evident that they had a concerted plan, for they did not halt, but with

yelp and yell and animal snarl they swept through to the far end, where

the Christian church was situated. They poured into the native

preacher's house, which adjoined the church. It was deserted. At the

first alarm some of the Christians had rushed to the church, and hurried

their pastor and his family by a circuitous route to a safe

hiding-place. They knew that he would be the first victim. They hoped

that their own obscurity would be their protection.

After a vain search for the preacher, the black-flags returned to loot

his house and destroy everything they could not carry away. Then they

began to search for other victims. Unfortunately in their haste the

pastor and his friends had forgotten the roll of church members, which

was in the drawer of the desk on the church platform. It was the death

warrant of some of the flock.

With yells of savage delight the persecutors tore it open and began to

read out the names:

He was a tolerably well-to-do merchant. At the mention of his name the

mob scented plunder, and the most active fairly fought with one another

in the rush to be foremost for the spoil. Lee Soon had sent his wife

and daughter to a hiding-place in a forsaken mine in the neighbourhood.

With his young son he remained to take care of his property. On the

first assault of the mob he tried to parley with them and offered them

gifts if they would leave him unmolested.

"Do you think that we would take part when we intend to get all?" was

the jeering reply.

"We'll have no parley with friends of the foreign devils," yelled

others.

All the while a rain of bricks and stones fell on the barricades he had

hastily put up. Others climbed on the roof and tore off the tiles. In

a short time a breach was made and they rushed in. Lee Soon was seized

by the hair and dragged out over the piles of bricks and rubbish. Every

one who could get a kick at him, a blow with a bamboo pole or the butt

of a gun, gave it with insensate fury. At last he lay bleeding and

unconscious in the midst of the street. But the mob still trampled upon

him.

"Now will you go into the barbarian's religion?" cried one.

"Where is your God now?" shrieked another.

Meanwhile others were stripping the house and shop of its contents.

Others still were searching high and low for the women of the household.

Enraged at not finding them, they dragged out his son, Lee Ien, a mere

youth, kicking and beating him as they had done his father.

"He has given his sisters to the foreign devils."

"Might as well give them to the beasts, for the foreign devils are the

offspring of beasts."

"We'll teach him to give the women of our country to foreign devils."

Dragging the unfortunate youth to a tree, they threw the end of his long

braid of hair over a branch and pulled until he was lifted off the

ground. Then they spit on him, jeered him, and prodded him with their

poles, making his body swing to and fro.

"Now will you forsake this Jesus faith and go back to the gods of your

ancestors?"

Around his neck and from various parts of the torn scalp blood was

oozing and trickling down. The body writhed in agony. The youth,

really only a boy in years, was alone, ringed round by foes. From the

drawn, quivering lips came the prayer:

"Lord Jesus Christ, help me! Jehovah God, give me strength!"

A wild yell arose from another part of the town. More victims had been

found. There was more loot. Those who had been torturing Lee Ien were

anxious to get a share. They released their hold on his hair and rushed

off with the others. He fell in a limp heap on the ground.

With the physical toughness of his race, he soon recovered and hurried

to where he had last seen his father. He found that a heathen

neighbour, more pitiful than the rest, had carried him into a place of

safety and had brought him back to consciousness.

Tan Siong had escaped, but came back to help some of his

fellow-believers. He accomplished this and effected their escape. But

it was by sacrificing himself. He was caught, and being a man of some

prominence special tortures were devised. Sharp-edged splits of bamboo

were placed between the fingers of both hands. Cords were wound tightly

around the fingers, pressing the angles of the bamboo into the flesh.

"Will you forsake the black-bearded foreign devil?"

"Pastor MacKay has never done me anything but good. He healed me when I

was sick. He saved my son's life when he had the fever. Why should I

forsake him?"

The cords were drawn more tightly. The blood oozed out around his nails

and along the edges of the bamboo.

"Will you give up the barbarian's religion and go back to the gods our

ancestors worshipped from of old?"

"The gods our ancestors worshipped are only idols. They cannot see or

hear or understand our prayers. I cannot go back to them. I believe in

Jehovah God, maker of heaven and earth----"

A rifle butt fell with a sickening thud on his head and, with the blood

still oozing from his finger-tips, Tan Siong lay senseless on the earth.

