The Call of the East: A Romance of Far Formosa

VIII

SINCLAIR'S OPPORTUNITY

Sinclair and McLeod were awaiting their opportunity to say good-night when one of the consul's Chinese servants hastily entered and handed his master a letter:

"One boy b'long Kai Bok-su come Keelung side, one piecee chit new sick-boy-man can catchee."

"All right, boy," replied the consul."Dr. Sinclair, here's a letter for you from Dr. MacKay."

The doctor cut the letter open and read:

"CHINESE CAMP, LOAN-LOAN, NEAR KEELUNG,

"Aug.5th, 1884.

"DEAR DR. SINCLAIR:

"As you are aware, a battle is raging.A number of the Chinese have been killed.Many more are wounded.The end is not yet.They have no doctors but native fakirs.They have no medicines, no instruments, no knowledge of surgery.There is dreadful suffering.Will you help?Never a better opportunity to serve humanity and win the Chinese.

"The consul will give you passports.The bearer of this will guide you.A Hoa will come with you as far as Taipeh and secure a permit from the governor.Mrs. MacKay and Dr. Bergmann will give you a free hand with the Mission's stock of medicines, and will help you to pack them.Will you come?

"Yours,

"G.L.MACKAY."

Without a word Sinclair handed the open letter to the consul, who had now bidden farewell to the rest of the guests.He read it quickly and looked up:

"You are going?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"First launch in the morning."

"Good!I'll have your papers ready."

"Thank you, Mr. Beauchamp.Good-night."

"I'll send the constable over to MacKay's with the papers.Take care of yourself.Good-night, doctor.Good-night, McLeod."

*      *      *      *      *

The first faint rose of dawn was showing in the sky behind the great bulk of the Taitoon Mountains when Sinclair stepped out on the broad verandah of the missionary's bungalow, ready for his journey.The Chinese student who was to guide him was already there.A coolie bearing two round baskets containing the medicines, instruments, and other necessaries, balanced on the end of his long bamboo carrying pole, came round the corner of the house.

The iron gate at the foot of the garden clicked sharply.A vigorous step sounded on the gravelled walk.An erect, soldierly figure stepped out of the darkness into the light streaming from the doorway, rapped his heels together, saluted, and handed Dr. Sinclair a packet of letters.

"Good-morning, Sergeant Gorman.You're sharp on time."

"No credit to me, sir!It's the consul, sir!The divil himself wud have to get up in the morning before he went to bed at night to catch the consul late."

There was no mistaking Sergeant Gorman's native land.Sinclair laughed as he said:

"I suppose these are my passports."

"Right you are, sir!But wud you moind lookin' at the last one furst, for, widout army conceit in meself, it's the most important of thim all."

Sinclair opened it and read:

"H.B.M.CONSULATE, TAMSUI, Aug.6th, 1884.

"DEAR DR. SINCLAIR:

"I am presuming on your good nature to make a request of you.Will you accept of Sergeant Gorman's assistance in your volunteer Red Cross Service?Ever since the cannon fire began yesterday morning, he has been aching to get into the field of action.Your going is an opportunity.He will not be an encumbrance.He has been at various times surgeon's assistant and hospital sergeant.He speaks pidgin, and knows quite a bit of vernacular.Commander Gardenier will spare me a man to take his place.Feeling sure that you will grant my request as soon as you read it, I have enclosed his passports with yours.

"Wishing you a safe and speedy return, I am,

"Your obedient servant,

"H.R.L.BEAUCHAMP."

Sinclair read between the lines.It was not merely the desire to gratify Sergeant Gorman's passion to be in any fighting which might be handy which had actuated the consul.It was solicitude for himself.He was a stranger in the island.He did not know the language.He had never been nearer war than the annual camp of a brigade of Canadian militia.This resourceful Irishman, with more than twenty years of varied service, mostly in the Orient and among Oriental peoples, would simply be invaluable to him.The consul had been up all night arranging for his convenience and safety.More to himself than to any one else he exclaimed:

"Beauchamp's a trump!"

"An' the right bower at that!"interjected Gorman.

Sinclair dashed into MacKay's study, scribbled off a hasty note of thanks, and was out again before the sergeant had finished congratulating himself on his good fortune.

"We must be off.There goes the launch's whistle," said Sinclair, as he swung off with his long, powerful strides, which put Gorman to his best gait and made the natives drop into their peculiar little jogging trot.

Although the day had scarcely broken when they left the house, and it was but a few hundred yards down the steep hill to the beach, the impatient sun of the South had already sprung into the heavens when they reached the little jetty at which the launch lay.A Hoa, the chief Chinese assistant of Dr. MacKay, and McLeod were already there.

"Hallo, Mac!"exclaimed the doctor."I thought you would be sleeping yet.It's more than decent of you to turn out so early to see me off."

"I am going with you as far as Twatutia," replied McLeod."The Chinese are so excited over this war that they have not forwarded part of our cargo.I am going up to see what persuasives I can apply to the compradore.We have to sail by this afternoon's tide and want to take a full cargo.We may not get another chance for a while."

"I certainly am in luck this morning," said Sinclair."You to keep me company as far as Twatutia; A Hoa to get my passports viséd, and Sergeant Gorman to act as my bodyguard and be generally responsible for my safety and good conduct."

By this time the two friends and the Chinese preacher had found for themselves as comfortable positions as possible under the awning which covered the decks of the little launch and sheltered them from the rays of the sun.

The launch was threading its way through a fleet of junks which were hasting to get out to sea with the ebbing tide.Some had already hoisted their huge, brown, bat-wing sails and turned their watchful eyes towards the open sea.Some were just lifting their anchors, while priests from the neighbouring temple rowed around them in boats with beating drums and droning pipes, to frighten away the demons, propitiate the goddess of the sea, secure for the sailors a prosperous voyage, undisturbed by the French, and incidentally to get for themselves and their temple a substantial contribution.Some had not yet finished taking cargo, and their crews were working with feverish haste to get loaded in time not to miss the last of the ebb.From them all came the ceaseless shrill, nasal shouting of the Chinese seamen as they pulled at the ropes, or heaved up the anchor or hauled away at the tackle hoisting their cargo on board.

It was all intensely interesting to Sinclair, who never wearied of studying human life, especially when it presented types and phases which were new and strange to him.But he was not so much interested in the Chinese as to fail to notice the large house, with its cool-looking upper and lower verandahs, looking out on the river, in which the MacAllisters were quartered.He wondered if the maiden who had teased him so were awake and plotting some new mischief to make him or some one else uncomfortable.Or was she sleeping as peacefully as if she had never done a naughty deed in all her bright young life?It was with a start, as if a guilty secret had been discovered, that he heard McLeod's voice saying:

"I suppose your Highland girl is having her beauty sleep.I never saw any one who to my mind needed it less."

Sinclair was annoyed that McLeod so often seemed to read his thoughts.It was a little tartly that he replied:

"Are you still harping at that?If I were a suitor for that young lady's hand, I should have to look upon you as a rival, you seem so smitten with her."

"Not the slightest danger, Doc.The fact that a fellow admires a girl's looks or style doesn't necessarily mean that he has fallen in love with her.Oh, no!I have my own dreams of a trip I hope to make next year to Prince Edward Island, and if I come back to the China Coast I'll not come back alone.That's good enough for me.I admire Miss MacAllister.I think she's splendid.But falling in love with her!Not the slightest notion!Any interest I have in her is on your account."

"I'm sorry, Mac.I shouldn't have said what I did.I knew that you were as true as steel."

"It's all right, doctor.I've been jollying you too much.And the way she acts sometimes makes it a little hard to bear.But you'll win out in the end."

