"What cronies you two are!" she said with mock severity, but laughing

all the while. "Talk about the Scotch being clannish! You Canadians

beat anything I ever met for clannishness."

"Just some Canadians," answered McLeod. "Will you excuse me?" he called

back as he went below.

"Those two must be desperately in love," she said to herself as she

smilingly responded to Sinclair's courteous salutation from the bow of

the launch.

The next instant McLeod had hold of both Sinclair and Gorman and was

ushering them up the companion-way. The sergeant would have declined.

But McLeod would take no refusal. The company present were his and

Captain Whiteley's guests. And whoever they chose to invite would have

to be received as such. And not only Sinclair, but the consul and

others who had known him noticed that Gorman's brogue and exaggerated

Irishisms were dropped as easily as if they had all been assumed, and

the Irish noncom was as much at ease and as correct in his behaviour as

any of those who boasted gentle birth.

*XX*

*THE INFALLIBLE EXPERTS*

The next evening (it was a Saturday) Dr. Sinclair dined with the

MacAllisters. To his surprise, and much to his delight, he was the only

guest. For the first time he saw something of their home life. He saw,

too, Miss MacAllister in a role different from anything he had seen

before. Up to this time he had always met her as a passenger or a

guest, with no responsibilities save those of amusing and being amused.

She had been the centre of an admiring circle, free to be as whimsical

or wayward as the fancy of the moment suggested. That evening she

shared with her mother the duties of hostess and devoted herself to

making the evening pleasant for their guest. And Sinclair thought that

never before had a single evening brought him so much enjoyment.

He wondered at the change. Was it another side of her character? Or

was it that she had changed her attitude towards himself? The previous

afternoon he had noticed that she received him with a frank cordiality

which had surprised and delighted him. But she had been just as ready

with gay banter and raillery as ever, especially when talking to Lanyon

or any others of the guests who pressed their attentions upon her. This

evening there was none of that. Bright and entertaining she certainly

was. But there was not a trace of the whimsical, teasing spirit she had

formerly manifested, nor a word which could make him feel uncomfortable.

As the evening sped away he felt himself becoming more and more

fascinated. He had met many beautiful and attractive women, but never

one who cast such a spell over him.

Mrs. MacAllister was not extremely cordial. She did not wax

enthusiastic over him as she had done over De Vaux and Carteret. But

she was a Highland hostess in her own home. And though it might be only

a temporary home in a foreign land, and though she had not been anxious

to have Dr. Sinclair for dinner, she had too much of the hospitality of

her native hills to do otherwise than endeavour to make him feel that he

was welcome there.

Mr. MacAllister was cordiality itself. In Sinclair he found a kindred

spirit. His interest in men, to whatever race they might belong, his

keen insight and trained powers of observation, were refreshing to the

shrewd business man after the many men he met who went about the world

with eyes which did not see. From the moment they sat down to dinner

until they rose from it he plied Sinclair with questions and compared

the doctor's observations with his own.

"You have had a great opportunity of studying the Chinese during the

last couple of months," he said. "I envy you. Since you went over to

Keelung I have visited Foochow, spent another short spell in Amoy, and

travelled over a considerable part of south Formosa. But I have felt

all the time that I really did not get into touch with the natives. I

couldn't speak their languages. I was staying always in the homes of

foreigners. I came into contact with the Chinese only, as it were, at

second hand. But for one who has just arrived among them, you have had

a remarkable experience and an exceptional opportunity. I envy you."

"It has been an opportunity, though of course too short to form anything

like final conclusions. Nevertheless, I saw enough to convince me that

the greater part of the information about China which is being served up

to the Western world by so-called authorities is absolutely unreliable.

The ten-day tourists and meteoric newspaper correspondents get only

surface impressions, and even these are generally wrong."

"We had one of them here while you were at Keelung and father was in the

South," said Miss MacAllister.

"Is that so? I had not heard. Who was it?"

"Mr. F. L. Y. Urquhart, the famous traveller and authority on China."

"Indeed! How long did he stay?"

"Arrived from Foochow on the gunboat _Falcon_ in the forenoon. Called

on the consul, the commissioner of customs, and ourselves. Lunched on

the _Locust_. Went up river in the afternoon. Stayed one hour, and

returned by the same launch. Had tennis and tea at the consulate. At

6.30 put off to join the _Falcon_ again and sailed immediately for

Amoy."

"And I suppose had the fate of Formosa settled."

"Oh, yes! Quite!"

"What is it?"

"The French will have the island in their possession in a month or six

weeks at the outside. Their transports with large land forces and

escorted by naval reinforcements have already passed the Suez. Before

them the Chinese army will run like sheep, and the inhabitants will

submit without a blow. Once the French flag is hoisted it will never be

taken down. Formosa is lost to Britain through the stupidity of old Lord

Littlengland, the Foreign Secretary. He refused to accept it when China

actually offered to cede it to Britain to keep it out of the hands of

the French, as he had absolute assurance from Li Hung-chang himself."

"Excellently done!" exclaimed Sinclair, laughing at her mimicry of the

assurance of the expert. "Did he not call on Dr. MacKay?"

"No. I suggested that he should. He replied that he put no reliance on

the opinions of missionaries. They were all narrow-minded fanatics, who

couldn't take a broad, large-minded view of the situation."

"So he missed the one man who knows more of the probabilities of this

war than all the rest of us taken together?"

"Yes, he missed him entirely. Said that he didn't care to meet him."

"That is it exactly. It is just such self-conceited experts, who know

all about China when they have been ashore at half a dozen seaports

during the hours of call of a passenger liner and who refuse to learn

from those who do know, who have given our Western nations such an

exaggerated idea of their own superiority and of China's inferiority."

"Then you think that the Chinese have been underestimated as soldiers,"

said Mr. MacAllister.

"I certainly do. For one thing, I have never seen nor heard of among

any other people anything like the ability of the Chinese to bear pain.

I was compelled to perform without anaesthetics operations so painful

that most Europeans or Americans would rather have died than have

endured them. Yet the Chinese bore them with little more than an

occasional groan or a suppressed 'ai-yah.'"

"Why, then, is it that they have made such a poor showing when opposed

to European troops? I have always been informed that it was the lack of

physical courage."

"It is not because of the lack of courage. It is the lack of training

and the lack of leadership. Going into battle vain, self-confident, and

contemptuous towards the foreigners, they have suddenly found themselves

exposed by incompetent commanders, mowed down by the foreign weapons,

disconcerted by well-ordered movements of trained men, and helpless to

meet foreign strategy. The inevitable panic followed, and they ran."

"But we have been told again and again by the experts that it is

impossible to drill the Chinese; that they will never be anything else

than a mob."

"Then I wish those experts could have seen Sergeant Gorman and his

ambulance corps. He was given some of the toughest material in Liu

Ming-chuan's army. In a month's time they moved like clock-work. As

the American general they have over there said, I'd just like to see

Gorman 'lickin' a regiment into fightin' shape.' General Gordon proved

what could be done with a Chinese army during the Tai-ping rebellion.

If China only had a few native General Gordons, the world would soon

receive notice that China was to be left alone."

"Is that not just where the difficulty lies, the lack of able, patriotic

leadership? The authorities tell us that there is no patriotism in

China. They say that every man is for himself, or at most for his own

city or province, but he cares nothing for the country as a whole."

"That may have been true in the past, and doubtless still is true of the

mass of the people. But it is no longer true of many of the younger and

better educated men. There are young officers in the army who are just

as patriotically Chinese, whether they come from the North or Centre or

South, as we are British, whether we be from Britain or Canada or

Australia. They are learning more from defeats than they would from

victories. Some day before very long China will produce a man whom his

countrymen will follow. Then it will say 'Hands off!' to the world."

"What do you think is the country's greatest need at the present moment?

The missionaries say, Christianity. Hart, the Inspector General of

Customs, who has lived half a lifetime in China, and the American

Minister at Pekin endorse the missionaries' opinions. The special

correspondents and the experts say political reform. What do you

think?"

"Christianity, most emphatically. The political reforms will follow.

When the new China appears in the world its leaders will be Christians."

Mrs. MacAllister, who had been listening with ill-concealed impatience,

threw back her head and sniffed.

"Dr. Sinclair," she said, "do you really think that it makes any

difference with these Chinese whether they call themselves Christians or

heathens?"

"I am quite sure of it, Mrs. MacAllister."

"Well, I don't believe that a Christian Chinese is one bit different

from a heathen Chinese. They are both just dirty Chinese."

"If you could see the difference between Dr. MacKay's students, who were

with me as nurses and hospital assistants, and their heathen

neighbours," replied Sinclair, "you would not say that. I have never

seen nurses or medical students in a hospital at home more cleanly,

faithful or efficient, or more apt to learn. Their people were just

common, ignorant Chinese peasants. I know of no explanation of the

difference between these boys and others of their class, except that

these were Christians and the others were not."

"I see that you quite agree with my husband in this. But I do not.

When we were at home it seemed romantic to hear about foreign missions.

But when I came out here, and saw those ignorant natives, and heard some

of them called Christians, it quite disgusted me. And Dr. MacKay

actually asked us to go to the native church and sit at the Lord's Table

with them. I was so surprised at him that I did not know what answer to

make. I do not believe that they are real Christians at all. What was

it Mr. Carteret called them? Oh, yes! Rice Christians! He said that

they were 'rice Christians.' That means that they were in it for what

they could get out of it. Mr. Carteret said that he had never known a

real Christian among them."

Sinclair had intended to allow the subject to drop when he saw that for

some reason his hostess held very pronounced views on it, different from

his own. But her quoting Carteret as an authority on the sincerity or

reality of religious beliefs touched him to the quick. He answered very

quietly but firmly:

"All over the south of Scotland, from the Atlantic to the North Sea, in

churchyard or hillside or lonely moor, are to be found flat slabs or

tall monuments, marking the spots where the Covenanters of two hundred

years ago were slain or where their bodies were laid to rest. Some of

them were gentlemen of birth. Some were cultured ministers. But the

great majority were plain people, sometimes ignorant people; just

ordinary hard-working, unlearned Scottish peasants. Yet the places

where they died are sacred to-day. Monuments are erected to them.

Books are written about them. They are held up before us as the martyrs

and heroes of our Church. Why? Because they died rather than deny their

faith.

"Less than a month ago and less than twenty miles from here, some plain

people--merchants, farmers, artisans--were asked to deny their faith.

They refused. They were beaten. They were tortured. They were hanged

by the hair of the head. Two of them were drowned. Their religion was

the same as that of the Scottish Covenanters. They died for it just as

willingly as the Covenanters did. They were Chinese. If we say that

the Scottish sufferers were martyrs and heroes, I do not know how we can

refuse to say the same of the Chinese."

He had spoken quietly, in a low tone of voice. But the very quietness

of his manner had deepened the impression of tense feeling, of emotion

kept under firm control. His words had grown eloquent in spite of

himself.

When he ceased there was perfect silence for some minutes. Miss

MacAllister was looking wonderingly at him. He had always seemed so

good-humoured, so easy-going that she had sometimes asked herself if he

was really capable of deep, passionate feeling. At an unexpected moment

she had got her answer. There was no mistaking the passion of admiration

for a heroic deed which possessed him, the indignant protest against an

injustice. It was all the more impressive because it was so restrained.

For reasons which perhaps she could not explain to herself she felt a

thrill of pleasure at recognizing this note of passion in his voice.

Mrs. MacAllister also sat silent for a time. Then she said in a very

different tone from that which she had used before:

"Perhaps you are right, Dr. Sinclair. I had not looked at it in that

light."