His tormentors rushed off to find other victims to rob and maltreat.

So the morning wore away. There were about forty families of

Christians. Probably the majority of the individuals in them escaped

with their lives, and by keeping in hiding did not suffer torture. But

all lost their possessions. Many were put to the test of indescribable

physical agony. Yet they did not deny their faith.

There were two, a man and his wife, so humble that they thought they

might be overlooked. They could not flee. They were both between sixty

and seventy years of age. The wife's feet, crushed and broken by being

bound for a lifetime, would not bear her in flight. Her husband, with a

devotion rare in a Chinese and the more beautiful because of its rarity,

determined to stay with her and meet his fate whatever it might be.

They hoped that their insignificance might save them.

But Lim Tsu had for many years been a maker of idols. Then he had lost

faith in those gilded bits of wood or plaster he had so long offered to

others to worship. He had heard strange words from some native

Christians. Then he had heard them from the lips of the foreign pastor.

After long hesitation he gave up the beliefs of his fathers, gave up the

practices of a lifetime, what was harder still, gave up the means of a

livelihood, and accepted the Christian faith. From that hour Lim Tsu

was a marked man. He was the worst of renegades.

His name and that of his wife, Oo-a, were nearly the last upon the

communion roll, for they had been but recently received. When they were

read out a howl like that of a pack of wild beasts went up from the mob,

and with one consent they flocked pell-mell towards the humble cottage

of the former image-maker. He heard them coming, and with his aged wife

met them outside the door. Was it something in the calm demeanour of

the old couple, standing quietly there with the summer sun shining on

their whitening heads, which awed them? The ones in front paused,

irresolute. Those behind pressed them forward.

"Friends, whom do you seek?"

"Lim Tsu, the idol-maker."

"Lim Tsu, the idol-maker, is not here. But Lim Tsu, the worshipper of

the living God, is here. Friends, I am Lim Tsu."

The leaders of the mob quailed before the quiet dignity of the old man.

But the crowd behind pressed them on. They held a hurried consultation

while the old Christian and his wife stood quietly waiting.

They were seized by the arms and led towards the river. The spot chosen

was the beach of clean shingle in front of the church. Unlike the other

prisoners who had been taken that day, they were not beaten. But the

feeble old woman hobbled painfully over the stones. Her husband

encouraged her:

"If they drown us, it will not take long. Just a moment and it will all

be over. Then we'll not be old any more. Your feet will not pain you

any longer. I'll not have the fever. We'll not have to worry about

getting rice to eat. Just a moment and all these things will be

forgotten. In heaven there is no suffering."

As their feet touched the edge of the water they were halted. One of

the leaders said to them:

"Lim Tsu, you used to make images of the gods. You used to worship the

spirits of your ancestors. You used to perform the rites as our fathers

have done since ages eternal. But now in your old age you have been

bewitched by the foreign devils and joined the Jesus belief. If you

leave the barbarian's religion and go back to the faith of your fathers,

it will be well. You will be safe and men will honour you. If you do

not, we will drown you both."

"Friends," came the quiet, firm reply, "I do not believe in idols. I

made them for many years. I know that they are only wood or stone or

earth or plaster. I know that I can knock them down and break them, or

throw them into the fire and burn them. How could they help me? Now I

worship the true God, who made the earth and the sea and the sky, who

made us all, for we are His children. And I worship Jesus Christ, His

Son, whom He sent into the world to save me. You may drown us if you

will. But we will not give up the Jesus belief."

Yells of rage burst from their persecutors. They were pushed forward

into the water up to their knees. Again the offer was made, and again

refused.

Execrations, foul language, inarticulate screams of rage rose from the

throng on the bank. The old couple were pushed farther into the stream.

The water had risen to the old man's arm-pits. It was up to the woman's

throat. Again they were halted.

"Lim Tsu and Oo-a, his wife, will you give up the Jesus belief? If not,

we will drown you."

The old woman's thin treble rose in answer:

"I cannot give up the Jesus belief. Jesus is my Saviour."

"You may drown us if you will," answered her husband. "That will not

hurt us much. It will soon be over. But we can never deny the Lord

Jesus."

For a few moments the mob-leaders paused. They were plainly nonplussed

by such constancy. Even the rabble on the bank hushed their howling.