"I do not know about that," said Sinclair, somewhat gloomily."The way she treated me last night did not look much like it."

"Never mind that.She would not treat you like that if she were not taking more interest in you than in any one else at present.She doesn't know just what is the matter with herself.That is the way she is taking to work it off.She'll change after a bit."

"I'll yield to your superior knowledge of the ways of women," said the doctor, with a laugh which had but little mirth in it."It may be all right.Just the same, it doesn't look good to me....Here comes Sergeant Gorman.I had better see my passports, and get him to instruct A Hoa what is to be done when we get to Taipeh."

Opening the packet, he found copies of passports in English, French, and Chinese.One addressed to the French Commander read:

"HER BRITANNIC MAJESTY'S CONSULATE,

"TAMSUI, August 6th, 1884.

"To the Officer in Chief Command of the French Forces at Keelung:

"The bearer of this paper, Doctor Donald Sinclair, a British subject, has volunteered his services as a medical doctor to the sick and wounded of the Chinese army, at present engaged before Keelung.He will observe strict neutrality, and will be equally ready to perform humane offices and render skilled medical and surgical assistance to any of the French troops, should circumstances bring that within his power.Wherefore I, the undersigned consul for Great Britain at Tamsui, do beg the Officer in Command of the French Forces at Keelung, to accord to the said Doctor Donald Sinclair protection and liberty to perform his offices of mercy, in accordance with the terms of the Geneva Convention.He will be accompanied by one European assistant, likewise a British subject, Sergeant John Gorman, and by one or more Chinese assistants, all wearing the badge of the Red Cross.

"H. R. L. BEAUCHAMP,
"Her Britannic Majesty's Consul."

Passports of a similar tenor were addressed to the Chinese authorities.

"Sergeant Gorman, you know Chinese.Tell A Hoa what we want him to do when we get to Taipeh.He is to get these viséd and, if possible, to get a special permit from the governor.It will carry more weight than the passports."

"Very good, sir!I'll make him understand."

Sergeant Gorman's mastery of the language was not perfect.But the Chinese preacher required little instruction.He knew better than either Sinclair or the sergeant what should be done.Before becoming a Christian he had been private secretary to a mandarin in an official position at Pekin.He had travelled much on the mainland as well as in Formosa, and was well acquainted with official procedure both in peace and in war.Scarcely had Sergeant Gorman begun his explanations when his "Ho! ...Ho! ...An-ni ho! ...Put-tsi ho!"(Good!good!That's good!Very good!)showed that he fully understood what was expected of him.

IX

A QUIET LIFE

Meanwhile McLeod and Sinclair were studying the sergeant.He was a man of perhaps forty-five years, but could pass for much younger.Five feet eight or nine inches in height, he was broad-shouldered and sturdily built.No matter where he might be or how dressed, there could be no mistaking that he had been a soldier.Long military training spoke in every movement.His thick hair was a red-brown, with the emphasis on the red.So was his heavy, fierce-looking moustache.So were his bristling eyebrows.So were his eyes.His face, save where it was ordinarily covered by the band of his sun-helmet, was pretty nearly the same shade.

He talked rapidly; very rapidly; so rapidly that his words often stumbled over one another in their eagerness to get out, until he actually stuttered.When he tried, he spoke English with just enough Irish accent to make it sweet on his tongue.But when he didn't try, and that was most of the time, the brogue was rich and thick.Nearly always he had the peculiarly Irish trick of repeating the last words of a closing sentence.

"How long has Gorman been here?"asked Sinclair in a low tone.

"Only a couple of months," replied McLeod."Came over with us from Amoy."

"How does it come that a sergeant with his record of service should end up by being consulate constable in an out-of-the-way corner like Tamsui?"

"Search me!I can't tell you."

"Probably the old story of a man who has served his Queen and country well and then been dropped, to live or die wherever he may chance to fall."

"Yes, and none of the blockheads who have commanded him have sense enough to know how much good service they could get out of a man like that, if they would only give him a chance to rise.Instead they turn him adrift like a worn-out horse."

"Perhaps he has a history behind him.It seems to me that most men out here, except you and I, Mac, have histories.Here he comes.Perhaps he will talk."

The sergeant crossed the little deck, stood at attention, and saluted:

"I have the honour to report, sir, that I have given the Chinese, A Hoa, the instructions you commanded and that he seems to understand them very well, sir."

"Very good, sergeant.There is nothing further to be done until we reach Twatutia.Be seated."

"Thank you, sir."

"By the way, sergeant, I notice by the passport that your name is John Gorman."

"It is, sir."

"I used to know a Sergeant John Gorman on the police force in Kingston, Canada.They say that, when the college boys were out on a frolic and raising cain, he could do more to keep them within bounds with a smile and a bit of blarney than all the rest of the force could do with their batons."

"Och, but he'll be from Sleeahtballymackcurraghalicky, in County Cork.All the people there are Gormans, an' most of thim are John Gormans.An' as for the shmile, all the Gormans have it.They get it whin they're childer, sayin' the name of their native place.An' whin they grow up, no matther where they go, the shmile wan't come off—the divil a bit will it come off."

"You're right there, sergeant," said McLeod."You have the smile, sure enough.But it never shows to best advantage until you say the name of the place where you were born.What's this it is, again?"

"Sleeahtballymackcurraghalicky."

"Exactly!That's a name to make any one smile."

"Och, Misther McLeod, but you shud have seen it on me whin I furst left the ould place.Me face was all shmile.But on the Afghan border wan day, an ould black-face of a Pathan—may the divil fly away wid him!—tuk a pot shot at me from betune two rocks.He got me through the two cheeks of me, an' siv'ral of me teeth.After the wounds healed up I never had me natural shmile ag'in,—wud you bel'ave me I niver was able to shmile natural ag'in."

"Did you get back at him at all?"inquired McLeod.

"That's jist what was hurtin' me.For while I was spittin' out me teeth, an' in no condishun to take aim, the onderhanded, tricherous Afghan was dodgin' away through the rocks.But me next in file in the Munsters, he was a Scotchman from Aberdeen got a squint of him as he bint double, goin' round the corner of a pricipice, an' be the blissin' of Hiven, took a chip off the stern works of him—a mortial good shot, for the target he hit was the only part in sight."

"But how did you know that he was hit?"asked McLeod."Did you take him prisoner?"

"Divil a bit!A wounded Pathan can crawl loike a wounded snake.But eighteen months afterwards I was up in the hills, wan of an escort of the p'ace envoys.The very first day wan of the native policemen pointed out an ould black-face among the chiefs an' tould me that was the man that put the bullet through me two cheeks.An' be the powers, that ould haythen cud no more sit down than I cud shmile.The shot of me next in file had spoiled the joint in the middle of him.It was the furst rale comfort that had come to me since the day I was shot.I began to laugh whin I saw him shtandin' up shtiff as a ramrod whin the others sat; or lyin' on his back, shtraight as a yardstick whin the rest were reclinin'-loike on the divans.The more I thought of it, the more I laughed, an' the shmile of the Gormans began to come back to me little by little.But I'll niver have the shmile ag'in that I had in Sleeahtballymackcurraghalicky—sure as I'm livin', I'll niver shmile ag'in as I used to whin I left Sleeahtballymackcurraghalicky."

"How did you come to leave Sleeahtballymack-what-a-ghalicky?"inquired Sinclair.

"Shure, docther, an' it wasn't me own doin'.To the best of me ricolliction it was the doin' of Providence, wid a bit of help from the priests, an' me father, an' the government, an' the recruitin' sergeant thrown in."