"It is not easy for any one of us to be entirely just to peoples so

unlike us as are the Chinese," said her husband. "Yet, when we get down

to the mainsprings of their conduct, we find that they are pretty much

the same as our own."

*XXI*

*THE LANGUAGE OF SONG*

When dinner was over, Sinclair asked Miss MacAllister if she would play

and sing for them. "I have not heard a song," he said, "nor the sound

of a civilized instrument since the evening at the consulate, just after

we landed."

For a moment her eyes danced mischievously. A question about that

Indian song of his trembled upon her lips. But she thought better of

it, deciding not to say anything which might mar the evening by any

misunderstanding. So she replied:

"I am afraid that you will hardly call this piano a civilized instrument

after you have heard it. It has almost ceased to be an instrument at

all. Its age, the climate, and the lack of a tuner have combined to

make it a mere caricature of a piano. But, if you'll try to imagine

that the weird sounds it produces are music, I shall do my best."

"Your voice will more than compensate for any deficiencies in the

instrument," he said as he conducted her to the piano.

"Dr. Sinclair, I am surprised at you. I didn't think that you would

flatter."

"I am not flattering. I mean it."

She bent over the music; but he could see the warm colour flow up the

side of her neck and face. He wondered if he had been too bold. Had he

displeased her? She kept her head bent down and slowly turned the

leaves of a song folio which rested on the keys. He could see little of

her face. Had he by his rashness annoyed her and brought discord into

that delightful evening?

Presently she seemed to have made a choice. She gave him one quick, shy

glance, and he saw her face. The blush still lingered there, but there

was no trace of displeasure.

"Would you like me to sing this?"

She laid the folio open on the piano. Sinclair's heart gave a leap.

She had chosen a love song. It was not indeed a maiden's tale of love,

but the love of a man for a maid. Nevertheless, it was a woman's song,

and a woman's tenderness breathed through both words and melody of

immortal "Annie Laurie."

"You could not have chosen anything I should have liked better. 'Annie

Laurie' will never grow old."

She sang the first verse alone. Then she said:

"I thought that you were going to sing with me. Will you not put in a

bass?" And a little mischievously: "It will at least help to drown the

discords of this old instrument."

"I was enjoying your voice so much," he replied, "that I did not wish to

spoil the pleasure by adding mine. But, if you wish it, I'll join you."

Other songs, mostly old Scotch favourites, followed. Sinclair noted that

she did not choose war-songs as when she sang at the consulate. Her

mood was different, and she chose those into which the singers of her

race had poured all their pathos and their tenderness.

As they talked in the intervals, and sometimes prolonged the selection

of a song, the hesitation and mutual reserve wore off and soon they

found themselves conversing with the quiet confidence of those who had

long been friends. There seemed to be no room for misunderstandings.

Again and again Sinclair caught himself wondering if this were the same

girl who had badgered him so unmercifully a few weeks before. Or was

this present situation only a bright dream, from which he would awaken

to find himself still the object of her badinage and laughter? "Well,"

he thought to himself, "dream or no dream, I'll enjoy it while it lasts

and hope that I may be long in waking up."

But there were a few things which reminded him that it was not a dream.

Mrs. MacAllister did not enter quite so heartily into sympathy with her

daughter's mood as did Dr. Sinclair. Perhaps it was not to be expected.

More than once she endeavoured to interject her disapproval of their

choice of songs.

"What are you going to sing next, Jessie?" she asked when three love

songs had followed one another without a break.

"'Robin Adair.'"

Mrs. MacAllister sniffed audibly.

"I do not think much of your choice," she said tartly.

"You like it, father, do you not?"

"Oh, yes, Jessie! It suits me very well. Sing it."

When it was sung Mrs. MacAllister returned to the attack:

"Why do you not sing something lively instead of those lonesome pieces?

It gives me a creepy feeling. Dr. Sinclair is just back from the war.

Can you not sing him some fighting song, such as 'Bonnie Dundee' or

'Scots Wha Ha'e wi' Wallace Bled'?"

"Mother, I do not feel like singing fighting songs this evening. We are

likely to have fighting enough soon. But if Dr. Sinclair has become so

bloodthirsty as a result of his service at the front, I'll try to

satisfy him. Must you give vent to your feelings in a war-song, Dr.

Sinclair?" A gleam of fun shot through the mock anxiety of her face.

"Not at all, Miss MacAllister. I saw enough of glorious war to do me

for a little while. The glory of it is mostly in the songs. There is

little glory in the actuality. Anyway, I am enjoying myself too much as

it is to take the chance of spoiling it by a change."

Miss MacAllister answered by a warning shake of the head, the severity

of which was disarmed by the accompanying smile. But her mother set her

lips close together, elevated her nose, and sniffed very audibly.

All unheeding, the young people chose another Scottish song, "Bonnie

Charlie's Noo Awa." As the plaintive words and the wailing notes rang

out,

"Mony a heart will break in twa

Should you ne'er come back again,"

Mr. MacAllister slipped out of the room into the verandah which looked

over the river to the tall dark peak beyond.

Then the lament of the chorus rose into a cry and died away in a sob:

"Will ye no come back again?

Will ye no come back again?

Better lo'ed ye canna be.

Will ye no come back again?

Mrs. MacAllister rose and hurriedly followed her husband.

A late moon was rising over the great bulk of the Taitoon range,

shedding its pale light on the brimming river, save where the houses of

the town and the clustered junks cast long, dark shadows. Out in

mid-stream the _Locust_ swam on the mirror-like surface. The call of a

night bird rang plaintively across the water. Within, the voices of the

singers rose again in the last stanza:

"Sweet's the lav'rock's note and lang;

Liltin' wildly up the glen;

But aye to me he sings ae sang,

Will ye no come back again?"

In the dark shadow of the deep verandah a man and woman, both

middle-aged, pressed close to each other. His arm was around her waist.

Her head was on his shoulder. As he caressed and soothed her his tears

fell on her face and mingled with her own. It was not of a long-dead

prince they were thinking. It was of a lost son of whom they did not

know whether he was living or dead.

The silver tones of the gunboat's bell rang out on the sweet night air,

striking six times. Sinclair pulled out his watch with a look of

incredulity:

"Eleven o'clock! Miss MacAllister, I am ashamed of myself. I had no

idea it was so late. I have been enjoying myself so much that this

evening has passed like a dream."

"I am glad that you have enjoyed it. The time has passed very quickly

to me, too."

"You do not know what pleasure it gives me to hear you say so. It has

been to me the pleasantest evening of my life."

She blushed at the implication, gave him the reward of a smile, and rose

hurriedly from the piano:

"Where are father and mother? I must find them to bid you good-bye."

*XXII*

*HALCYON DAYS*

The next three days were to Dr. Sinclair a continuation of that

evening's dream. They were full of incident. But what made them still

more pleasant and memorable was the fact that he often met Miss

MacAllister, and that she was uniformly kind and seemed to enjoy his

company. It is true that after Saturday evening they did not again meet

alone. But no matter how gay the company might be, nor how much

chaffing and repartee was passing among them, she never reverted to the

attitude she had adopted during the first week of their acquaintance.

She did not try to make him feel uncomfortable, nor did she cause a

laugh at his expense.

On Sunday morning at nine o'clock there was a service in the little

native church, a few rods from the hong of MacAllister, Munro Co. In

addition to the local Christians there were many refugees present who

had fled from their homes in the inland villages, having lost everything

but their lives.

The Communion of the Lord's Supper was observed, Dr. MacKay presiding,

assisted by his missionary colleague and some of the oldest native

preachers. Mr. MacAllister and his daughter, Dr. Sinclair, an engineer

and a petty officer from the _Locust_, and one member of the customs

staff sat with the wives of the missionaries and the native converts.

The service was conducted in Chinese. Consequently the words were

unintelligible to most of the foreigners present. Yet they were

conscious of the tense feeling, the close and reverent attention, the

spirit of prayer of the native worshippers.

Once only did the officiating missionary use the English language. He

was administering the wine, and spoke the words of a formula in Chinese.

The audience had been silent and reverent before. Now the silence could

be felt. He repeated it in English:

"'This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is shed for many for

the remission of sins: Drink ye all of it. It may be that many of you

will drink no more of the fruit of the vine until that day when you

drink it new in the Kingdom of God.'"

When the service was over Sinclair walked slowly along the narrow street

with Miss MacAllister and her father. For a time they were silent, as

if each were letting the impression of it sink into the mind. Miss

MacAllister was the first to speak.

"I have never thought myself religious," she said. "I am afraid that I

have been like so many others, a member of a church because it is

customary and respectable. But if the spirit and atmosphere which were

in that little Chinese church this morning prevailed in our big churches

at home, I think I could be religious."

"I am afraid that you are underestimating your own interest in

religion," replied her father. "And perhaps you are mixing, just a

little, reverent feelings and actually living as a Christian. They are

very different things. But it is true that the spirit of worship I have

found in many of those native churches has made the services of a

considerable proportion of our home churches appear mere barren,

lifeless formalism in comparison. The West may have again to learn from

the East the devotion and self-forgetfulness of Christianity."

They had reached a point in the narrow, crooked street which commanded a

view of the harbour and of the sea beyond. An exclamation from Sinclair

directed their attention seaward.

A small merchant steamer was seen coming towards the harbour. As she

drew near a puff of smoke streamed out from the _Vipere_, and after an

interval the heavy boom of a cannon floated along the water. The little

merchantman promptly reversed. A boat from the Frenchman ran alongside.

After half an hour's delay the boat pulled away again, and the _Fokien_

steamed slowly in, picking up a pilot as she came. Her captain had

satisfied the search party that she had no contraband of war on board.

In the afternoon Sinclair and Miss MacAllister met at a service

conducted in English in the little mission college for the benefit of

the foreign community. The missionaries, the consul and his wife and

daughter, the officers and a detachment of men from the _Locust_, and

the MacAllisters attended. Very few of the other foreign residents took

advantage of it. Most of them had shed their church-going habits and

their interest in religion of any kind as soon as they came to the Far

East.

Even Carteret's desire to stand well with the MacAllisters could not

overcome his rooted aversion to attending a Christian service of any

kind. Mrs. MacAllister was much surprised at his absence in view of the

readiness with which he had expressed his opinions on the sincerity of

the Chinese converts and his apparent interest in matters spiritual.

She thought that he must be weary from his duties during the week and

must feel the need of resting on the Sabbath. Otherwise she was sure

that he would have been present, as he was so much interested in

religion.

It might have been a revelation to her to have known how the pious young

man was at that moment engaged. In company with Clark, the tea-buyer,

and two other kindred spirits, he was enjoying a game of baccarat, while

sundry bottles of various brands decorated the table. Before that

Sabbath day reached the midnight hour, Clark and his two companions were

to subside in more or less restful positions on the floor, there to lie

in stertorous, swinish slumber till well on in the morrow. But

Carteret, who was banker in the game, though his pale face was flushed

and his eyes were glassy, was able to reach his room with comparatively

steady step; was able to feel with satisfaction that in his pockets

rested securely the spare cash of his three comrades, together with

various I.O.U.'s. He was a pious young man, much interested in

religion, and greatly distressed by the insincerity of the native

converts.

Meanwhile, most of those who had been at the service had accepted the

consul's invitation to ascend to the top of the old Dutch fort, and from

that lofty point of vantage survey the scenery and watch any movements

on board the French warships.

"What is that away to the northwest, just north of where the sun will

set?" said Sinclair. "Is that an evening cloud or is it a trail of

smoke from a steamer?"

Commander Gardenier's glass was on it in an instant:

"It is the smoke of a steamer, and she is coming directly this way.

Looks as if she were from Foochow."