Oo-a's grey head swam on the surface of the clear green stream. She

turned her face upward. Before her were the steep green hills, thick

with trees and ferns and grasses, and all starred with flowers, on which

she had looked since her childhood. A bird sang in the thicket. The

cicadas shrilled ceaselessly in the hot sunshine. All the world was at

peace. Why was man so cruel? She lifted her eyes to the blue sky which

bent over her. Her thin tremulous voice was heard in prayer:

"Pe Siong-te."[#]--"Father God, help a weak old woman. Make her strong

to confess her Lord. For Jesus' sake."

[#] Pronounced, Pay Seeong-tay.

Then the old man lifted up his voice, and she joined him in that

immortal prayer which ever circles the world around and runs through all

time:

"Goan e Pe ti thi nih."[#]--"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be

Thy name, Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done----"

[#] Pronounced, Go-an a Pay tee thee neeh.

Their voices were silenced by the waters. Their captors had plunged

them under and held them there. The fair flowers still bloomed on the

high bank. The birds sang on. The cicadas shrilled their monotonous

melody. The sun poured down its wealth and bounty on the evil and on

the good. Only a few bubbles rising to the surface told where the souls

of the two martyrs had been set free to go home to God.

Just plain, ignorant old Chinese peasants! Alone amidst their enemies,

all unknown and unknowing, unsupported by and unthinking of the world's

applause! Yet without a murmur they died for their faith. Even an

Apostle Paul could do no more.

*XVIII*

*TO THE RESCUE*

Two days later Dr. Sinclair and Sergeant Gorman were nearing the capital

on their way from Keelung to Tamsui. Sometimes they talked and laughed.

Sometimes they walked in silence one following the other along the

narrow trail, each busy with his own thoughts. Sinclair was thinking of

a perplexing, teasing young woman of queenly stature and bearing, with

eyes and mouth which haunted him in spite of his determination to

persuade himself that he was unconcerned. He knew that she was still in

Tamsui. McLeod had sent him a note the last time the _Hailoong_ was in

port. Mr. MacAllister had made trips to various ports on the mainland,

and to South Formosa. But his wife and daughter remained at Tamsui in

the congenial company and care of Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp.

Sinclair wondered to himself in what humour he would find this wayward

maiden who had so suddenly been projected into his life, and now

occupied so large a place in his thoughts. Why was she so capricious

with him? She was not like that with others. With Captain Whiteley or

McLeod or Mr. Beauchamp she was amiability itself. Apparently she

treated Carteret quite differently from him. Even with himself there

had been moments when she had been cordial and kind. In those brief

spells of friendliness she was irresistibly fascinating.

But most of the time she seemed to bend all her energies to making him

feel uncomfortable. Why did she do it? Was it possible that McLeod was

right? Or was it that his approaches were disagreeable to her and she

was trying to make him keep his distance? That was much more likely.

But he would find out. He was not going to make a fool of himself by

pushing himself in where he was not wanted. He closed his teeth firmly.

His lower jaw was set and stern. He would find out this time. He would

either make or mend it.

But he did not.

He had hardly made the aforementioned resolution when it and even the

object of his thoughts were driven out of his mind altogether. From a

high bank beside the road, covered with a thicket of bamboo, a native

boy of fourteen or fifteen years dropped into the middle of the pathway

at Sinclair's feet. His face was drawn with fear. His eyes had a

strained, hunted look. Without any of the customary salutations, he

poured forth a stream of nervous, fluent Chinese, in which Sinclair

could catch nothing but his own title of "I-seng" and "Kai Bok-su"

(Pastor MacKay).

"Here, Gorman, can you make anything out of what he says? There is

evidently trouble somewhere, and Dr. MacKay is in it."

"Hould on, boy! Go aisy! Fwhat the divil wud you expect a Christian

man to make out of such a jabber as that?"

Then in Chinese:

"You talk too fast. Speak slowly. Don't be afraid. If there is any

trouble, we'll help you out."

Getting a grip of himself, the excited boy told them that he was the son

of one of the Christians of Sintiam. He related the events of two days

before. He said that Dr. MacKay had heard of what had taken place and,

in spite of the pleadings of his converts, had insisted on going to the

help of those who were still in danger. He was already there, and if

the black-flags caught him they would assuredly kill him. He, the boy,

had been sent out to look for some Chinese troops, but had found them

instead. Would they come to Pastor MacKay's rescue?