"How did they all come to the help of Providence?"asked the doctor.

"Faix, but you're of an inquirin' turn of moind, docther; beggin' your pardon for makin' so bould as to tell you that same."

"It's all right, sergeant.Go on."

"Well, docther, to make a long story short, it began this way.Me father was an indepindint farmer, wid a bit of land right forninst the dure of the church at Sleeahtballymackcurraghalicky, an' a hundred pounds in a bank in Cork.He was gittin' on in years.Me mother was dead, an' I was the only choild.What does me father do but tips an' wills his land to the Church for masses, me to be a priest, an' the money to the college that was to educate me.You'll onderstand that the land an' the money were not to be paid over till me father was dead an' done wid thim, d'ye see?But I was to go to school at wanst to be trained for a priest, d'ye onderstand?"

"Yes, I see the plan."

"Well, widout even so much as sayin' 'by your l'ave,' they packed me off to the Classical School in Skibbereen, to learn Latin an' the other dead-an'-gone languages.To make a long story short, it didn't agree wid me, an' I didn't agree wid it.It wasn't the languages.I cud get thim all right.It was this business of bein' a priest.Moind ye, I'm not sayin' annything ag'in the Church.I was born a Catholic, an' I'll die a Catholic.But bein' a priest wint ag'in me grain.To repeat ould dead prayers for dead people, in dead languages, which nobody prisint but the blissed Lord Himself cud onderstand, an He tired of hearin' thim centuries before you were born; to hear ould wives confessin' their sins which they shudn't tell to anny man, barrin' another ould wife loike thimselves; to live on the fat of the land while the Paddies an' Dinnies an' Mickies were livin' on pitaties an' salt, wid now an' ag'in a taste of butthermilk—it didn't seem to me givin' value for the money received.

"An' thin I was gettin' to be a bit of a gossoon, an' sometoimes I was afther thinkin' of me farm at Sleeahtballymackcurraghalicky, which wasn't moine ayther, for it was willed to the Church.They often tould me that whin I was a priest I wud have no use for the farm.They said that a half-acre of purgatory was worth more to a priest than the best two-hundred-acre farm in County Cork.But they all had their well-cultivated garden plots in purgatory, an' bedad but they wanted me farm as well—d'ye moind.They were afther me farm in County Cork as well.

"Not to be wearyin' you wid the details of me autybiography, the longer I was at it the less I loiked it, an' the more I had differences of opinion wid the priests of the college, 'speshully wid the wan they called the Prefect of Discipline, which is the polite name for the Wallopin' Masther.Jist as I was gettin' tired of the b'atin's, an' was thinkin' of runnin' away an' joinin' the navy for the sake of a quiet loife, the English Government came to the assistance of Providence, an' betune the two they got me out of bein' a priest—thanks to the government an' the Hivenly Lord, I got out of bein' a priest."

"How in the world did the government come to interfere with your course in the college?"inquired Sinclair.

"The government did not interfere directly, as you moight say.It didn't make what you moight call a frontal attack.It jist made a kind of divarshun in the rear.It appointed me father a Jay Pay."

"A Jay Pay!"exclaimed McLeod."What kind of a pay is that?"

"Why, Misther McLeod, it's a Jay Pay, jist.A Justice of the P'ace for the District of West Cork."

"Oh, I understand!"

"Yes, sir!It appointed me father a Jay Pay for West Cork.An', docther, did you ever hear of annything foolisher in your loife?To appoint a man a Jay Pay who was sixty-foive years ould, foive fut two inches high, weighed only seven stone, and had never learned how to use the two hands of him or the proper twisht to give a blackthorn?Wud you tell me now, fwhat was the use of makin' a Justice of the P'ace in West Cork out of a little ould man who cud nayther use his hands nor twirl a shillelagh?"

"It does appear unreasonable."

"Onreasonable?Begorra, it was wurrse than that.There was no sinse to it.An' anny man that knows West Cork will tell you the same.But the ways of the governmint are loike the ways of Providence, past foinding out.Anny way, it meant that me course for the priesthood was brought to a speedy conclusion.

"How?"

"Well, it was this way.Me father was appointed a Jay Pay, wid headquarters at Bantry.The very furst case he troied was wan of assault committed by Micky Murphy on Paddy O'Leary whin he was seein' Biddy O'Hea home afther mass.They were pretty well matched, and wan got as much damage as the other.So me father jist bound both of thim over to kape the p'ace.Wud you belave me, just to show th'ir contimpt for the law an' for a little ould man loike that bein' made a Jay Pay, by common consult they fought it out forninst the very dure of his court, while the local consthables held their coats an' Biddy O'Hea was referee.

"Thin was me chanst.Before that me father wud hear nothin' for me but bein' a priest.Now he appointed me a speshull consthable.He wanted me to go to Dublin an' take some lessons wid me hands an' wid a shtick from a profissor of the science.I tould him that it was quite unnecessary.Anny likely gossoon of eighteen or nineteen who had spint three years contindin' wid the Wallopin' Masther of that school in Skibbereen had all the science he was likely to need as a speshull consthable.An' be the powers, me father had no reason to repint of his choice.There was no more contimpt shown for the law whin he held court—shure as the saints are in hiven, niver a wan showed anny more contimpt of court in West Court, but he was sorry for the day he was born.

"Not to be wearyin' you wid particulars, this wint along for about three years.Thin me father got too feeble to do the wurrk, an' the governmint appointed an associate Jay Pay.That was the ind of me service as a speshull consthable.The new Jay Pay stood six fut three, an' weighed two hundred an' fifty pounds.I was out of a job.

"But there was no lack of divarshun.From Mullaghareirk to Ballingurreen, from Clonakilty to Ballydehob, from Musheramore to Teampeall-na-bo'ct, every Rory of the Hills that had iver been in me father's court, or iver had a relation there, was lyin' for me wid his shillelagh, an' sometimes an ould rusty fowlin'-piece.It wasn't healthy for me in West Cork anny more.The priests cud have made it safe enough.But I had wanst studied to be a priest, an' had continded wid the Prefect of Discipline, d'ye see?An' thin there was the hundred pounds in the bank in Cork, an' the farm forninst the dure of the church in Sleeahtballymackcurraghalicky, d'ye moind?They wud be surer if I was out of the way.So, for the sake of a quiet loife, I tuk the Queen's shillin' an' went away to the wars—God pardon me if I'm not speakin' the truth, it was for a quiet loife I left West Cork, an' was shipped out wid the Munsters to the wars in Indy."

"Did you ever see your father again?"

"Niver!He doied a twelvemonth after I left for Indy."

"Have you ever been back to see the old place where you were born?"

"Wanst.Tin years afther I enlisted, I got l'ave an' wint back from Indy."

"And the farm——?"

"It was still there.They hadn't moved it."

"Who had it?"

"The priests."

"Was the money still in the bank in Cork?"

"Divil a bit!"

"Did you inquire?"

"I did."

"What did they tell you?"

"They tould me that they had expinded the hundred pounds, an' the value of the farm, an' a little more in masses an' prayers to get me father out of purgatory.They said that I was a bit in their debt, an' that they would need a trifle yet for they hadn't got him quite free.I asked thim if that was God's truth they were speakin'.They tould me that it was.'Thin,' says I, 'if you know so much of what's goin' on in purgatory, wud you jist give me father a message from me?Jist tell him to ask the Blissed Lord to open the dure and let him out, an' I'll stake me sowl's salvation on it that the Lord will do it at wanst, and niver ask him for a farm or a hundred pounds in the bank.For me father was a man that niver willingly hurted a chicken.'An' wid that I left them wid me farm an' the hundred pounds.But it's many a cintury me father will be restin' on the beds of flowers in glory before the fires of purgatory will have burned that farm an' the hundred pounds out of the sowls of the black dragoons who defrauded me of me inheritance.An' that's God's truth I'm tellin' you.An' moind ye, it's a Catholic I was born and a Catholic I intind to die."