They watched her while she came over the rim of the horizon and drew

rapidly nearer. Now the Frenchmen could see her, and there was a

movement on board. But she evidently did not see them against the

background of the coast.

"Up goes her flag. She sees the Frenchman and is letting them know who

she is. She is British. What do you make of her, Boville?" handing him

the glass. "You know most of the boats along the Coast."

"She's a long way off; but she looks like the _Waverly_, a tramp. If it

is, she is almost sure to have contraband on board. By Jove! she's

putting about!"

A long jet of smoke spirted out from the _Vipere_. The report went

volleying off among the hills.

"A blank!" exclaimed Gardenier. "I believe that fool captain is going

to run for it. He's stoking for all he's worth and heading straight

across the channel. He must be crazy. He hasn't a chance in the

world."

"No, I fancy he has no chance on that smooth sea," replied Boville.

"But if there was a gale blowing or better still, a typhoon, Archie

Scott would drive that old tub of his through at full speed where

Monsieur of the _Vipere_ would have to heave to."

But there was no prospect of a storm that calm evening and the warship

was tearing through the water. Another jet of flame and smoke streamed

out from her. A little plume of spray rose close to the bow of the

fleeing steamer.

"It's all up with Archie this time," laughed Gardenier. "The Frenchman

is too fast for him. That shot brought him to his senses."

The daring little merchantman was boarded, and just as the sun set she

was seen steaming back towards Foochow, while the _Vipere_ returned to

her place of guard.

"This is quite exciting," said Miss MacAllister. "I had little idea when

we sailed from Amoy that I was going to get so near to actual war."

"I only hope that you may not get any nearer," replied the consul, a

little grimly.

"Why, Mr. Beauchamp? Do you think that there is much prospect of there

being fighting right here?"

"I really can't say. I don't know what is in the minds of those

Frenchmen. But I do not like the way they are acting. It is pretty

much the way they manoeuvred before they bombarded Keelung."

"Wouldn't that be great? To be in the midst of a bombardment!"

"It's not so romantic as it is to read about it in the papers," said the

consul. "What do you think, Sinclair? Hallo! What's this? Look here,

doctor, I'll have you arrested for alienating the affections of my

daughter."

The remark caused all eyes to be turned towards Sinclair. He was seated

on one of the battlements. On his knee was perched Constance Beauchamp.

One arm was thrown around his neck. With the other hand she was

caressing and arranging the heavy waves of his fair hair. A flush

appeared under the tan of his face. Before he had time to reply

Constance broke in:

"Oh, daddy, I was just asking Dr. Sinclair why he did not let his hair

grow long and fall in big curls on his shoulders. Then he would be so

handsome. He would be just like the picture of Harold Fair-Hair, King of

Norway, in the last story-book Aunt Jo sent me from England. Dr.

Sinclair, won't you let your hair grow? Do! For me!"

Sinclair's face had crimsoned at the sudden attention drawn to him and

the frank admiration of the little maid. But he was too gallant to

refuse:

"I couldn't resist that appeal. I'll promise. I'll not get my hair cut

again until you give me leave."

"Oh, goody! I knew you would do it for me. You're lovely."

"I admire your courage, doctor, more than your good sense," laughed her

father. "But it is always the way. A big man can be twisted around the

fingers of the littlest maid."

But the one whose presence at this little scene had made the blood

tingle in Sinclair's face more sharply than all the others thought to

herself:

"It is a child's instinctive attraction to a true man."

That scene on the ramparts of the old Dutch fort became one of the most

cherished treasures in the picture-gallery of her memory.

*XXIII*

*IMPENDING STORMS*

"Well, Mr. De Vaux, I see that the French fleet has arrived. Has the

commander given any intimations of his intentions yet?"

"Bless my soul, Mr. MacAllister! ... Is it possible that you have not

heard? ... These boys are most exasperating. They'll be the death of me

yet.... 'Pon my honour, they will! ... I was with the consul when

Admiral Lespes' messenger arrived, and the consul gave me the notice to

read.... Extraordinarily decent of the consul! ... I sent the boy to you

that very minute with a chit. Did he not deliver it?"

"Not yet."

"I'll have him flogged, Mr. MacAllister.... 'Pon my soul, I will....

It is the only way to deal with them, Mr. MacAllister.... Now, where

can he be? ... Stopped somewhere along the road, playing fantan and

gambling away his month's wages! ... By----! ... 'Pon my word, I mean

it's most exasperating.... Flogging is the only thing to cure them when

they start gambling. Isn't that your experience, Carteret?"

"I think that they all ought to be flogged," replied Carteret languidly.

"Never yet met a Chinese who was good for anything."

"Opinions may differ on that point, Mr. Carteret," said Mr. MacAllister

sharply. "But, De Vaux, you have not yet told me what notice the French

admiral sent."

"By----! ... Bless my soul, I mean how stupid of me! I beg a thousand

pardons, Mr. MacAllister.... How did I forget that? ... Those boys annoy

me so. I really cannot think of what I am doing. 'Pon my soul, I

cannot! ... But Admiral Lespes' notice! Would you believe it, he says

that he will bombard the town to-morrow morning at seven o'clock....

Did ever you hear of such an atrocity?"

"How do you do, Mr. De Vaux? Did I hear you say just now that Tamsui

was to be bombarded? Or was I mistaken?"

"Miss MacAllister, you are perfectly correct.... I am sure that you are

never mistaken.... 'Pon my soul, I am! ... You are quite right. I am

sorry to say that Tamsui is to be bombarded in the morning."

"Oh I'm so glad! That is, I'm not glad that it is to be bombarded. But

I am glad that since it is going to happen it should take place while we

are here. I should have been so disappointed to have missed it. How do

you do, Mr. Carteret?"

"Since the ladies have arrived, we had better proceed to luncheon at

once," said Mr. MacAllister. "We do not know what developments there may

be this afternoon."

As soon as they were seated at the table Mrs. MacAllister turned to

Carteret and said:

"Do you really think, Mr. Carteret, that the lives of the foreign

residents will be endangered by the bombardment?"

"There will be very little danger, I assure you, Mrs. MacAllister. The

French will direct their fire at the earthworks and the camps on the

downs. As soon as they plump a few shells among them the whole Chinese

army will run like sheep, and the bombardment will be over."

"I am so glad to hear you say so, Mr. Carteret. It was what I felt

myself. But it is a relief to know that one who has lived here and

knows the natives is of the same opinion. You think that the French

will take possession of the town early in the day?"

"Assuredly! Before to-morrow night there'll not be a Chinese soldier

nearer than Taipeh."

"I do not believe that the French are going to have it so easy as that,"

broke in De Vaux. "'Pon my soul, I do not! ... The Chinese will give

them more than they reckon upon. Mark my words.... Dr. MacKay thinks

the same, and he knows more about the Chinese than any of us."

"But, Mr. De Vaux," replied Mrs. MacAllister, "you must remember that

Dr. MacKay is married to a Chinese woman. Really, I never got such a

shock as when I heard that. My opinion of missionaries went down to

zero. To take a Chinese woman as his wife! How could he?"

De Vaux's face became very red. Carteret maintained his attitude of

cynical composure.

"I suppose it was one of the sacrifices he felt himself called upon to

make in order to do the Lord's work," he replied sneeringly. "These

fanatics will justify any insanity by claiming that the Lord commanded

them to do it."

Miss MacAllister's colour deepened. Her eyes flashed ominously. Her

father's face was grave, to the verge of sternness. Before either of

them could speak De Vaux interposed.

"Dr. MacKay is not the only one who thinks that the Chinese will put up

a resistance," he said. "When I was coming along, Dr. Sinclair and Dr.

Black of the _Locust_ were busy at the Mission Hospital, getting it

ready to take care of a lot of wounded. 'Pon my honour as a gentleman,

they're right. There'll be fighting here to-morrow. By----! I mean,

'pon my soul, there will!"

Mrs. MacAllister sniffed.

"I do not depend much on Dr. Sinclair's judgment," she said, "since he

went over to Keelung to be a surgeon among the Chinese. I was very much

surprised at him. I cannot understand how he can endure being among

those dirty natives. It would make me sick. And to handle their bodies

and treat their wounds! ... It's loathsome, perfectly loathsome. I am

astonished at Dr. Sinclair."

"Dr. Sinclair evidently has not your feelings about it, Mrs.

MacAllister," said Carteret in his most contemptuous tone. "He is a

Canadian, and on his paternal farm was probably not accustomed to any

more savoury surroundings than he finds among the Chinese. Doubtless,

he feels very much at home."

The next moment he bitterly repented having spoken. Miss MacAllister

sat up very straight. Her eyes gleamed at him like two dagger-points.

Her face flushed crimson, and then paled with anger:

"Mr. Carteret, that remark of yours was entirely uncalled for. Dr.

Sinclair is a gentleman. You are not a gentleman or you would not have

made such a statement."

"Oh, Jessie!" cried her mother in horrified accents. "What are you

saying? You did not mean that."

"I did mean it, and I do mean it."

Mr. MacAllister, who usually with ready tact softened such acerbities,

maintained a grim silence. De Vaux threw himself into the breach and

made an excited, stuttering attempt at mediation, compelling Miss

MacAllister to laugh against her will.

In spite of this, and in spite of Carteret's abject apology and

retraction, a tense feeling pervaded the atmosphere throughout the

remainder of the luncheon, and all were glad when it was over.

To Miss MacAllister the remainder of the day was no less trying. She

realized that her sudden flame of indignation had surprised her into

betraying to prying and unfriendly eyes feelings toward Dr. Sinclair

which she had not before dared to confess to herself. She knew that her

mother had been bitterly chagrined by her open espousal of the big

Canadian's cause and by the merciless snub she had given that ambitious

woman's pet aristocrat. But she knew her mother too well to imagine for

one instant that this scene, painful though it was, would make her

desist from the purpose to which she had set her mind. She had not long

to wait for the proof of the truth of her conclusions.

That afternoon the ladies were left pretty much to their own devices.

Some of the men were busy preparing for the morrow. Others who had

little to do were on the old fort or other vantage points, watching the

warships which lay just outside the harbour, and were speculating in an

inexpert fashion on the probabilities and prospects of the following

day. All of which speculations and prophecies the following day proved

to be false. But in the meantime the idle ones grew eloquent over their

own imaginings, and, like most armchair experts, persuaded themselves

that they did know something about war and the respective fighting

qualities of French marines and Chinese soldiers.

Taking advantage of her husband's absence, Mrs. MacAllister called her

daughter into her room. After some preliminary fencing, she plunged

into the subject she had in mind:

"There is no need of my concealing from you, Jessie, how deeply I was

grieved and disappointed by your conduct towards Mr. Carteret to-day."

"I am very sorry to have hurt your feelings, mother. But I am not sorry

for telling Mr. Carteret the truth and giving him what he deserved."

"I do not understand what you mean by saying that you gave Mr. Carteret

what he deserved."

"Mother, Mr. Carteret took advantage of his privileges as our guest and

of the friendship we have showed him to make an unwarranted and

ungentlemanly attack on another friend of ours, who has also been our

guest."

"Tut, tut, Jessie! Mr. Carteret did not say anything about Dr. Sinclair

which should make any sensible person angry."

"He made statements about Dr. Sinclair which were not true; and he made

them in the most insulting way possible."

"That is merely a matter of opinion, my dear. Dr. Sinclair himself

acknowledged that he was born and reared on a Canadian farm. And though

I will acknowledge that he has done remarkably well, considering that,

to a gentleman of Mr. Carteret's birth and training he is just a

peasant, nothing more than a common peasant."

"Then, mother, to Mr. Carteret we are just peasants, nothing more than

common peasants. Your father was a shepherd, and father's was a peasant

farmer."