"Begorra, an' that we will!" exclaimed Gorman, as he gave his heavy

stick a couple of fancy twirls around his head, felt for his revolver to

assure himself that it was there, and plunged into the carrier coolie's

basket to get more cartridges.

"Tell the coolie to go on to Taipeh and wait for us there. Tell this

boy to guide us to Sin-tiam by the shortest route. He needn't try to

hide us. We don't care if those devils do see us."

Sinclair spoke in sharp, incisive tones. Instinctively the sergeant

came to attention and saluted. It was the accent of command.

In another moment they had left the main road, which they had been

following, plunged through the bamboos, and headed directly south. Soon

their guide picked up a blind pathway which zigzagged through a

labyrinth of rice-fields, dropped into shady ravines, or climbed a

projecting spur of rock. The afternoon sun blazed down upon them. But

with relentless energy they pressed on. Peasants working in their

fields uttered loud cries of wonder, not unmixed with alarm, as the two

foreigners strode silently, determinedly past. The native boy never

ceased from his steady run. The long, powerful strides of the two

whites pressed continually on his heels.

The day was wearing on as they drew near their destination. The by-path

they were following did not join the main road entering the town, but

led over some wooded hills nearly at right angles to the principal

highway. While still unable to see the town, they heard wild yells and

occasional shots. Their rapid walk quickened into a run.

As they came over the last bluff, through an opening in the shrubbery

they could see the end of the town where the main road entered it. Just

emerging from between the houses was a man dressed in white and wearing

a sun-helmet. It was MacKay. He was walking steadily, resolutely out

along the road which led towards the capital. Behind him, in close but

irregular order, was a band of natives--men, women, and children. Among

them were a few sedan chairs, evidently carrying aged and wounded.

Pressing upon their rear, crowding upon them on either side, threatening

to block the road in front, was a screaming, jeering, cursing mob.

Black flags were waving over their heads; guns were discharged; mud and

filth were thrown; howls like those of beasts of prey burst from them in

chorus.

The situation was obvious. MacKay had appealed to the Chinese

authorities at the capital to protect the Christians. They had replied

that they could not protect them in outlying districts like Sin-tiam,

but would protect them if they came to the capital, where there was a

garrison. He was endeavouring to bring the survivors to where their

lives would be safe. They had lost their homes, their property, their

church. They had only their lives left. He was trying to save these.

But the mob were determined that they should not escape. They crowded

closer and closer on the native Christians, but still opened up before

the missionary. His cool, resolute demeanour, the instinctive

recognition of unruffled courage and conscious superiority made them

give way. As the little band passed out of the town they began to fear

that their prey was going to give them the slip. Bricks and stones were

flung. Jostling passed into interchange of blows. Shouts of "Kill the

barbarian. He is not very big. Tear the foreign devil in pieces"

mingled with inarticulate yells of rage.

Suddenly with a surge from behind the mob flung themselves like wolves

on their prey. The Christian maidens, always the first victims, were

being dragged away, their terror-stricken shrieks mingling with the

fiendish yells of their captors. Sedan chairs were overturned. Men and

women were beaten down. The hopelessly outnumbered Christians were

fighting desperately for their lives.

At the first sound of the onslaught, MacKay turned back. He would save

his people or share their fate. The muzzle of a rifle was jabbed against

his chest. Like a flash he thrust it up with his left hand and it was

discharged harmlessly past his ear.

It was the last time that Chinese freebooter ever pulled a trigger.

Simultaneously with the explosion of the rifle Sinclair's stick came

down on his head and cracked his skull like an eggshell.

The same instant, with a wild "Hurroosh!" Gorman was into the melee.

MacKay's Highland blood was up, too. Alongside of his bigger and

heavier companions he was proving that his slight, sinewy frame had not

for nothing gone through more than a dozen years of strenuous training

in that tropic clime.

For a few minutes it was rough-and-tumble fighting, with foot and fist

and shillelagh. Friends and foes were so mixed together that Sinclair

and Gorman were afraid to use their revolvers. But the terror those

big, fiercely-fighting foreigners inspire in the hearts of a Chinese mob

fell on the rioters. They loosed their holds on their prey and fled in

wild disorder, hurried by the barking of the two revolvers and the fall

of some in whom the bullets had found their mark.