For a time the three white men sat in silence, each busy with his own thoughts.The broad river streamed past them, gleaming in the sun, bearing its fleet of fishing boats and market boats and here and there a cargo boat, with big mat sails, dropping down with the current and tide, laden with tea or sugar or camphor or coal.The low green shores were quick with the life of a dense population.Beyond these the blue and purple hills rose and stretched away in wavy lines of colour till the far-off lofty peaks blended with the sky.

Dr. Sinclair turned from the natural scenery to look again at the Irish soldier who was to be his companion in the new and unaccustomed scenes which lay before him.Sergeant Gorman was looking out over river and plain and mountain.But his eyes were those of one who did not see.There was a far-away look in them.Dreams slept in their red-brown depths.He interested Sinclair strangely.He was a rare specimen in the doctor's field of research, human kind.He wanted to know more of him.

"You have put in most of your service in the Far East, Sergeant Gorman?"he said.

"I have, sir.All except two years spint at the Cape."

"Mostly in India?"

"Mostly, wid spells at Aden and in Burmah.Thin I was sint to Hong-Kong, where I picked up the pidgin.I put in my last years of service in the Straits, where I learned a bit of the lingo spoken here.At the Straits all the wurrk is done by Chinese from Amoy, the same people as these in Formosa.Thin, as there was nothing for a time-expired soldier to do, an' the climate was too hot for the wife an' childer, I came north to Amoy an' tuk service ag'in wid some more has-beens, to guard the consulate an' do a bit of police wurrk in the Settlement durin' the trouble wid the French.But, begorra, it was out of the fryin'-pan into the fire."

"How was that?"

"Me mother-in-law came to live wid us."

"That was hard lines," said McLeod sympathetically.

"Faith, an' if you'd known her you'd say that from the heart."

"How long did you stand it?

"Six weeks."

"And then——?"

"Thin I heard that the French were beloike to kick up a shindy in Formosa.So for the sake of a quiet loife I exchanged to Tamsui.An' here I am off to the wars ag'in an' enjoyin' p'ace an' happiness—by the blissin' of Hiven, enjoyin' p'ace an happiness."

X

GLORIOUS WAR

The launch had reached the landing-place at Twatutia.The little party stepped ashore.A parting grasp of the hand from McLeod, and Dr. Sinclair, Sergeant Gorman, A Hoa and the student guide stepped into chairs, to be borne to the governor's yamen in the adjoining walled city of Taipeh.

The governor was not at home.He had already left for Keelung to take personal charge of the defences.But the deputy he had left in Taipeh seemed to have imbibed some of the active and progressive spirit of Liu Ming-chuan.He read a Chinese copy of the passports, listened carefully to A Hoa's courteous and polished explanations, affixed the official seals, and wrote a brief order to all officials, civil and military, to extend all courtesy and afford every assistance to the distinguished foreigners who were volunteering their services to the Chinese forces.There were none of the old-time red-tape evasions and delays of Chinese officialdom.He was another of the pioneers of a new China.

A Hoa returned to Tamsui, having fulfilled his commission.The rest pushed on towards the camp at Loan-Loan.

Before they left the city they met in the streets many natives who were plainly refugees from Keelung and the vicinity.Once outside the walls, they saw the narrow road as it wound and zigzagged through the rice-fields, dotted with town and country people, hurrying as best they could towards the capital for safety.The farther they advanced the denser grew the stream of fugitives.

The rice-fields were left behind with the plain near Taipeh.The road began to pass through a more and more mountainous region.It grew narrower and narrower, until it was a mere foot-path, sometimes threading the bottom of a ravine and sometimes clinging precariously to the face of a hill which was almost a precipice; now dropping down to the very margin of the river or fording a tributary stream, and now far up on a mountain side.And all the way, like a huge, writhing, variegated snake, appearing on the hillsides and open spaces, disappearing in the ravines, in the long grass or groves of bamboos, that endless line of refugees wound its slow length along.

It is about twenty miles from Taipeh to Keelung.After the first ten miles the throng of fugitives became so dense that it was very difficult for the chairs to proceed.Honest fathers of families laden with all they could carry of their poor household possessions; rascally banditti and sneak thieves taking advantage of the general disorder and distress to loot their neighbours' deserted houses, and even to snatch from the hands or shoulders of the defenceless the few valuables they were trying to save; women hobbling along on their little feet with infants strapped to their backs, and older children, whom they were ill-able to help, clinging to their hands; maidens terror-stricken by the tales of the imaginary atrocities of the foreign devils, and scarcely less afraid of the real atrocities of their own rascally fellow-countrymen, especially of many of the braves from the mainland.

At long intervals a sedan-chair pressed its way through the throng, bearing a sick or wounded officer back to the capital.Wounded regulars in white or red or maroon tunics and straw hats limped along, adding a touch of colour to the writhing serpent.Irregular levies in the ordinary dark-blue cotton clothing of the Chinese coolies were hastening home, glad of the success of the French attack, so that they might get an opportunity to desert with their arms and all the loot they could lay their hands upon.

The flight had its comedies and its tragedies.But the comedies only played lightly over the surface of the general tragedy.A coolie jogged along with two huge baskets swinging from the ends of the bamboo carrying-pole.In one were a small pig and a number of live ducks and hens.Balancing these in the other basket were his two children.

Some farmers, making an effort to save their livestock, drove a number of pigs and a herd of water-buffaloes into the midst of the long line of refugees.But frightened by the yells and execrations, pounded with staffs and bamboo yokes, and jabbed by the knives, spears, and bayonets of the soldiers, they stampeded along the narrow way through the midst of the procession.The pigs, running between the feet of the weary plodders, upset many.But the buffaloes, with their huge bulk and enormous horns, flung them right and left and trampled some to death, till their mad rush turned off at an angle from the road being followed.Over all rose a continual clamour of shrill, high-pitched voices—talking, scolding, cursing, crying, screaming hysterically.

One old woman with white hair, hobbling painfully along with the aid of a staff, stopped again and again, saying that she could go no farther.Each time her son, who was laden with the most precious of his household goods, reasoned with her, pled with and adjured her to try again.He was backed by all the members of the family.After much shrill altercation, she would make another attempt and struggle along a short distance.At last she stopped, sat down by the wayside, and, in spite of all they could do, refused to budge an inch.Her poor little bound feet could carry her no farther.Seeing that persuasion was in vain, the son put down his load of valuables.He looked hesitatingly from his mother to his poor possessions, and from them back to his mother again.Filial piety prevailed, and crouching down he lifted his mother on his back and trudged on, leaving his chattels by the way.He had not gone a hundred feet when there was not an article left.But there were other old and feeble, other women and children, who had none to carry them.They were left beside the road to live or die.

A man dressed in a long gown of mauve silk, evidently a prosperous merchant, was trudging along, followed closely by his wife, a couple of young maidens, evidently daughters, and some younger children.One of the bandits who had been enrolled as soldiers and had deserted was hurrying past.Like a flash he snatched at a cord he saw around the merchant's neck, jerked a bag of money from within his clothes and with a tug which well-nigh strangled him wrenched it away.Recovering himself a little the merchant, with a scream of anger, struck the robber over the head with his staff.Instantly the ruffian levelled his gun and blew out his victim's brains, in the midst of the shrieking women of his household.Then, darting into the long grass and bamboos, he made his escape.There was none to avenge.There were none save the weeping women to care.Fear and the instinct of self-preservation made them all brutes.The throng pressed blindly on, trampling the still quivering body of the murdered man under their feet.