Mrs. MacAllister coloured at the thrust, but tried to evade it.

"Jessie," she said, "what is the use of always humiliating your father

and mother by continually reminding them that they were born poor? We

have risen above that now and associate with the best in the land.

People should be judged by what they are, and not by what they were born

to."

"That is exactly what I think, mother. By that standard Dr. Sinclair,

who was born on a Canadian farm, is a gentleman. And Mr. Carteret, who

was born in an English castle, is not a gentleman."

"For shame, Jessie, to talk like that! You have no right to say that of

Mr. Carteret. You humiliated him at our own table to-day, and he bore

it like a gentleman."

"Like a coward, you mean!"

"And by getting indignant on behalf of Dr. Sinclair," continued the

mother, without paying any heed to the daughter's interjection, "you

practically said to everybody that you were in love with him."

"I said no such thing."

"Both Mr. De Vaux and Mr. Carteret understood it that way."

"I don't care a fig what they understood."

"And when Dr. Sinclair hears of it he will understand it the same way."

"He will do no such thing. He is too much of a man."

Miss MacAllister spoke bravely. But the thrust had gone home. If there

was one thing she dreaded, it was the thought that she should make

herself cheap, that she should appear to offer her love instead of

having her love sought and won. The thought stung. But she would not

acknowledge it.

"Jessie, has Dr. Sinclair spoken to you of marriage?"

"Mother, I cannot understand what makes you imagine such things. Dr.

Sinclair has never spoken of the subject of marriage, even in the

remotest and most impersonal way."

"Has he ever told you that he loves you?"

"Mother, I refuse to discuss this subject any further. It is absurd."

"You may say that it is absurd if you wish, Jessie. But, after the way

you acted to-day, I thought that there must surely be some ground for

your championship of him."

Again the implication stung. Had she been making herself cheap? Was

her secret which she had refused to acknowledge to herself laid bare

before everybody? She winced at the thought. But she said nothing.

Her mother pursued her advantage:

"Now, Mr. Carteret has followed the only course open to a gentleman of

birth and breeding. He has honourably come to your father and mother

and has asked our permission to be considered a suitor for your hand."

"Was that permission given?"

"Jessie, what do you take us for? Do you think that we have no care

about your future? The heir presumptive to the title and estates of

Lewesthorpe would be considered one of the catches of a London season."

"Mother, tell me, did father accept Mr. Carteret as a prospective lover

and husband for me?"

"Yes, certainly.... That is---- You know your father's way.... He did

not put it in so many words, but he gave what was equivalent to his

consent."

"That is to say that father told Mr. Carteret I could choose for myself.

Now, mother, is that not what father said?"

"Well, perhaps it was something like that. But, at any rate, it was the

same thing as giving his consent. He made no objections to Mr.

Carteret's trying to win you."

"That is just what I thought. Of course you gave your hearty consent

and approval."

"Certainly, my daughter. What kind of a mother would I be if a handsome

and accomplished young gentleman, a gentleman of birth and prospects,

should offer you his heart and hand,--what kind of a mother would I be

not to encourage his suit?"

"Then, mother, he can keep his heart and hand. I will have none of

them."

"Jessie, do not make rash statements, which you may regret. I am not

asking you to promise to marry Mr. Carteret. I only asked you to give

him a chance to win your love."

"Mother, it is no use. I'll never love Mr. Carteret."

"But, Jessie, think of his prospects. His father is a feeble old man.

His death is expected any day. The present heir has only one lung."

"I don't care if he had only quarter of one lung. It would make no

difference to me."

"But, Jessie, stop and think of it. Mr. Carteret will then be Lord

Lewesthorpe, and you would be the Countess of Lewesthorpe."

"Mother, there is no use in your talking like that. I do not care if he

were the Prince of Wales. I would not pledge myself to try to love a

man whom I do not respect."

"Jessie, I am bitterly disappointed in you. You are all I have. If

Allister were living it would be different." Tears, real tears, of

grief and mortification sprang into the older woman's eyes and began to

roll down her cheeks. "If I had Allister, it would be different. He

would build up the family. But I have only you, and you will not do

anything I wish. I am grievously disappointed."

"Mother, you are not fair to me. I have tried to do what you wanted.

But you are asking of me what I cannot do. I cannot give myself body

and soul to a man I despise, a man I can never love."

"But think of the title, Jessie, and the estates, and the old mansion

built in the time of Queen Elizabeth. And think of the place you would

have in society. You would learn to love him if you would only let

yourself."

"Mother is it possible that you think that I could love a man for these

things? I must love him for himself, or not at all."

"Then I suppose that you will tell that low-born, penniless Canadian

doctor that you love him," said her mother bitterly. "Next thing you'll

be wanting to marry him and settle down here as a missionary among those

dirty Chinese."

The taunt stung again as it had stung before. The quick blood flamed

into her face and passionately she flashed back:

"I have not the slightest intention of marrying Dr. Sinclair."

It was the defiant answer of maidenly pride, fired by the insinuation

that she had allowed her feelings to cause her to transgress the limits

of maidenly reserve. In her sudden anger she was fighting against the

dictates of her own heart.

But her mother, in the determination to satisfy her pitiful ambition,

did not hesitate to seize the unfair advantage and wrest her daughter's

words, giving them a meaning which had not been intended:

"I am very glad to hear you say, Jessie, that you will not marry Dr.

Sinclair. Your attitude towards him the last few days gave to me as

well as to others, and I am quite sure to Dr. Sinclair himself, the

impression that you were in love with him. I am glad to have it from

your own lips that it was nothing more than a passing fancy, a harmless

flirtation."

Miss MacAllister waited to hear no more. She could not contradict her

mother's artful twisting of her words without confessing her love. She

could not do that, for Dr. Sinclair had not confessed his, nor had he

asked for hers. She was trapped. Her mother had trapped her and she

could find no escape.

She fled from her mother's room, ran to her own, and in a passion of

tears of anger and shame threw herself on a couch. Was what her mother

had said true? Had she exposed her heart to the vulgar gaze? Did they

all think that she was offering her love to Sinclair without its being

sought? She would teach them. They would not say that again.

*XXIV*

*THE BALL BEGINS*

Boom! Boom!

Two jets of smoke spirted out from the new earth battery on the spur of

the hill running down to the pilot village by the beach. The light

sea-breeze met them, lifted them in balloon-shaped clouds, and carried

them slowly backwards over the battery and against the hills. The earth

trembled with the heavy explosions of the Krupps. One shell splashed a

little to the left of the _Triomphante_, and a trifle short. The other

plume of spray rose directly beyond the warship and so close that it

showed how near the Chinese gunner had come to his target.

"By Jove! the Chinese have opened the ball. They did not wait for the

Frenchman to start. It's only twenty to seven."

The consul clicked his watch shut as he spoke, and turned his binoculars

on the French fleet. Sinclair and Sergeant Gorman, who stood with him

on the top of the old fort, had their glasses turned in the same

direction. They had not long to wait. On board the _Triomphante_ men

could be seen running to their stations. In less than two minutes a

puff of smoke streaming out from her told that the duel was on. Before

the boom of the big naval gun had travelled across the intervening two

miles or more of space other jets of smoke poured out from the

_Triomphante_, the _Galissonniere_, and the _Duguay Trouin_ as they lay

strung across the mouth of the harbour. To the north and east of the

first of these a little cloud, rising and floating on the breeze, told

where the _Vipere_ lay close in shore, hidden from sight by the hills.

The second of October had come, and with it the bombardment. In spite

of its imminence, most of the foreign residents were calmly enjoying

their morning nap when the tempest broke upon them. Of course there

were exceptions. The officers and men of the _Locust_ were at their

places, ready for any duty. Dr. MacKay's working day had begun hours

before. The commissioner of customs had been down to the offices to

take a last inventory before the storm of iron and fire in which they

were likely to be destroyed should begin. He had been joined by Mr.

MacAllister and his daughter, who were looking for a point of vantage

from which to see the opening of the battle. These and the group at the

consulate were the only ones astir. The rest were peacefully

slumbering, prolonging the morning doze to the last moment, though they

knew that the bombardment was announced to commence at seven o'clock

sharp.

Their drowse was rudely broken in upon. Within fifteen minutes from

when the first gun was fired the four ships and the Chinese batteries

were putting up a tremendous concert. The earth rocked with the

bellowings of the great guns and the bursting of shells. The

_Triomphante_ and the _Galissonniere_ ever and anon alternated a

broadside with the independent firing of single guns. Even Carteret was

awakened when the windows of his room were shattered and a great slab of

plaster fell from the ceiling, bringing his mosquito curtain down on top

of him in a tangled ruin.

"You will be going down to the hospital shortly, doctor?" said the

consul.

"Yes, if the French keep it up like this, I guess we'll have something

to do there."

"Will you drop into Thomson's and tell them that my wife and Constance

will call for them in a few minutes and accompany them to the

rendezvous?"

"I'll tell them."

"And Dr. MacKay and his family--do you think that there is any use of

our trying again to get him to go to some safer place?"

"No, there is no use. He has his students there, and a lot of his

preachers and converts with their wives and families. To send them to

any of the interior towns would mean Sin-tiam over again. They are in

less danger here from the French shells than they would be from the

heathen mobs. He will not leave them. If they are going to be in

danger, he will be in danger with them."

"I fancied that it would be that way with him. Well, I think all the

more of him for it. Now I must go and get my family down to the

rendezvous and see that the rest of the British residents are under the

best cover possible. Hallo! Who's that on the beach road below the

custom house?"

"The commissioner, Mr. MacAllister, and Miss MacAllister," said

Sinclair, who had his glasses on them.

"What the deuce are they doing there?

"Looking for a good place from which to see the fun," laughed Sinclair,

though his face showed more anxiety than mirth.

"Boville ought to have more sense," snapped the consul. "Last evening

he was in a great fluster about seeing that everybody was safe at the

rendezvous before the ball began. But I suppose that Miss MacAllister

has coaxed him, and he couldn't resist."

"Quite likely," replied the doctor, while an odd little smile played

around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. "They are turning back

now. Mr. MacAllister has taken charge. He has the young lady by the arm

and they are heading for home."

"By Jove! she needs some one whom she can't twist round her fingers."

The two men laughed; Sinclair a little doubtfully, as if he was not too

sure that such a thing was possible; the consul with the air of

conscious superiority which needs not fear. They little knew what the

day had in store for them.

"We must be off. It's getting pretty hot over there, and it may swing

around this way any minute. Sergeant, would you stay here a little while

and watch Monsieur _Lespes_? If he seems inclined to pay his

compliments to the town as well as to the batteries, run up the red

signal. But don't stay here after this is in the line of fire. I don't

want you to get your head knocked off."

"Very good, sir! I shall thry not to come down to you wid me head in me

hand."

Sinclair and the consul ran down the dark stairway within the old fort

and hurried away, the latter to his house close by, the former to

MacKay's to get his instruments and then to Thomson's to give them the

consul's message. Gorman stood alone on his watch-tower, looking out

upon the scene.

The solid old memorial of Dutch and Chinese workmanship stood on the

most prominent angle of the hill which thrust itself forward towards the

sea. For two and a half centuries it had braved siege and storm and the

wasting forces of tropical typhoons, of rain and sun and clinging,

insidious tropical vegetation. In a line with it, along the brow of the

hill facing the harbour, were the consul's house, Dr. MacKay's bungalow

and that of his colleague, and the residences of the customs officers.