"Thank you, Dr. Sinclair; Sergeant Gorman. You have done me, and you

have done my poor people, a great service."

"It seems that we did happen to come at the right time," replied

Sinclair.

"You didn't happen. God sent you."

"Perhaps that is the right way to put it, Dr. MacKay. At any rate, we

are glad to have been here. Now we must look at those people. I am

afraid that some of them are pretty badly hurt."

All three turned their attention to caring for the sufferers and to

making them as comfortable as possible. When they reached the capital

Sinclair found it necessary to remain there several days to care for

some who were most seriously injured.

Before he felt free to leave them to make his intended trip to Tamsui

word came that there had been some sharp skirmishes around Keelung and a

considerable number had been wounded. So he and Gorman turned back to

duty.

This was the reason why he did not at that time succeed in making or

mending his relations with Miss MacAllister. Perhaps it was better for

him that it was so. His exploit in coming to the rescue of MacKay was

likely to stand him in better stead than a premature demand for

explanations.

But Sinclair did not know that. He was not versed in the ways of women.

Like most men in love, if he had been allowed his own way, he would have

made a mess of it. When Providence came to his rescue and sent him back

to Keelung without seeing Miss MacAllister, he was inclined to fall out

with Providence.

But his sense of duty and his habitual good-humour prevailed. And when

he saw again the strained, eager looks of the wounded men, saw hope come

into their faces as the word passed from lip to lip, "I-seng lai" (the

life-healer has come), he was glad that he had done his duty. He was at

his chosen work.

*XIX*

*ALLISTER*

On the morning of the 24th of September, Sinclair, looking down from a

mountain height on the town and harbour of Keelung, saw one of the

warships get up steam and put out to sea. Watching it with his glasses,

he saw it heading north, and then west, till even the trailing smoke

disappeared beyond the far blue coast line which curved away towards the

northernmost point of the island.

"I'd give something to know where that Frenchman is heading for and what

mischief he has in mind."

"Bedad, an' if he doesn't do more than he's been doin' here these last

six weeks, he'd better give up the job."

"That's just the reason why I think that he may be intending to try his

hand somewhere else. He can't do any more damage here without a land

force. But there are other places where he could--Tamsui, for example."

"Begorra, an' if I thought there was goin' to be a shindy there, it's

not one minute longer I'd spind kickin' me heels around this ould

dead-an'-alive camp. I'd be makin' for Tamsui as fast as the two legs of

me cud carry me."

"So would I. But there doesn't seem to be any movement among the rest

of the fleet. We'll just keep a sharp lookout and perhaps we'll get

some word from Tamsui. If there's anything doing there, I'm blamed if I

am going to be stewed up here and miss the fun."

Two days later Sinclair was again at his lookout. From the departure of

that first French warship which had steamed away to the west, either he

or Gorman had kept a constant watch on the movements of the French

fleet. Perhaps it was all because of his anxiety to be where he was

most needed. Perhaps there were other reasons which he did not mention

to Sergeant Gorman.

He had found a shady seat for himself beneath the wide-spreading fronds

of a tree-fern, and through his glasses was carefully scanning the

squadron of men-of-war in the harbour below. A footstep sounded on a

rock near him. It was Gorman:

"A letter for you from Dr. MacKay. A boy has jist arrived wid it. I

thought that you moight want to see it at wanst."

"Thank you, Gorman," he replied, tearing it open. "Just as we thought.

He says that the _Chateau Renaud_ arrived off Tamsui on Wednesday....

That's the day we saw her leave here.... Over-hauled the _Welle_

yesterday, and the _Hailoong_, too.... Then Mac's at Tamsui. Boys, but

I'd like to see him! ... Says that the consul has got a hint somewhere

that the French are going to bombard Tamsui.... What did I tell you,

Gorman? ... Thinks we had better come back there at once and take his

boys with us.... So do I.... Says your ambulance corps can take care

of any wounded there are likely to be here.... Of course they can.

Whether they can or not, I'm going."

"Another moving!" exclaimed Gorman, who had been using the glasses.

"What! By Jove, you're right!"

Sinclair was manifesting unwonted excitement.