There were many more women and children in the flight than men.It was not merely because some of the men had willingly taken service against the enemy, and others had been impressed.In many cases it was because the husbands and fathers had fled first and left their wives and children to fare as best they could.Love plays so small a part in Chinese home life that there was little bond to bind husbands to wives.A wife is purchased in much the same way as any other domestic animal.When it came to a choice between his individual safety by unencumbered flight and incurring some risk by waiting to save his wife, many a Chinese husband unhesitatingly chose the former.The women of such families had to seek safety as best they could.Great numbers of them were among the fugitives.

These defenceless women were the special prey of the irregular levies, deserters, and banditti, who were everywhere searching for loot and committing deeds of violence.Taking advantage of the crowding and confusion caused by the passing of Sinclair's chair at a narrow part of the road, one scoundrel snatched some jewellery from several unprotected women, twisted bracelets from their arms, and even twitched earrings from their bleeding ears.It was right in front of Sergeant Gorman's chair.Then the robber sprang past the chair on the side next the mountain in his attempt to escape.He was not quick enough.

"Och, you dirty thavin' blackguard, take that!"

A fist shot out of the little opening in the side of the covered chair, and a blow like that of trip-hammer caught the Chinese on the jaw and dashed him against the steep hillside.Then, with a spring which knocked his forward chair-bearer off his feet, Gorman was out in the open ready for action.

He was none too soon.Supple as a cat, the Chinese had rolled over and, lying on the ground, was already taking aim.But Gorman was too quick.The rifle was dashed aside and discharged harmlessly along the mountain slope.In another instant it was wrenched out of the hands of the Chinese and flung across the path, down the bank into the river.Then, gripping his adversary by the neck-band of his short blue jacket, the Irishman, with one tremendous heave of hand and foot together, lifted the Chinese clear of the ground and pitched him headlong after his rifle.The last wild scream of rage and fear ended in the splash of the falling body.The swift dark water swept it out of sight.

"Begorra, an' ye'll not abuse definseless women anny more!"

At the first sound of Gorman's voice mingling with the shrill clamour of the Chinese, Sinclair had sprung from his chair with a big .44 revolver in his hand, ready for action.He did not know what had brought on the scrimmage.But a glance showed him that, while Gorman was quite able to cope with the present situation, there was a possibility of serious danger.A few long strides brought him to where the sergeant had just flung his opponent down the bank into the river.

The screams of terror of the women redoubled at the sight of the two foreigners.The size of Sinclair, the fierce vigour of Gorman, the fair complexions, the foreign dress and foreign weapons of both, brought to mind the stories they had heard from infancy of the great, green-eyed, red-faced, hairy barbarians who came from over the sea, who knew not the rules of good conduct, and who, whenever they got the chance, maltreated the sons and daughters of Han.

Cries of "Ang-mng!Ang-mng!"(Red-heads), "Hoan-a-kui!"(Foreign devils) rose above the inarticulate shrieks of fear.

Sergeant Gorman was equal to the occasion.Utterly unmindful of the wild disorder about him, he busied himself gathering up the articles of jewellery which the thief had dropped in the struggle.Then with his best Chinese and profound bows he returned these to the women from whom they had been torn.

For a moment the terrified women could not realize his meaning.When they did, their shrill cries of "Ang-mng!"and "Hoan-a-kui!"gave place to that of "Ho-sim!Ho-sim!"(Good heart).

At the same time the student guide, getting an opportunity to make his voice heard, was explaining that these were not Frenchmen, but Englishmen, that they were friends of the missionary, Kai Bok-su, and that they were doctors going to heal the Chinese who had been wounded in the battle with the French.Again the cry "Ho-sim!"(Good heart) rose from the fugitives.Only some of the rascally looters looked at them with evil eyes and sullen faces.

Sending their chairs back, Dr. Sinclair, Sergeant Gorman, and their Chinese companions proceeded on foot.Before long they turned off into a path leading in an easterly direction and soon touched the Chinese lines.The order from the governor's deputy gained them courteous treatment, and they were conducted to the general's headquarters at the village of Loan-Loan.

XI

THE LIFE-HEALER IS COME

Dr. MacKay had prepared the Chinese commander for their coming.Liu Ming-chuan lost no time in meaningless formalities.He read their passports, thanked them for coming, issued orders giving Dr. Sinclair a free hand in dealing with the sick and wounded, and in half an hour saw him beginning his work.

"I am glad you have come," said MacKay."I was sure you would."The keen black eyes looked straight into Sinclair's blue ones."I was sure you would," he repeated."You want to do good to humanity.I never saw a time when it was more needed.God sent you here for this very time."

"I hope that may be true," replied Sinclair."For the present we must get busy.Have many wounded been brought in?"

"More than a hundred.But I believe that there are many more in the various forts or on the open hillsides, lying where they fell.There has been no system about collecting the wounded."

"That will be for you to organize, sergeant—an ambulance corps."

"Bedad, sir, an' if they'll give me the men I ask for I'll train them till they can pick up a wounded man before he falls."

"That's what we want, sergeant.Meanwhile, Dr. MacKay, what accommodation can they give us?Just as we went into the governor's you spoke of a hospital.Have you succeeded in improvising one?"

"That's where we are going now.You can see for yourself.Here we are."

He turned into a narrow lane.As he did so the pungent odour of disinfectants reached their nostrils.Another sharp turn and he stopped at the door of a long, low, but well-built house of durable burned brick.They had approached it from the back.On the other side two long buildings extended from each end of the main structure, at right angles to it, with it forming three sides of a square and enclosing a large paved courtyard.The fourth side had been shut in by a high fence of interwoven bamboos.But this had been cleared away.Now the courtyard opened directly on a beautiful, swift-flowing stream, a branch of the Tamsui River.Mountains clothed with verdure from base to summit rose from the farther shore.A soft breeze blew up the river and, eddying in the courtyard, modified the intense heat.A clump of feathery bamboos nodded gracefully over the buildings.

On the earthen floor of the houses, on the cobblestones which paved the courtyard, on the ground outside, quicklime had been plentifully scattered.A strong odour of carbolic told that other precautions had been taken.

Sinclair passed through the building with long, swift strides, his eyes seeing everything.He paused when he reached the river bank and noted the means provided for the disposal of sewage.Then he turned to MacKay:

"Had any provision been made for this before you arrived?"

"None."

"Had the Chinese done nothing to care for their wounded?"

"Nothing."

"Did their doctors help you to get this hospital in shape?"

"No.They opposed me all they could."

"MacKay, you're a marvel."

"Do not praise me.You have not looked at the wounded yet.They are suffering.You must remember that I am not a qualified medical doctor.I am a preacher of the gospel.I know little of medicine, and almost nothing of surgery."

"The more wonder that you have accomplished so much!"

"It is my work.My Master not only healed the souls of men, but relieved the suffering of their bodies.To the best of my ability I try to do the same."

"You're right.That's what we're here for—to make life better for as many as we can.There are a lot here who need our help.Let us get busy."

They stepped again into the main building and stood in the narrow passage between the rows of bare trestle boards which served as beds.Wounded men were lying there as close together as was possible and yet leave room for a doctor to step in beside them.There was a hum of conversation, but very little moaning, and rarely a cry of pain.The Chinese, so noisy in their times of sorrow or of joy, so clamorous in their excitement, are strangely silent in pain and bear suffering stoically.