Just behind MacKay's house were the two mission schools. In a parallel

line below the hill and mostly close to the shore were the customs

house, then after a considerable interval MacAllister, Munro Co.'s, Reid

& Co.'s, Dr. Bergmann's house, and the Mission Hospital, right in the

native town. Away at the far end of the town, a mile beyond the other

foreign residences on a little eminence facing the river, were the house

and godowns of Scott & Co., known as Peeatow. Over each foreign

building flew the British flag, save where Dr. Bergmann had hoisted the

flag of his fatherland. Out in mid-stream, right in front of

MacAllister, Munro Co.'s, the trim, workmanlike _Locust_ floated on the

rising tide.

The residence and godowns of Mr. MacAllister's firm had been chosen as

the rendezvous. They were in a sheltered position in what was almost a

little cove between the hill and the river. There Commander Gardenier

had sent a force of ten bluejackets under a petty officer. As Gorman

moved his glass from point to point to fix all in his memory a boat

pulled away from the _Locust_ carrying another guard of eight men to

Peeatow, where a number of foreigners had elected to remain, because of

its distance from the ships of war.

The sergeant turned again to the artillery duel. All over the open downs

to the north shells were furrowing the hard, dry soil, ricochetting from

knoll to knoll, and exploding harmlessly on the grass. The points where

the fewest shells fell were the hollows in which the Chinese camps were

sheltered. In spite of the hurtling showers of projectiles which at

times filled the air, these seemed to be practically immune.

"Howly Moses!" said Gorman to himself, "if that's the kind of shootin'

the Frinchies do, the only safe spot in tin square miles is the man

they're aimin' at."

Then a great, clumsy blue-grey water buffalo, the draught beast of the

island, disturbed in its accustomed pasture grounds by thundering guns

and cracking shells, went lumbering across the common a short distance

away. Its ugly snout was thrown forward, its great curved horns laid

back against its shoulders. A shell plumped into the ground under its

belly and, exploding instantly, blew the buffalo into ten thousand

fragments.

"Furst casuality!" exclaimed Gorman. "Private Wather Buffalo of the

Furst Battalion, Tamsui Blues, General Soon's heavy brigade. Turned

into mince meat. Chewed and partly digested. Dead and mostly missin'."

The next instant it was:

"May the divil fly away wid that gunner! Fwhat the blazes does he mane

by shootin' there? Does the omadhaun think that he has killed all the

haythen Chinese in the island, that now he's thryin' to kill the

Christian white people?"

A shell from the _Galissonniere_ had passed in a great arc over his

head. Its sound was that of a long-drawn whine mingled with the rush of

a sudden gust of wind. It exploded between the Girls' School and Dr.

MacKay's house.

"If it's the Chinese he's tryin' to hit, I wud call that a mortial bad

shot. I'll wait to see if that wan was only an accident, or if they're

goin' to presint us wid anny more."

He did not wait long. Another rush and whine and a shell passed a

little to his left, almost on a level with the spot where he stood and,

exploding on the common just back of Thomson's bungalow, threw a cloud

of earth high in the air.

That was enough. The red flag fluttered up to the top of the tall

signal staff, from which it did not come down for more than twelve

hours.

A moment later the consul came out of his house, accompanied by his wife

and little daughter and a couple of native servants, to make their

perilous way to the rendezvous. He glanced up at the danger signal:

"Are they at it already, sergeant?

"They are, sir; the worse luck to thim. Make the best time you can,

sir, an' march in open order."

"Thank you, sergeant. But don't you stay up there to be hit. You can't

be of any more service now. Get to cover somewhere. You might be

needed at the hospital."

"Very good, sir."

The consul's little group strung out along the narrow road following the

brow of the hill past the two mission houses. As they came to Dr.

MacKay's they saw the missionary pacing to and fro on his verandah. The

consul called to him:

"Not very safe there, Dr. MacKay. I think you

had better do as the rest are doing, bring your family down into the

shelter below the hill."

The missionary stopped his rapid, nervous pacing backward and forward,

lifted his hat in salute, and replied:

"Thank you, Mr. Beauchamp. I have all the protection I need: 'Thou

shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that

flieth by day.'"

As they spoke a projectile drove deep into the ground of the garden

between them, but did not explode. Undisturbed, the missionary resumed

his walking up and down, while the consul hurried after his family. At

their gate Mr. and Mrs. Thomson, accompanied by Dr. Sinclair, joined

them.

"Run for it! Run!" Beauchamp shouted as the now familiar rush and moan

of a shell was heard. The nimblest of them had hardly quickened their

pace when it hit the very edge of the almost perpendicular cliff a few

yards behind them, ricochetted at an angle to its original course, and

plunged into the harbour. Without more ceremony they did run, stringing

out until separated by wide intervals, turned sharply down the face of

the hill by a narrow path and stone steps which led under some spreading

banians, and in a few minutes were at the door of the rendezvous. The

shells screamed through the air overhead, skipped along on the hard

earth of the hills, or splashed into the river below.

"Wasn't that fun, daddy? You should have been able just to see you and

mother run. It was better than a show."

The consul's little daughter was dancing and clapping her hands with

delight.

"Not much fun that I could see, Constance," replied her father grimly.

"I prefer some other kind of a show."

"Oh, I like this best, father. And it would have been ever so much more

fun if Mr. De Vaux had been with us. Wouldn't it have been great to see

him run, hear him puff, and say, 'Bless my soul'?"

"That will do, Constance. It wouldn't have been very great if one of us

had got blown up by a shell."

"But, daddy, we had Dr. Sinclair with us. He would have fixed us up."

"Sublime faith! By Jove! doctor, you have an admirer here who will not

go back on you."

Sinclair laughed, slipped his arm around the little maid as she pressed

to his side, ran his fingers through the heavy, dark-brown curls, smiled

into those frank child eyes which looked so straight into his, and

passed on to the hospital to join Drs. Black and Bergmann.

Meanwhile, Sergeant Gorman, coming from the consulate towards the town,

had stopped to ask Dr. MacKay if there was any service he could render.

"From the way the Frenchmen are shootin', I do not expect that we'll

have manny cases in the hospital, barrin' it may be some of ourselves,

if there's anny of us left to patch the rest together. So I moight as

well be doin' an odd job for you, if there's annything that would be of

service to you."

"Nothing that I know of just now, sergeant! Nothing! We have made all

the preparations we could think of. We are in the hands of God. But

your offer is itself a service. I thank you."

A shell drove into the ground in a plantation of young banian trees just

to the west of the house. Its explosion threw up a miniature volcanic

eruption of gravel.

"Bedad, Dr. MacKay, I have been safer in manny a battlefield than we are

at this very minute."

"'The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my

strong rock, in Him will I trust.'"

"Thin, sir, you have better fortifications around you than a great manny

of us have."

A petty officer from the _Locust_ came up the garden walk, saluted, and

said:

"Are you Dr. MacKay, sir?"

"I am."

"Commander Gardenier sent me to present his compliments, and to invite

you to bring your family and your valuables and come on board the

_Locust_. He says that you are in great danger here and that no place

on shore is safe. A boat is waiting at the jetty, sir."

His words were interrupted by the weird moan of a shell, followed by an

ear-splitting crack. The air was full of smoke and dust and flying

fragments of metal and stone. It had struck a big boulder directly in

front of the house, on the edge of the narrow road at the foot of the

garden.

As they recovered from the shock, MacKay was speaking as quietly as if

nothing had happened:

"Give Commander Gardenier my thanks. Tell him that I am deeply indebted

to him for his thoughtfulness. Say to him that I have no valuables save

these." He swept his arm around the semi-circle of native converts,

preachers, students, and simple believers. "He could not accommodate all

these. It is not his duty. They are subjects of China. But these are

my valuables, my children in the Lord. Since I cannot take them with

me, I shall stay with them."

"I shall tell him, sir."

The sailor saluted and withdrew.

When Sergeant Gorman told Sinclair of it at the hospital he said:

"I was born a Catholic, an' I'll die a Catholic. But whin I see that

man up there on the hill an' thin think of that college in Skibbereen,

an' the priests that have me little farm, that isn't mine neither, at

Sleeahtballymackcurraghalicky, I'll tell ye it isn't the memory of the

priests that kapes me a Catholic. It is because I am an Irishman an' I

hate the name of a turncoat."

*XXV*

*THE BALL PROCEEDS*

"This is a sudden and unceremonious inroad of uninvited guests, Mr.

MacAllister," said the consul as he entered. "Awfully sorry to crowd

you so."

"There's no necessity for apologies, Mr. Beauchamp. We are only too glad

to share with all any shelter or safety our situation may afford. Will

you not stay and be as comfortable as the circumstances will allow?"

"Thanks, very much. I cannot stay just now. I see that you have every

one from the hill except MacKay and his family and those who are at the

hospital. But there are others who have taken refuge at Scott & Co.'s

bungalow. I want to look in at the hospital, and then go on to Peeatow.

I shall leave this party in your care and that of Boville. If it gets

too hot here, signal Gardenier, and he will take you all on board. I

shall be back in an hour."

He was off, following the narrow, crooked, rough-paved Chinese street,

his quick, nervous step carrying him rapidly on his tour of inspection.

Mr. MacAllister went up to the living-rooms where the ladies were with

De Vaux, Thomson the missionary, Clark the tea-buyer, Boville, Carteret,

and practically the whole customs staff. The house never ceased shaking

with the continual discharge of the cannon. Ever and anon the sharp

splitting crash of a bursting shell, some nearer, some farther away,

gave the nervous a start. Less frequently could be heard, even within

the house, the mingled whine and whirr of a passing projectile.

Not one of the ladies showed a sign of fear. Mrs. Beauchamp was quiet

and self-controlled. Perhaps there was a trace of anxiety as her eye

followed the light, fawn-like movements of Constance, or when she

thought of her husband out trying to assure himself of the safety of

others. But there was no fear. Mrs. MacAllister was at her best.

Whatever her faults might be, timidity was not one of them. She

belonged to a war-like people. Her colour was high Her dark eyes shone

with a strange fire. She looked a score of years younger than she was.

Her husband was struck by the change in her. He found an opportunity to

say:

"You look beautiful to-day, Flora."

"I am thinking of you, Hector. If you have to go out into danger, I

want to go with you. Now I know why Allister would be a soldier. And I

know what Jessie would mean when she says she wishes she wass a man. I

nefer knew before."

She was deeply moved. The instinct of a fighting race had suddenly come

to life with the sound of battle and the accent of her childhood's

speech was back upon her tongue.

She looked around for her daughter. Miss MacAllister was standing near

a window talking to Boville. She was drawn up to her full height,

dwarfing the rotund commissioner of customs. Her cheeks were burning.

Her eyes had an almost unnatural light. Her bosom was heaving with the

short, quick breath of one in struggle. Perhaps for the first time in

her life Mrs. MacAllister understood her daughter's feelings. But she

did not understand how much their interview of the day before had added

to their intensity.

"Mr. Boville, I really cannot stay in here and not be able to see what

is going on. I simply cannot. Let us go out on the verandah."

"Very well, Miss MacAllister. I do not know that it is any more

dangerous there. I shall be glad to go with you."

"So shall I!" exclaimed Mrs. Thomson, whose natural vivacity had

likewise been quickened by the excitement of the occasion. "I must go

out. If there's any danger, let's take it in the open, and not shut up

here like rats in a hole."

Her husband made a slow and feeble protest. But, with a half-defiant

"You may hide in here if you want to," she ran out where she could get a

view. Meanwhile, Constance Beauchamp danced in and out, bringing reports

of what was to be seen to her mother, who remained sedately inside.