"We'd better start at once if we want to get through this evening.

Pretty nearly thirty miles of a walk if we should happen to miss the

launch. I'd like to get there before the _Hailoong_ sails. I want to

see McLeod."

Gorman's left eye, which was invisible to Sinclair, winked and that side

of his face assumed a most comical expression. The other eye looked

straight out at the landscape, and the other side of his face was

judicial in its seriousness. He was a man of some perception.

"An' you think that the hospital here will get along widout us?" he

asked.

"Of course it will! I'm going to Tamsui."

"Faith and you're a man afther me own heart. Let the hospital go to

Ballyhack. I'm wid you.... There she goes headin' for the west. The

_parley-voos_ are plottin' somethin' an' we want to be there whin it

happens."

* * * * *

Late that afternoon practically the whole foreign population of North

Formosa and the officers of the _Locust_ were gathered on the deck of

the _Hailoong_. Captain Whiteley and McLeod were giving what they called

their "Farewell At Home!" After their experience of the day before they

were doubtful whether they would be allowed to enter the port again so

long as the Frenchmen stayed.

It was perhaps the largest party of foreigners which had ever gathered

in North Formosa. Consular, mission and custom staffs, merchants, the

doctor, naval officers, visitors, and hosts, they numbered thirty or

more. The measure of uncertainty, the spice of a possible peril, added

zest to their intercourse. Just out of sight over the projecting ridge

of the hill to the north of the harbour, the _Chateau Renaud_ was lying

at anchor. That very day the long, low, sinister-looking _Vipere_ had

slipped into the very mouth of the harbour. She could be plainly seen

from where they sat chatting and sipping their tea on the deck of the

_Hailoong_. Every one felt that these engines of war were big with

potentialities of danger and death.

As usual, since her arrival in Formosa, Miss MacAllister was the centre

of attraction. Bald-headed seniors like De Vaux and Boville vied with

young men like Carteret and mere youths like Lanyon for her company and

her smiles. But for reasons best known to herself she chose to give

those privileges in much the largest measure to McLeod. As one of the

hosts he had not in any way tried to monopolize her. But she showed so

marked a partiality for his companionship that it did appear as if he

had the monopoly.

"It seems as if no person but a seaman has any show with the ladies

to-day," said Carteret with that indefinable bitterness of tone which he

so often used. It called attention to the fact that each of the ladies

present was deep in conversation with an officer of one or other of the

ships.

"By my faith, it can't be the sea which is the attraction," retorted

Lieutenant Lanyon, "for none of them will look at me. In Miss

MacAllister's case it is the clannishness of the Scotch," he continued,

loud enough for her to hear. "If McLeod weren't a Mac, he'd have no

more show than I have, and that's no show at all, at all."

He thought that he would draw her by his very boldness, as he had done

on more than one occasion before. All the satisfaction he got was:

"Now, Mr. Lanyon, please do not let everybody on board know that you

cannot get a lady to talk to you. There's mother. She has just

finished her conversation with Captain Whiteley. I know that she will

take pity on you."

Lanyon joined as heartily as the rest in the laugh at his own expense,

and, accepting her suggestion, was soon amusing himself and Mrs.

MacAllister with his boyish tales of adventures and scrapes in the navy.

Meanwhile Miss MacAllister was saying to McLeod:

"Really, Mr. McLeod, I do not know what some of these men are made of.

To think that they could sit here doing the little routine work of their

offices, with battles going on within twenty miles of them, and never so

much as go to see what a battle is like! I wanted to go myself. But

father and the consul wouldn't let me."

"You must remember, Miss MacAllister, that the majority of things which

are called men are not men. They are only dressed up to look like men.

When they get in danger or any other place which needs men, all the man

in them disappears and there is nothing left but the clothes."

"But Dr. MacKay says that Dr. Sinclair and Sergeant Gorman have not been

in any real danger since they went over there. He says that the Chinese

respect them too much to molest them."

"Yes; but that is where the difference comes in. Sinclair is a man. So

is Gorman. So is MacKay. The Chinese know it, and they are safe. But

some of the others--not all, only some--are not men. They wouldn't be

safe."

"I wish that I were a man."

"If you were, I venture to say that you would be a soldier."

"I had a brother once. He was a soldier."

"I did not know that you ever had a brother. You never told me that."