Dr. MacKay lifted his voice so that all could hear, speaking in Chinese.

"Friends," he said, "the physician of whom I told you has come.Listen to him.Submit to his treatment.Do what he tells you.He will heal you.He will give you your lives again."

At the sound of his voice all other voices were hushed.Thin brown forms turned painfully on the bare boards; rows of black heads were raised from the hard bolsters; black eyes looked out of bronze or ghastly yellow faces at the fair giant who towered above the black-bearded missionary; from lip to lip the word passed down the lines:

"I-seng lâi![#] I-seng lâi!"(The doctor is come.Literally, the life-healer is come.)

[#] Pronounced, Ee-see-ung li.

Without a word Sinclair threw off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work.Sergeant Gorman and one of MacKay's students went first, preparing each case for treatment.Sinclair followed, with MacKay to assist and interpret and another student to carry basins of water.

The wounds were nearly all caused by shells or shrapnel. There were no clean wounds by rifle bullets. The range had been too great and the Chinese too well protected behind their fortifications. The mitrailleuses had accomplished little. They were noisy, terrifying, spectacular, but ineffective. Only once had a machine gun done much execution. A part of the fortifications on the east side of the harbour had been rendered untenable by the heavy shell-fire. A body of Chinese regulars were retreating to the new fort in too close formation. The marines working a mitrailleuse in the Villars' tops, found their range perfectly and poured a stream of bullets into their midst, killing many and threatening the whole detachment with extermination. But just at the critical moment the quick-firer jammed, and all the oaths and efforts of the squad could not get it into working order again until the Chinese were under cover.

The sights were all the more ghastly, the suffering the more intense, the prospects of recovery the fewer because the death-dealing had been done by shell and shrapnel.There was nothing clean-cut about their work.A fragment of shell had shorn away a man's left shoulder, taking with it the joint, but missing the axillary artery and part of the great breast muscle, by which the arm still hung.

Sinclair glanced at MacKay.The latter understood:

"Better not have an amputation first thing.They are ignorant and suspicious."

"I thought so.Anyway, I do not want to take time to amputate now.We'll dress it and amputate later."

A shrapnel shell had exploded close to another's side.The hip, part of the pelvis, and much of the flesh had been shredded away, exposing the working of the organs of the abdomen.It was not good to see.From that ghastly rent blood-poisoning had already set in.There was nothing to be done.They made him as easy as possible on the hard boards of his cot, administered an opiate, and left him to sleep till the last sleep should fall upon him.

One had been struck just above the ear, and a chip of his skull three inches in diameter shot away, leaving his brain uncovered.

"He will die.We'll make him comfortable in the meantime."

A fragment had caught another on the cheek, and his lower jaw was gone.

"Better if he would die, too.It would be a mercy to let him out easy.But, no; if God gives him a chance, so must I.We'll patch him up."

More to himself than to any one else, he was speaking in a low tone.All the while the doctor's hands were busy dressing, soothing, trimming, mending, healing those poor, shattered bodies of ignorant Asiatic peasants, the weak atoms of humanity which a great European nation had sent her mighty engines of death to destroy—the pitiful trophies of glorious war.And not one of those brown or yellow men had the faintest glimmer of an idea what the war was about, or why his poor body had been maltreated so.The foreign devils had come to take his land and he had been set to defend it.That was all he knew.

Stranger still was what these other foreign devils were doing.They were trying to heal him.One set of foreign devils by their magic had knocked his fortifications to pieces, mangled his body, and brought him to the verge of death.And now another set of foreign devils, by some other magic, were patching his broken body together again and bringing it back to life.He could not understand.

But some way or another those last foreigners grew into his confidence.There was something in the words of that barbarian with the long black beard, who spoke their language more perfectly than they did themselves, which quieted him and gave him hope.There was something about the great, red-haired giant,[#] who did not seem to understand their language at all and yet seemed to understand at once what his sufferings were and how to heal them, which inspired him with confidence.It might be magic he was using, but it must be good magic.Before him men were writhing restlessly on their wooden beds, sometimes moaning, occasionally uttering an agonized "ai-yah," ever and anon asking plaintively for water or tea.Behind him they lay back peacefully and, with few exceptions, went to sleep.

[#] The Chinese do not distinguish between the different shades of fair hair.All that is not jet black, is called red.

So all down the rows of improvised cots heads were raised, yellow or brown faces were turned, and black eyes, some anxious, some curious, still more wistful, watched every movement of the foreign doctor.His size, the massive head with its crown of wavy, fair hair, his huge shoulders, his bare arms, powerful and white beside their skinny brown ones, all were noted.Why did he wash his hands so often?It was a part of his magic.What was he going to do with that knife?Was he going to cut the man's heart out?No, he used it on one farther down, and now the man was sitting up drinking tea.So they watched, and so confidence grew.And at every movement the doctor made from cot to cot, the word "I-seng lâi" (the life-healer is coming) was passed from one to another of the patients.

The sun had sunk behind the hills and night was coming on.Smoky Chinese lamps and one good lantern belonging to MacKay were lighted.Still Sinclair worked on.

"You had better stop long enough to get something to eat," said MacKay.

"Thank you, MacKay; but I haven't time just now.Minutes mean lives to some of these men."

"Well, you must take a cup of tea.The boy will bring some to you here."

"Very well."

Standing at the foot of a cot studying a case, he hastily gulped down several tiny native cups of tea, without either sugar or milk.Then he was at work again.

The night was wearing on—the dark, close, hot night, with a temperature only a couple of degrees cooler than in the middle of the day.Still he worked swiftly, certainly, almost silently.What a transformation from the evening before, at the consul's dinner party!The lazy grace of the big, powerful frame, which had caught the consul's eye, was gone.Every line of the body, every play of muscles spoke of intense, forceful energy, and yet energy which was under perfect control.The physical strength which enabled him to lift a man like a child in his hands, or draw with apparent ease a dislocated hip-joint back into its place—the same self-controlled strength made his touch in another case as light as that of a delicate woman.The look of good-humoured interest with which he had studied the characteristics of his fellow-guests, or bandied repartee with Miss MacAllister, or amused the company with his songs, was gone.It was still a kindly face, a face which inspired confidence in even those ignorant Chinese soldiers over whom he bent.But no one who looked into that face would lightly trifle with the man in his present mood.

Every one present felt it.MacKay, something of an autocrat in his own sphere, read the face of the man beside him and never, except at his command to interpret for him or to give desired assistance, offered a suggestion.A group of Chinese officers came in, manifesting their usual supercilious air towards foreigners.Talking loudly and pushing inquisitively forward, they got in Sinclair's way.

"Tell these fellows to shut their mouths and keep out of my road."

MacKay interpreted it, more courteously perhaps, but forcibly.It was in silence and at a respectful distance that the Chinese officers continued to look on.Presently some more came in, louder spoken and more inquisitive than the first.

"Tell that last bunch to get out.The rest can stay if they want.Tell their senior officer to set a guard.I'll have no more in here except on business."

It was done.

The night wore on.Some of the hopeless cases found relief in death.From time to time others were brought in to take their places.Some of these had now been nearly forty-eight hours since being wounded, lying out in the long grass and brushwood of the hillsides or crawling slowly, painfully towards safety.Worse still, some had been through the hands of native quack doctors.

The brief, grey dawn, followed by the swift sunrise, took the place of the night.Still Sinclair worked on, for still the pleading, wistful eyes of suffering men were watching his movements and still he heard them say in words whose meaning he had come to understand:

"I-seng lâi" (The life-healer comes).