A heavy projectile splashed in the river midway between the company's

jetty and the _Locust_. Another dropped on a cargo boat lying at the

jetty, smashing through its bottom. The boat immediately filled and

sank. A third drove into the soft mud of the shore close by and

exploded, bespattering the whole vicinity with slime. There was a moan

and rush nearer still, a shrill human shriek, a splitting crash, and a

small native house spouted up a cloud of dust and splinters and

fragments of sun-dried brick. Then it collapsed in a little heap of

debris. In that heap were the bodies of an old Chinese peasant and his

wife, and a little child. The great guns of the French Republic's

battleships had claimed some notable victims.

At the first sound of the shell Miss MacAllister and Mrs. Thomson were

unceremoniously rushed into the house by Boville and De Vaux. The

latter showed a presence of mind and courage in time of danger of which

his excitability on ordinary occasions had given little promise. The

shower of fragments rattled harmlessly on the roof and walls.

For a few minutes they appeared to be safe. But they did not have a

long respite. There was a terrific crash and rending. The house shook

as if in the grip of an earthquake. A great, gaping hole appeared in

the back corner of the room on a level with the floor.

"Out on the verandah! Quick!" yelled Boville.

"Don't stop there! Bless my soul! To the far end!" echoed De Vaux.

With one exception all ran to the end of the verandah farthest from

where they expected the explosion to take place. For a moment or two

there was dead silence as hearts stood still in expectancy of the

death-dealing shock. Then a quick step was heard running up the stairs

and into the room they had left. The next instant Sinclair stepped out

on the verandah.

"I hope no one was hurt," he said. "There is no immediate danger now.

It's a dead one."

A heavy shell from the _Triomphante_ had ricochetted from the hill

behind, struck the back of the house just above the level of the floor

of the room in which the refugees were, passed through the wall and

floor, and landed amid the boxes of tea piled in the lower story. Dr.

Sinclair was just entering the storeroom on the ground floor at that

moment, and soon satisfied himself that it could do no more harm.

His assurance was received with a chorus of grateful exclamations. In

the midst of them Mrs. MacAllister turned to Carteret and said:

"I am very glad to see, Mr. Carteret, that you are perfectly safe."

She had not failed to notice that he had been the first to reach a place

of safety, and had ensconced himself in the corner farthest from the

expected danger. She had got a glimpse of the man's character. She

could forgive drunkenness and gambling, and some other things which need

not be mentioned. These were the privileges of the nobility. But

cowardice! She despised that. Her voice was icily cold when she said:

"I am very glad to see, Mr. Carteret, that you are perfectly safe."

Carteret's pale face, paler than usual, flushed. But with ready

effrontery he carried himself through:

"Thank you, Mrs. MacAllister; I am very glad to see that every one is

perfectly safe."

At that moment Sinclair's voice was heard saying:

"What's the matter in here? Was any one hurt?"

He stepped into the room again, followed by all the rest. From a dark

corner came broken ejaculations, mingled with the names of the deity:

"Oh, God! Oh, God! ... Lord! ... Lord! ... Oh, God, have mercy on my

soul!"

Peering through the semi-darkness after the glare of the bright sunshine

outside, they discovered Clark on his hands and knees under a heavy teak

table.

"Hallo, Clark!" exclaimed Sinclair. "What are you doing there? Are you

hurt?"

"Oh, God! ... No! ... We'll all be killed.... Lord! ... Lord! ... The

shell! ... Oh, God! Have mercy on my soul!"

"Lord bless my soul!" exclaimed De Vaux in his high-pitched voice. "Is

the man a coward?"

"Lord have mercy on my soul!" prayed Clark, under the table.

"My God! ... This is disgraceful," stuttered De Vaux. "I never heard of

the like.... Bless my soul!"

"Oh, God! ... Have mercy on my soul!" echoed Clark.

"Sounds like a Free Methodist prayer-meeting!" remarked Sinclair, with a

laugh, in which the rest joined.

"Mother, doesn't Mr. Clark get under the table and whine just like Carlo

when father whipped him for keeping company with those nasty Chinese

dogs?"

"Hush, Constance! Don't you say another word."

Sinclair reached under the table and began to pull Clark out:

"Come along, Clark! The Lord's going to give you another chance with

that soul of yours. Perhaps you will have it in better shape by the

time you get the next call."

When a few minutes later a boat from the _Locust_ arrived to take all to

the gunboat for greater safety, Clark found his legs with amazing

expedition. Indeed, he would have been the first person in the boat if

it had not been that Lieutenant Lanyon, who was in command, caught him

by the collar and jerked him back on the jetty with the warning:

"Ladies first, sir, or by my faith you don't go at all."

Meanwhile on the exposed hill-top MacKay, his wife and children, and his

Chinese converts, who had no souls, remained calm and unmoved amidst the

ceaseless whirr and whine of the flying projectiles and the crash of

bursting shells.

*XXVI*

*A GAME OF BALL*

During the afternoon the French fire slackened. By four o'clock it had

died away to scattering shots. The party of refugees had spent most of

the forenoon on board the _Locust_, had lunched at Peeatow, and now were

back at their morning rendezvous. Some of the men had remained at

Peeatow. Clark, the hero of the teak table incident, was not one of

them. Evidently believing that a special divinity had been assigned to

watch over the ladies, he kept very close to them, so that he might

share in that divinity's protection.

Sinclair had spent the day at the hospital, though there was not much to

do there. The all-day bombardment had wounded less than a score of

Chinamen. But when he visited the rendezvous in the morning he noticed

that Miss MacAllister seemed to avoid him. He was not the man to push

himself in where he was not wanted, and so stayed away. But they met in

the late afternoon. It was she who contrived it.

"Where is Miss MacAllister?" said Mrs. Beauchamp to that young lady's

mother. "I have not seen her for some time."

"I really do not know. I had not missed her. But now that you mention

it, I have not seen her since we came back. She may be in her room."

"Constance, would you go to Miss MacAllister's room and see if she is

there?"

"Oh, no, mother, she is not in her room! I know. I heard her dare Mr.

Carteret to have a game of tennis. She said that she would get Dr.

Sinclair, too. She has gone away up to our place to play tennis."

"To play tennis!" both ladies exclaimed in horror.

"Yes," replied Constance. "Mr. Carteret did not want to go one bit. He

was scared. I know. He tried to make all sorts of excuses. It was

because he was so scared. I know. He looked just as frightened as he

could look. But Miss MacAllister made him go. Isn't she dandy?"

"Constance, quick, run and ask your father to come here!"

When the consul heard what his wife had to tell, he uttered one brief,

emphatic word, not loud but deep, grabbed his hat, and ran down the

stairs. Breathlessly climbing the steep hill behind, he had just turned

the corner of the customs compound when he heard the moan of a shell

coming from the direction of the _Vipere_, which had moved from her

former position and was lying well within the mouth of the river. It

exploded in the air between the two mission bungalows. A fragment cut

its way clean through the cottage roof of Thomson's bungalow, going in

at one side and coming out at the other, leaving a great gaping hole in

the tiles.

"By Jove!" said the consul to himself, "if that had been a percussion,

or if the Frenchman had given it one second longer, Thomson would have

been minus a house."

He caught a glimpse of swiftly-moving white figures on his lawn and

quickened his pace. He called a cheery greeting to MacKay as he passed

and ran down into the little hollow between the missionary's house and

his own. Just then he heard Sinclair's strong voice calling:

"Fifteen--love! ... Thirty--love! ... Forty--love! ... Game!"

"What an expert! Just look at the cool, confident way he serves those

balls. And we might as well try to stop a French shell with our rackets

as return his service. Mr. Carteret, it's your service. Now play up or

he'll win this set."

At that moment the consul ran through the gate in the hedge into the

midst of the players:

"What the deuce is the meaning of this? Miss MacAllister? Dr.

Sinclair?"

"Oh, Mr. Beauchamp, I'm so glad you have come! We needed another player

to complete a doubles. Dr. Sinclair has been playing singles against Mr.

Carteret and me. Won't you join in? There's a gentleman's racket on

the settee right before you."

"Miss MacAllister, this is no time for fooling. I want to know what is

the meaning of this. Carteret, you are a resident of the East and know

what it means to disobey the orders of a consul. Why are you here and

not at the rendezvous?"

"Ask the young lady," replied Carteret, with a shrug of his shoulders

and a curl of his lip.

"Thanks, Adam! Since the blame is to be thrown back on Eve, she'll

reply. I got tired of being stewed up in the house with men who crawled

under the table whenever there was a hint of danger. So I came up here.

Besides, I do not believe that it is nearly so dangerous here as there.

Not a shell has come near us since we came, and I have not seen where

one has fallen about here all day. And, if they did start to shoot at

us, Dr. Sinclair keeps us jumping about so lively after his balls that

the Frenchmen could never hit us."

It took all Beauchamp's self-control to maintain the gravity of his

countenance. But he managed it somehow, and answered as sternly as he

could:

"This foolishness must stop. I'm responsible for your lives and I'm not

going to have you stuck up here for targets."

"But, Mr. Beauchamp," was the nonchalant reply, "we have won the first

set from Dr. Sinclair. He has very nearly won the second from us. It

would be cowardly of us to run away now without giving him a chance to

finish it. I'm sure Mr. Carteret would never consent to that. Mr.

Carteret, it's your service. We must get moving or we all may be

killed."

"I think, Mr. Beauchamp," said Sinclair, "that what Miss MacAllister

says is about right. There really appears to be less danger here than

down in the town. Whether or not the French gunners have respected the

consulate, their shells have done little damage just here."

But the consul was not to be put off so easily:

"Miss MacAllister, Mr. Carteret, Dr. Sinclair, I command you to stop

this game and to go down to the rendezvous."

"Mr. Beauchamp, may I ask you one question?" Her voice was almost

infantile in its innocence.

"Certainly, Miss MacAllister. If it be a short one."

"You remember the Canadian Indian song Dr. Sinclair sang at the

consulate the evening after we arrived? Was that really Indian?"

"How do you think I know? I never lived among the Indians. It was all

Greek to me."

"That's exactly what I thought. It was Greek to me. Mr. Carteret, it's

your service. Please play ball."

The consul gave a long, low whistle, shrugged his shoulders, and said to

himself:

"So that's where the wind lies. I fancy I might as well let them fight

it out."

Sinclair's face crimsoned at her words; then paled a little. His jaw

set hard and he returned Carteret's service with such a volley that

neither of his opponents, though ordinarily better players than he, had

any chance. In a few minutes he announced abruptly:

"Game! Set!"

"Set--all! We must play the rubber. I suppose you are willing to have

a deciding set, Dr. Sinclair?"

"Certainly, Miss MacAllister."

There was something in his face and voice she had never seen or heard

there before. She looked at him curiously--a little anxiously.

They exchanged courts, Sinclair taking the north or exposed end of the

lawn, while his opponents had the south end and were sheltered behind

the fort.

The consul looked at them for a moment, then seized a racket and joined

Sinclair:

"If you young people are bound to be fools, I suppose I might as well

jump into it and be a fool, too. It may finish the set so much the

quicker."

It was not a long one. Miss MacAllister played well. But her partner,

Carteret, usually an expert at tennis, was nervous and playing

wretchedly. On the other hand, Sinclair, who ordinarily served well but

was weak on the return, completely excelled himself. He drove his balls

over the net with a savage strength which made his opponents' efforts to

return them entirely hopeless. And on the return, where he was as a

rule only moderately skilful, he let nothing pass him. Beauchamp played

his usual swift, tricky, cheerful game.

The last game of the set had come. It was Sinclair's service.

"Play ball! ... Fifteen--love!"

He crossed to his left-hand court and lifted his racket. There was a

long whine, a rush of wind, and a terrific crash. A slanting black

groove was scored across the green almost at Sinclair's feet, and the

earth thrown high in the air.