By this time they had left the company on the forward deck and, walking

away aft, were leaning on the rail. She was in a more subdued and

meditative mood than McLeod had ever seen her before.

"No," she said, "I never told you. I rarely tell anybody. I do not

know why I am telling you now."

McLeod listened in sympathetic silence. He knew that behind this fact

of the brother of whom she seldom spoke there must be a tragedy. If she

wished to tell him, he would listen. But if she did not, he would

respect her reserve and not seek to pry into its privacy.

"My brother was an officer in a crack English cavalry regiment. He

fought in Egypt and was mentioned in despatches after Tel-el-Kebir. But

he was the only Scottish officer in the regiment, and the only son of a

tradesman. The rest were Englishmen and sons of do-nothing aristocracy.

They never ceased twitting Allister about being a Highland kern, and

that his father was a shopkeeper, and had started life as an errand boy.

The fact that he was mentioned in dispatches made them worse. They were

jealous."

She paused for a moment. McLeod did not speak. She glanced at him. His

face was set. One hand was clenched. The other gripped hard on the

rail. She understood and went on:

"Two of them were especially insulting. At mess one evening they went

beyond endurance. Allister was not quick with his tongue. He was slow

of speech and could not answer them. But there was another way open,

and he took it. He was big and strong, as big and strong as Dr.

Sinclair. But not fair like Dr. Sinclair. He was dark like mother. He

called the two of them out from mess, and with his bare hands gave the

biggest of them a terrible thrashing. The other ran to his tent for his

sword and revolver. When Allister went after him, for his Highland blood

was up and nothing could stop him, the coward hid behind the excuse that

they must fight as gentlemen. But when it came to fighting with

revolvers, the Englishman who had been thrashed claimed that it was his

right to fight the duel, as it was he who had been beaten. And the

coward was glad to let him."

She paused again. Her face was pale, but her eyes showed the fire which

burned within. McLeod was breathing hard, as if in a physical struggle.

It was quickly arranged and quickly over. Out there on the sand in the

moonlight they faced each other and fired only once. Allister was not

hit. The Englishman was shot through the lung. The regimental doctor

said that he could live only an hour. He could not check the flow of

blood.

"A few minutes afterwards Allister rode out of camp towards Alexandria.

His orderly, who was Highland like himself, brought us word that he

could not stand the thought of what it would mean to father and mother

and me, that he should be tried and convicted of murder. That was two

years ago to-day. Since that we have never heard a word."

For the first time in her recital McLeod spoke: "Did the Englishman

die?"

"No, he did not. He is now strong and well. What is better, he bitterly

repented the wrong he did my brother. He came to father and mother

seeking our forgiveness, and was forgiven. Now he is helping to search

the world for Allister. What became of the coward we never heard,

except that he was dismissed from the service for cowardice. We never

knew his name."

"That is the real reason why your father is spending so much time in

those out-of-the-way places of the Far East. He hopes to get word of

your brother."

"Yes. Mother is convinced that Allister is dead. But father and I

cannot believe it. We believe that he is living, and that we shall find

him. And father believes that it will not be very long. He told me

only this morning that he was convinced that it would be soon."

"The Highland second sight."

"Yes. God grant that it may be so."

"Amen!" said McLeod solemnly.

For some minutes they leaned on the rail in silence. Her eyes were fixed

on the water, which was flowing upstream with the rising tide. McLeod

was looking away up the river to where he could distinguish the little

passenger launch emerging from a fleet of cargo boats and bat-winged

junks. It was steaming straight down the river at full speed.

Presently he said:

"I wonder what's up. The launch is heading for us instead of going to

her jetty."

"There are some Europeans on her," Miss MacAllister replied. "I can see

two men wearing helmets under the awning. They evidently are coming on

board."

Then she uttered a faint cry. One of the men had stepped from under the

awning and stood at his full height on the bow of the launch. The next

instant he took off his helmet and waved it at McLeod. The sunlight

gleamed on a mass of fair hair.

"Oh!" she said. "It is Dr. Sinclair. As he stood up I thought it was

Allister. Their figures are exactly alike. But it was foolish of me."

McLeod seemed hardly to heed what she was saying. He had climbed on the

rail, was frantically waving his white cap, and yelling like a

schoolboy.