As he straightened himself after bending over a patient, Sergeant Gorman saluted him:

"Excuse me, sir; but a bad case has just come in.If I am not mistaken, it is more in need of immediate treatment than any of the others I have seen."

The jocular manner, the excessive brogue, the constant tendency to bulls and repetitions had dropped from Sergeant Gorman like a cloak.His manner was serious; his accent hardly noticeable; his bearing that of a thoroughly capable and efficient officer on important duty.

"What is the injury, sergeant?"

"A hand shot off at the wrist.The poor devil tied a cord around it to stop the blood.Been that way for two days without dressing.It's badly swollen, gangrened, and fly-blown."

"Very well, sergeant.I guess we'll have to amputate at once.Where is the patient?"

"In the operating tent."

Swiftly, surely the work was done, and the man carried back to a cot of boards in the improvised hospital.

Sinclair was turning back to the wards to attend to other cases when an exclamation from MacKay arrested him:

"Lee Ban!Is it possible?"

A sampan had come down with the current and run its bow ashore at the hospital.A man was lifted out and deposited on the bank, up which he crawled painfully on hands and knees.His face was drawn and ghastly with suffering.His clothing, which had once been rich, was torn to ribbons.

It was Lee Ban, one of the wealthiest merchants of Keelung.He had sent his family away to safety earlier, but had to stay himself till the day of the bombardment.When escaping from the town a shell had exploded near his chair.A fragment had passed through the bottom of it, at the same time shearing away the entire calf from one of his legs.He had paid the chair-bearers generously.But they fled for their lives and left him where he lay.He had the name of being the most charitable citizen of Keelung, and he saw many a one that day whom he had helped with his means.But they rushed past him, utterly unheeding.War had kindled in them the primal instinct of self-preservation, and had subordinated every human feeling to brute fear.

He bound his leg as best he could and started to crawl towards safety.All day he crept on hands and knees, and through the night until he lay exhausted and unconscious.In the morning he bribed some soldiers who were searching for wounded to carry him to the camp.They took him to a native doctor, who plastered the great open wound with a mixture of mud and cow-dung.Then he heard that Kai Bok-su was here, and the foreign doctor.He had himself brought to them.

While he told his story in Chinese to MacKay, Sergeant Gorman and his helpers had carried him to a cot and were unbandaging the leg for the doctor's inspection.

"For the love of heaven!"

The great, gaping wound, extending from the knee to the ankle, was alive with maggots.

This also is one of the glories of war.

XII

MATUTINAL CONFIDENCES

Eight o'clock on the morning Dr. Sinclair left Tamsui for the front found the consul in the breakfast room.Clean-shaven, dressed in spotless white, he looked as cool and fresh, and was as prompt to the minute, as if he had enjoyed a perfect night's rest.A moment or two later Mrs. Beauchamp entered.

"Good-morning, Harry.I am afraid that I have disgraced myself by being late," she said with a little mock anxiety.

"Not at all, my dear.My wife is never late.I think my watch is a few seconds fast."

"Thank you, Harry.You always find an excuse for me."

"Oh, no!it is not that," replied her husband, as if ashamed that he should allow any partiality to cause him to swerve from his rigid rule of punctuality."Really, I am a little ahead of time.I'm deuced hungry this morning.I could hardly wait for Ah Soon to get breakfast ready."

"What time did you come to bed last night?I believe that I did not hear you at all."

"You certainly did not.You were sleeping so soundly that the French might have bombarded Tamsui and come ashore and carried you off without you waking."

"Oh, Harry!I think that's real mean of you.You know perfectly that I know your step and movements so well, that I sleep just as soundly when you are moving about as when there is absolute silence.But any other person's step would waken me at once."

"You're right there.I do not believe that you heard me this morning, either."

"No, I did not.What time did you rise?I think it is not a bit fair of you to steal out of bed like that without awaking me.And then to wait down here with your watch in your hand to catch me ten seconds late!I do not like that.I have a mind to get offended."

"Hold!This is getting tragic.

'You've ungently, Brutus,

Stole from my bed . . . . . . . .

You stared upon me with ungentle looks.

. . . . . .then you scratch'd your head,

And too impatiently stamped with your foot.'

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

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

"Where is Constance?"

"I fancy that she is sleeping yet."

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

"Yes.But the amah says that, once the singing began, she wakened up and insisted on getting out where she could hear it better.She was out on the upper verandah all the time.So she didn't waken as early as usual.But she'll be down soon."

"She should have been made stay in bed."

"Oh, well!we cannot tie her down too hard and fast.She dearly loves singing, and she has taken a most extraordinary fancy to Dr. Sinclair."

"I do not mind how much fancy she may take to Sinclair.But there are some of the others who were here last night whom I do not want her to meet any more than she must.By the way, Sinclair is off to the war."

"Off to the war!What to do?"

"To give his services as a doctor to the Chinese and to try to organize a Red Cross corps for them."

"How interesting!But is it not very dangerous for a foreigner to venture among the Chinese just now?Especially one who is a stranger and does not know the language?"

"It is a little.But Dr. MacKay is over there at present.I also let Sergeant Gorman go with Sinclair.Each is an expert in his own line.They are all pretty shrewd.I do not think that they are likely to get into trouble.Gardenier is lending me a man to take Gorman's place."

"When did they leave?"

"By the first launch this morning."

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

"There was no mention of this at dinner last evening.When did Dr. Sinclair decide to go?"

"Just after he bade you good-night.He got a letter from MacKay, asking him to go, and decided at once."

"And all the arrangements had to be made, passports and everything else drawn up between then and the first launch this morning."

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

"It had to be done."

"You base deceiver!After all your talk about my sleeping so soundly, you were never in bed at all."

The consul laid back his head and laughed till even the grave, slant-eyed Celestial waiter hurried into the room to see if there was need of assistance.

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

"I do not want to talk to you."

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

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

"Yes, you will.How ever did Miss MacAllister get such a spite at Sinclair as she showed last evening?"

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

"Well, I do not know what else you would call it.She made game of him and bally-ragged him at every turn.If he hadn't been so well able to take care of himself, I should have had to interfere and protect him, since he was our guest."

"And you think that it was because she had a spite at him?It's a lot a man, even a married man, knows about the ways of a woman."

"I'll acknowledge it, Gwen.'There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not,' and the most wonderful of the four are the ways of a maid with a man."He took the chance that she would not notice the inversion; and she did not."Solomon was much more married than I am, and he did not understand the ways of a woman, Gwen.It's not fair to expect it of me."

She did not know whether to laugh or not.It was hard to resist the serio-comic, mock-penitent expression on his face.She felt like punishing him by breaking off the conversation.But the subject was too interesting to drop.That was what he had counted on, and he judged wisely.

"I should have thought that a man who had been married nearly a dozen years, and who had such a wide ante-nuptial experience, ought to be able to recognize the symptoms when a woman is falling in love."

"Do you mean to say that the way Miss MacAllister treated Sinclair last evening is a symptom that she is falling in love with him?"

"I do."

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

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

"Or falling in love with the other fellow."

"Well, it isn't."

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

"You silly."

"Serious!I mean it."

"You caught me before I was old enough to know any better.I was hopelessly gone before I knew what was the matter with me."

"Are you sorry?"

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

Their hands touched for a moment across the corner of the little breakfast table.Their eyes looked at each other as they had looked in the days when he, the young student interpreter, who had just got his first step in the service and was home on his first furlough, with all the romance about him of having lived in the Far East amidst far, strange peoples, won the love of the young girl, fresh out of a boarding-school.A flush suffused her delicate face, making it look very youthful and beautiful.