"Down! Down! Everybody down!" yelled the consul.

"Play ball!" shouted Sinclair, and drove a vicious service at Carteret.

"Thirty--love!" he continued, and strode back to his right-hand court to

serve again.

But there was no use continuing the game. Carteret, who had flung

himself on the ground, arose with a hanging jaw and ghastly face, and a

nerve too shaken to play any more that day. Miss MacAllister had thrown

herself on a settee at the end of the lawn, her face covered with her

hands to shut out the sight. The consul, though he had shouted to the

others to down, had remained standing himself. He was staring fixedly

at Sinclair:

"Doctor, you beat the devil."

"Nothing to get excited about, Beauchamp! Percussion fuse! If it did

not explode when it hit the corner of the fort, it wasn't likely to when

it went into the soft soil."

"Yes, that's all right. But you hadn't time to work that out before you

served again. Besides, it passed within a yard of where you were

standing."

"Well, what if it did? A miss is as good as a mile. There was no use

going up in the air about it."

"Look here, Sinclair. What the devil ever induced you to play this fool

game, anyway?"

"I had to."

The consul looked at him in silence for a minute.

"Well, perhaps you had," he said slowly.

"I'll leave you to see those people back to the rendezvous, Beauchamp.

Carteret may need a stretcher. I see that Miss MacAllister is quite able

to walk. I'm going to MacKay's."

He turned to go. As he did so he heard Miss MacAllister pronounce his

name. He thought that she was only saying a conventional farewell. He

lifted his hat and said:

"Good-afternoon, Miss MacAllister."

Without looking in her direction he was gone.

*XXVII*

*THE CHARGE OF THE TAMSUI BLUES*

During the week which lay between the first and second bombardments, Dr.

Sinclair and Miss MacAllister saw very little of each other. The doctor

was busy. But that was not the main reason why he did not meet Miss

MacAllister. The previous week, no matter how busy he was, he could

always find time to meet her.

The fact was that circumstances had changed. He did not want to see

her. Between the halcyon days of the previous week and the gloom of

this one some painful episodes had occurred. The stormy interview

between mother and daughter had taken place. In her indignation the

young lady had determined to make it plain to everybody in general, and

to Dr. Sinclair in particular, that she was not enamoured of him and was

not offering her love where it had not been sought.

In some respects she succeeded beyond her expectations. Sinclair was

convinced. More than that! He was convinced that all along she had

been only playing him. That reference to the song he had sung at the

dinner made assurance doubly sure. All through those days when she had

been so fascinatingly kind she had only been leading him on so that her

revenge might be the sweeter.

If Sinclair had been a melodramatic individual, he would probably have

torn out whole handfuls of his fair hair, thrown them two or three feet

above his head in the direction of the high heavens, and raved some

foolish and incoherent ravings, telling his wrongs to the winds and the

wild waves, if they cared to listen. If he had been a profane person,

he would have sworn picturesquely and would have asked Sergeant Gorman

or some one else equally vigorous to kick him down the steep hill, on

which the consulate was built, and up again for being a fool.

As he was neither melodramatic nor profane, he did neither of those

things. He merely made up his mind in a cool, determined way that he

would avoid Miss MacAllister as much as the narrow limits of their

little community would allow, and when he was forced to meet her he

would not grow enthusiastic over her, to say the least. When he met

Gorman he did not ask to be kicked, but said:

"Look here, sergeant, there are going to be some lively times round

here, or I'm no prophet. The French are not going to be satisfied with

bombarding. And if they land a force and it comes to rifle-fire and

perhaps the bayonet, there'll be some Chinese hurt."

"Right you are, docther. The shells don't take manny lives, barrin'

thim that the noise scares to death. But the rifle bullets, they're the

little divils that do the wurrk."

"Well, supposin' that you get leave again and we offer our services to

General Soon to organize an ambulance brigade."

"I'm wid you, docther, from the drop of the hat."

So it came about that all that week Sinclair and Gorman were out on the

wide commons in the vicinity of the Chinese camps, with squads of

Chinese detailed for that service, to use General Leatherbottom's

expression, "lickin' them into shape." Gorman gave them drill.

Sinclair taught them how to splint and bandage, to put on a tourniquet

and check the flow of blood, to make improvised stretchers and carry

patients without irritating their wounds past recovery.

Soon the fair-haired "Life-healer" was nearly as well known and as

popular among General Soon's yellow-skinned, slant-eyed hordes as he had

become in Liu Ming-chuan's army before Keelung. But none of these

Chinese soldiers knew how much of the training they received they owed

to the fact that the "Red-haired Life-healer" had been badly used by the

"barbarian girl" at a game of "phah-kiu," or strike ball.

One day Sinclair and Gorman were out as usual drilling their corps and

training them in the principles of first aid. An exclamation of

"Tai-eng-kok lang" (British people) from some of their men caused them

to look up. Passing them some distance away were Miss MacAllister and

Carteret. The latter was carrying an easel, for among his

accomplishments he included considerable skill in sketching and

painting.

They were making their way towards a little eminence which commanded a

magnificent view in all directions. Carteret had asked her to take a

walk, that he might point out the beautiful scenery. She had accepted

the invitation in the hope of meeting Sinclair, whom she had not seen

since he had so abruptly left the tennis lawn.

"Fwhat the divil is the spalpeen takin' the lady there for, wid

thousands of Chinese soldiers rampagin' around for some diviltry to do?"

Sinclair took one look, then lowered his head, and went doggedly on with

his work, giving the Chinese ambulance corps a demonstration of how to

splint a broken thigh. Gorman looked at him wonderingly for an instant;

then without a word joined him, pulling the shortened leg out into

position and explaining each movement in the vernacular.

Meanwhile, the prime danger to which Miss MacAllister and Carteret were

exposed was not from the Chinese soldiers. A herd of water-buffaloes

were feeding on the short grass of the downs. Docile as these huge

beasts are with the little native herd boys, they are often exceedingly

vicious towards strangers, especially those dressed in a style to which

they are unaccustomed. Now they were irritated by the bombardment and

frequent ill-usage by the soldiers.

At the sight of the man and woman in foreign dress they began to show

signs of excitement. Crowding in a dense mass of blue-grey, hairless

bodies, they moved in arcs of a circle, of which the centre was the

object of their intended attack. Their ugly snouts were thrust forward

on a level with their shoulders. Their great, curved horns lay back on

their necks. They pressed closer and closer behind the two foreigners.

Suddenly one enormous brute with a snort threw itself forward in a

charge.

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

Gorman. Miss MacAllister had turned to face the beast, with the light

walking-stick she carried upraised in her hand. Carteret flung his

easel at it, but did not interpose himself between his companion and the

danger.

[Illustration: A yell from one of the Chinese attracted the attention of

Sinclair and Gorman.]

With a shout Gorman sprang to his feet and started to run, waving a

heavy stick in his hand. He had not taken a half-dozen paces when a

rifle cracked behind him. A bullet sang past and the great blue beast

plunged forward on its knees, then rolled over on its side almost at

Miss MacAllister's feet. Gorman glanced back. Sinclair was lying on the

ground, in the act of throwing another shell into the breach of the

rifle he held in his hands.

"Better go on, Gorman, and drive off the rest of the herd. You may have

to escort these people home. It's not safe for them to be out."

With some shouts and a few resounding thwacks of his stick on their

tough hides, Gorman drove off the buffaloes, and then turned savagely on

Carteret:

"Tearin' ages! Fwhat in the name of all the saints possessed you to

bring the young lady here? ... Fwhat? ... For a walk! ... Faith, an' if

it hadn't been for the docther here, God bless him!--it's a walk her

young ladyship wud have been takin' to hivin and you to hell this very

minnit."

"You make very fine distinctions, Sergeant Gorman," said Carteret

sarcastically.

"Distinction, is it? Begorra, the only man that has come out of this

wid distinction is Dr. Sinclair here. An' you had better be afther

thankin' him that the angels and the divils are not this minnit holdin'

a celebration over your two souls respectively."

In spite of the danger she had just passed through, this was too much

for Miss MacAllister's gravity. Her merry peal of laughter rang out at

the evident discomfiture of Carteret. It was with eyes dancing with fun

as well as full of gratitude that she met Sinclair as he came to inquire

courteously for her well-being. He received her warm thanks quietly and

made light of his skill as a shot, which she praised so highly.

"I am only too glad to be of any service to you. As for the shot, that

was nothing. I have been accustomed to hunting in Canada since I was a

small boy. I had to learn to take sure aim and shoot quickly."

Carteret thanked him in courteous terms, but without warmth.

Sinclair did not wait for any further conversation.

"It is really not safe for you to be out here without an armed escort,"

he said; "when the country is so disturbed and there are so many

camp-followers about. Even we who are in a sense in the Chinese service

always carry arms. Sergeant Gorman will see you safely home. I am on

duty here."

He did not mention the obvious fact that Sergeant Gorman was also on

duty. But Miss MacAllister did not fail to notice it, and understood.

She thanked him as bravely as she could, and turned away with her

escort. But it was some time before even Gorman's quaint humours and

repetitions could draw a laugh from her.

That was the only time Sinclair and Miss MacAllister met that week.

*XXVIII*

*UNHOLY CONFESSORS*

That evening De Vaux and Carteret sat in the latter's quarters in the

buildings of the customs compound. There were a number of other

occupants of the room. De Vaux and Carteret sat on chairs, at least

they did during the earlier part of the evening. The others sat on the

table. They were highly honoured and necessary guests. They consisted

of sundry bottles of Scotch whiskey, a nearly equal number of bottles of

soda, and a varied assortment of bottles of wine.

Carteret felt that he needed some comfort and sympathy after the

exciting experiences of the day. He had called in the guests, who now

sat on the table to comfort him. De Vaux, as being somewhat permanently

installed in Carteret's quarters, was helping to entertain. Indeed, De

Vaux had a singular facility in entertaining and being entertained by

guests of this nature.

"A man needs something after such experiences as I have had those last

few days," said Carteret, pouring out a glass of whiskey and starting to

fill up with soda. "Talk about war! By Jove! I have been in more

uncomfortable places in the last five days than I was in a whole

campaign in Egypt."

"Not so much soda, Carteret! Not so much soda! ... it spoils the

flavour and weakens the effect. 'Pon my honour, it does! ... If my

nerves are shaky and I want the taste to stay in my mouth, a little less

than half soda is my rule."

"To the devil with the taste! There's lots more taste where this came

from. But you're right. My nerves are all on the jump."

"The consul tells me that you had a narrow escape. Those infernal

water-buffaloes! Bless my soul! I'm more afraid of a herd of them than

a whole regiment of Chinese.... 'Pon my word, I am."

"So am I, the ugly brutes! And if the girl had got killed or injured

there would have been the very deuce to pay. The consul and her father

would have blamed me."

"The consul blames you as it is."

"Yes, that's the way with Beauchamp. He's an Englishman. But he's down

on his own countrymen and his own class, and all for those damn boors of

Canadians. He thinks more of MacKay and that upstart doctor than he

does of a whole colony of English."

"Well, I shouldn't like to say that. Beauchamp has always been awfully

decent with me. 'Pon my soul, he has! ... But he is vexed at you. He

says that you ought to be deported."

"Only wish he would deport me! Anyway, he can't till the next boat.

And on it he's going to have to deport his wife and Mrs. Thomson and

Miss MacAllister. That will hurt him worst of all. Don't you fret.

There'll be no deporting by that boat, unless I deport myself."

"You are pressing your case with Miss MacAllister deuced hard.... How

is it looking? You should have some results by this time. 'Pon my

honour, you should!"

Carteret drained his glass and filled it again.

"The mother's with me. She knows that the heir has only one lung."

"And the father?"

"Says nothing one way or the other. Don't think that he is quite

satisfied with my religious principles."

"Bless my soul! Could you blame him?"

"Not if he knew all about them. But, thank the Lord, he doesn't!"

Carteret laughed disagreeably, cynically as he spoke.

De Vaux took his cigar out of his mouth, blew a cloud of smoke into the

air, and tipped his long glass so high that one might fancy that he

feared lest even the moisture adhering to its sides should escape him.

He set it down and wiped his lips with a sigh of satisfaction. Then he

said:

"And what about the young lady herself?"

"An uncertain quantity."

"Has she given you no sign?"

"Signs enough sometimes that she wished I was in Jericho, or at the

North Pole, or some other equally remote and cheerful place."

"Why? What's the matter?"

"Just at present she's taken with that Canadian peasant's muscles. Like

the rest of the women, she is more attracted by the body of a man than

by his birth or brains."

He laughed again, and his laugh was unpleasant to hear.

De Vaux gulped down another drink and answered with a little bit of

angry stutter:

"You've said enough, Carteret.... By Jove! there are lots of decent

women.... If you and I haven't met many of them, it's our own fault....

'Pon my honour, it is!"

"There may be. But they are not in the Far East. When I was in

Shanghai, every woman in the settlement had her price, if you only knew

what it was."

"I don't know what they are in Shanghai," replied De Vaux. "But I do

know what they are in some other places, and I'll stake my honour on it

they are not all like that. 'Pon my soul, they're not."

"Name one."

"Mrs. Beauchamp."

"Bound by conventionalities and kept in a glass case by her husband,"

sneered Carteret. "Get her out of that and she'd be just like the

rest."

De Vaux struggled to his feet, his face purple, his voice choking with

rage.

"Carteret," he stuttered in his high voice, "that's a lie---a damned

lie! ... If you don't take it back"--he shook his fist across the

table--"if you don't take it back, by God, I'll expose you!"

Carteret paled, sat up in his chair, and took the pipe out of his mouth.

"Look here, De Vaux," he said, "don't make a confounded fool of

yourself. One would think that you were the lady's husband. I didn't

mean anything. I was only joshing."

"Well, that's a kind of joshing I don't like when it is about my

friends.... 'Pon my soul, I don't!" replied De Vaux, settling himself

back into his chair.

"All right, De Vaux, there'll be no more of it. What'll you have? ...

Let's break a bottle of champagne."

That was irresistible, and in a few minutes De Vaux's good-humour was

restored. Presently he said:

"So you have hopes of winning the fair MacAllister yet?"

"Sure of it when I get her away from here and can use the title as a

bait."

"The title! Is it so near as that? Have you had any word?"

"Had word from my agent and solicitor by the last boat. My dearly

beloved brother's cough is quite distressing. He has been ordered to

Mentone for the winter. The agent does not think that he will ever get

there. And, if he does, he's sure that he'll never get back. The old

man is taking on about it. He's not at all in love with the idea of the

succession of the heir presumptive. They do not think that he will live

through the autumn. If October does not finish him, November will."

De Vaux had little reason to love his own parents and family, whoever

they were. But the cynical heartlessness of Carteret grated on him. He

turned the conversation a little:

"So you intend to leave the island soon?"

"By the next trip of the _Hailoong_, if the French do not bottle us up

for the winter."

"And then you'll bring matters to a conclusion with Miss MacAllister?"

"Yes. Her people intend to spend the winter in Hong-Kong. So do I. If

the old man and my beloved brother are only sufficiently obliging to

depart in peace with reasonable expeditiousness, I shall be Lord

Lewesthorpe. You know what that means in the colony. I haven't yet

seen the tradesman's daughter who could resist. They are all falling

over each other in their willingness to exchange their money for a

title. Quite envious of the preeminent success of their fair American

cousins, as the newspapers say, in getting so many titles knocked down

to them. The mother is ready to bid mine up. The decayed Lewesthorpe

fortunes need the money more than I need the girl."

Drunk as he was getting to be, De Vaux was disgusted with the

callousness of his companion. He sat silent for a few minutes, looking

straight at Carteret out of his bulging, bloodshot eyes. Then he

blurted out:

"Carteret, what are you going to do with the Chinese girl?"

"Nothing in particular," was the reply, with a cynical laugh. "Any of

you fellows can have her, if you want her. If not, and the French take

this beastly island, one of them will take her. They are generally

ready for an _affaire d'amour_."

"And you are going to desert that Chinese girl and her child--your

child--and let them go to the devil? And then you're going to ask Miss

MacAllister to marry you, she of course knowing nothing of the other?"

"Of course. Why not? It won't hurt her so long as she doesn't know

anything about it. If she does find it out afterwards, she can make the

best of it. It would be the same if she married any other man."

"Carteret, you are a scoundrel.... 'Pon my soul! ... That's what you

are--a double-dyed scoundrel."

Carteret rose to his feet and faced De Vaux across the table. His face

was pale and ugly:

"Come now, De Vaux. A little of that goes a long way. If I am a

scoundrel, you are five times as much a scoundrel. For, if my

arithmetic and memory are right, that is just the number of half-breed

youngsters I counted in your house up river."

De Vaux stood for some moments gasping for breath and struggling to get

control of himself. He was dangerously near the apoplectic fit which

had been so often foretold for him. But he passed the danger point,

recovered himself, and said:

"Yes, Carteret, your memory and your arithmetic were right. There

_were_ five. But they are all the children of one woman. And that

woman, though she is a Chinese, is just as much my wife as things out

here go as if the banns had been published and the service read....

'Pon my honour, she is! ... I am educating my children. They are safe

in Hong-Kong at the present moment.... Bless my soul, I had a letter

from the oldest by the last mail.... More than that, Carteret, since I

have had that Chinese woman, I have never sought a white woman, and

never intend to.... Thank God, I have a little bit of a man in me yet!"

"That's all old woman's sentiment, De Vaux. I didn't think you were

such a molly-coddle. Wouldn't it make a furore in society if I was to

take a Chinese tea-girl home to be the Countess of Lewesthorpe? I have

none of your fastidious notions. I intend to have a woman suited to my

position, and money to keep it up."

"And leave the girl and the kid."

"Then, by God, I'll have nothing more to do with you!"

And De Vaux meant what he said. But another bottle was broken, and then

another. And when the dawn peeped in, De Vaux was stertorously

slumbering on a long bamboo and rattan chair, and Carteret was hidden

under his mosquito curtains.

*XXIX*

*FLAGS OF TRUCE*

"Looks as if we might have something doing to-day, sergeant. I

shouldn't be surprised if we should have an interesting day. What do

you make of those boats away there to the north?"

"Transports, docther. They're not men-o'-war, and what else could

merchant ships be doin' there except waitin' for a chanst to land

soldiers?"

"I wonder where the other warships are. I can make out only the

_Galissonniere_ and the _Vipere_."

"Maybe they're close in shore, behind that hill yonder. If they are

goin' to put a landin' party ashore, they'll be needin' to cover it."

It was the eighth of October, six days after the previous bombardment.

Sinclair and Gorman were, as was their custom, on the top of the Dutch

fort, trying to foresee what might be the developments of the day.

The morning wore on until nine o'clock. Suddenly spirts of flame shot

out from the two French warships which were in sight, and the thunder of

their guns mingled with the distant boom from others which were hidden

behind the northern hills. A transport appeared close to the shore,

near the last stretch of beach visible from the fort. Another was

probably hidden by the hills. The rattle of the machine guns covering

the landing of the troops filled up the intervals between the booming of

the big guns.

At the first report the consul joined them on the lookout. Boville,

MacAllister, Commander Gardenier, and one or two others came later.

With the consul's permission, Gorman left to personally superintend the

work of his ambulance corps, of which he was very proud.

"Don't let the Chinese mistake you for a Frenchman," called Sinclair

after him. "The Hakkas might fill you with slugs from their old

match-locks."

"Faith, an' it's a poor opinion you have of their intilligence, to say

nothin' of the insult you're offering meself," was the reply of Gorman,

as he ran down the stair.

"There's the first load!" exclaimed the consul, as a boat filled with

troops pulled from the transport to the beach.

Boat after boat followed, discharging their cargoes of armed men, who

formed up on the beach and then marched away out of sight behind a spur

of hills. Soon the volleys of rifle-fire joined the crash of machine

guns in forming an interlude between the thunder of the cannon.

An hour passed away. As a week before, most of the residents of the

hill-top had repaired to the rendezvous at MacAllister, Munro Co.'s.

But the consul and his companions were still on the top of the fort.

"There comes the first of the Chinese wounded," said Sinclair. "It's

some of Gorman's corps who are carrying him. I can see the red cross."

A moment later he said:

"There come more. The French must be doing some execution. There are

already more wounded in sight than we had all day last Thursday. It's

the rifle-fire which counts."

Singly or in groups, the squads of stretcher-bearers could be seen

filing across the common on their way to the Mission Hospital.

"I must go now. We are going to have our hands full."

"Down! Down!" roared Gardenier.

Every one fell flat behind the battlements. There was a crash and the

old fort trembled to its foundations. They sprang to their feet and

looked over. A shell had struck it squarely a few feet above the

ground. But the solid brick walls, eight feet thick, built by

conscientious workmen two hundred and fifty years before, had hurled it

back and were hardly even dented by the terrific impact.

Soon afterwards Sinclair left for the Mission Hospital down in the town.

There he joined Dr. Bergmann in time to receive the first of the

wounded. But they came so fast that before long the two doctors had to

signal for Black of the _Locust_. As the afternoon came on the number

increased. The hospital was small, and soon not only the operating-room

and the wards, but the courtyard as well, were crowded with between one

hundred and twenty and one hundred and thirty wounded men.

The forenoon passed into the afternoon; the afternoon wore slowly away.

Up and down between the lines of rude plank cots the three doctors

moved, with bare arms and clothing stained with blood. Several of the

Christian students acted as nurses and assisted at the dressings.

The noon hour had passed, but they took no time for lunch. A messenger

arrived from the rendezvous with an invitation from Mrs. Beauchamp and

Mrs. MacAllister to go there for tiffin.

"I fancy that we had better accept this," said Black. "We have more

time now than we shall have later. But these are slaughter-house

clothes in which to go to tiffin with ladies."

"Das ist true," replied Bergmann. "Ve vill slip in mine house and vill

get some clothes. I can fit Dr. Black. But Dr. Sinclair, I know not.

He ist so big."

"That's all right, Bergmann. Somebody has to stay here and look after

those fellows. You two go ahead and have tiffin. Present my

compliments and regrets. If there is not too big a rush when you come

back, I'll have something then."

His two confreres hastened away. Sinclair went on with his work

silently, swiftly, determinedly. Again the pain-drawn faces appealed to

him. Again the wistful eyes followed him. Again the word passed from

lip to lip, "I-seng lai" (The Life-healer comes).

Some belonged to regiments which had been in the camp before Keelung and

had known him there. Some had come to know him during their ambulance

work of the past week. Some had heard of him. Some were mainland men

from the North, speaking a different tongue. But all caught the phrase,

and from every plank bed he heard the word passed to the next, "I-seng

lai" (The Life-healer comes). And he worked on.

Presently Bergmann and Black returned, and with them a blue-jacket of

the rendezvous guard, with a pressing invitation for him to go for

tiffin. He looked at the invitation; then at the ever-increasing number

of suffering men:

"Give my thanks to the ladies who sent you and say from me that there

are so many wounded here now that I cannot find it in my heart to leave

them. I can do very well without food till dinner-time."