It was in a gentle tone that the husband continued:

"You really think that this is what is the matter with Miss MacAllister, that she is in danger of losing her heart to the big Canadian doctor?"

"Yes, I do. She told me that they had a bit of a tiff coming over on the Hailoong, and that she sauced him shamefully.But he got back at her before they left the boat, and now she wants to get even.She knows that there is something wrong with her, and has a suspicion what it is.That is what makes her so hard on him.She doesn't want to give in."

"A case of playing with fire?"

"Yes, I fancy it is."

"Well, it may be only a passing flirtation, quite harmless to all concerned.But if it is anything more, and she has a notion of turning this Asiatic trip of hers into a matrimonial venture, by Jove!I believe that big doctor, with all his notions about being a missionary, is the best investment she could make in these parts."

"Her mother doesn't think so."

"What has she in view?"

"A title."

"What!Carteret?"

"Yes."

"The thundering old fool!"

"Oh, Harry!"

"I mean it.If you weren't here, Gwen, I'd swear.It's always the way with those tradespeople who have started as peasants or domestics and made money.They would sell themselves or their daughters to the devil for a title.If Beelzebub, the prince of the devils, came along they would marry a daughter to him, so as to be able to speak of her as Her Royal Highness the Princess of the Devils."

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

"He's not far short of it."

"You never told me that."

"There are a lot of things I don't tell you.They wouldn't be pleasant for you to hear, nor for me to tell.And, anyway, in this little hole-in-the-corner of the world you have to associate with all those fellows more or less.It's easier for you if you do not know too much about them."

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

"Oh, no!No!I wouldn't have you think that.Some of them, I think most of them, are as good as you could get at home.But there are others.And Carteret is one of the others."

"Mrs. MacAllister does not know that."

"Perhaps not.But she has seen enough of the world to know the difference between a man like Sinclair and one like Carteret."

"I am afraid that it is the title.She told me that his father, the present lord, is an old man and cannot live long; and that his older brother, the present heir, is dying of consumption—as she expressed it, 'has only one lung.'So she thinks that Carteret is sure to succeed to the title soon."

"Yes; and in the meantime the two brothers love each other so that the heir will not hear of this prospective supplanter being nearer to him than China is to England.Esau and Jacob!And Mrs. MacAllister would give her daughter to that scavenger, and the MacAllister money to fix up the Carteret estates, just to have a title in the family!Gwen, I want to swear."

"Oh, Harry, you are shocking!"

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

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

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

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

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

"What a marvellously versatile entertainer Dr. Sinclair is!I think that he is quite a wonder."

"What is better, he has both brains and gumption.He was as keen on getting to the front as a hound on a scent.But, unlike most hounds, he didn't give tongue.He said nothing.Just went, and that at once."

"I was afraid that it would come to a passage at arms between him and Carteret?Did you ever hear so much insult put into the tone of voice as Carteret did last evening?"

"It will be a bad day for Carteret when he pushes Sinclair too far.Most men from Sinclair's country don't take much stock in titles.They would pull a peer's nose just as soon as a peasant's.That's the kind of Sinclair....Hallo, Puss, what time is this to be getting down to breakfast?"

"Good-morning, daddy.This is a lovely time to be getting down, much nicer than eight o'clock.Good-morning, mother.Have you been up long?"

"Long enough to have my breakfast eaten.I hear you were a bad girl last evening, Constance—that you didn't stay in bed or go to sleep till all hours."

But Constance—a tall, straight child of nine, with step as light and graceful as that of a fawn, and a wealth of dark-brown curls framing her clear-cut features and frank eyes—did not seem to be very penitent:

"Oh, mother, it was just lovely to hear the singing.I could have listened to you, and daddy, and Miss MacAllister, and Dr. Sinclair all night."

"Wise child!"remarked her father, somewhat grimly."She knows the proper selection to make and whom to put first."

"There were others singing, Constance, besides the ones you mentioned," said her mother.

"Oh, yes; I know.I did not recognize some of the voices.But I knew Mr. Carteret's and Mr. De Vaux's."

"Mr. Carteret is a fine singer."

"Yes, I suppose.But I didn't like the way he sang.He put such a funny tone in his voice.He kind of—— Oh, I don't know how to describe it.It sounded like the way Carlo used to howl after daddy sent Fan over to Amoy."

"Good heavens!"

"And Mr. De Vaux's voice was just like my singing doll after I burst the bellows in her.She could give only one squeak, and then had to wait till I put some more wind into her before she could give another."

"That'll do, Constance; we've had enough of your opinions on singing.Get busy with your breakfast or you'll get none."

"All right, daddy."

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

"All lite!All lite!My can savey.Loll lawn.A-paw phah-kiû" (Afternoon strike-ball).

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

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

"Why, mother?"

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

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

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

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

The big tears rolled down the cheeks and dropped.

"Mother, will he come back?"

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

"I'm so glad!"

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

XIII

MORE CONFIDENCES

In the building at the foot of the hill, near the shore, occupied by MacAllister, Munro Co. partly as a warehouse and partly as a residence for the company's European employees, another matrimonial tête-à-tête was taking place. De Vaux and his two or three assistants, the representatives of the big London firm in North Formosa, had found temporary quarters in the buildings of the customs' compound or with the staffs of other firms. Mr. and Mrs. MacAllister and their daughter, with the native servants, had the living-rooms of the big hong to themselves.

It was little more than seven o'clock, an extraordinary hour for rising the morning after a late dinner.But, with characteristic regularity of habits, Mr. MacAllister was already up and shaving.As was fitting at such an hour, he was clothed only in pyjamas and slippers.But even those shapeless garments were worn with an attention to neatness quite lacking in most men whom a score and a half of years of married life have made entirely indifferent to personal appearance in the intimacy of the bed-chamber.He had even taken the trouble to brush his hair, at least what was left of it—another extraordinary proceeding on the part of a man who was likely to be seen by no person but his wife.

The shaving process was nearly done.He was carefully feeling the hard spots on each side of his chin to see if any offending hairs had escaped the relentless sweep of the razor and still projected within its range.

"Hector, you are a most extraordinary man."

The voice came from within the canopy of the mosquito curtains draped around the high-posted iron bed which occupied the centre of the room.

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

"You are a most extraordinary man."

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

"To think that there is only about one hour of the twenty-four in this disgusting climate in which one can sleep comfortably and you would not allow me to have that, but must get up and disturb me by shaving."

"I am exceedingly sorry if I have disturbed you, my dear.But every time I wakened during the night you were sleeping very peacefully, and——"

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

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

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

"And, although I have been about for nearly an hour, you continued to snore very gently until a moment before you spoke, and——"

"Hector, I'm astonished at you!You know perfectly well that I never sleep in hot weather.I do not understand why you ever chose to come to such a country as this in the summer."

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

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

"And when you have your bath, and comb your hair, and are dressed, you will be as fresh and beautiful as you were when I brought you to London from the Highlands thirty years ago."

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

She was sitting up now under the canopy of mosquito curtains.If an outsider could have looked in, he would probably have agreed that her husband was flattering shamefully.Unlike him, neatness in private was not one of her virtues.Her hair, black and luxuriant as in her girlhood, was tossed and tousled.The flesh, which had grown upon her with years, ungirt and unrestrained, flowed shapelessly with every movement.

But her face was still fresh in colour and comely in form.A little care about her appearance in the privacies of life would have made her perennially attractive to him, as attractive as when he had taken her as a bride.Perhaps at the moment she felt this.At any rate, the words of compliment and admiration were as sweet to the ears of the middle-aged woman as they had been to the young girl of thirty years before.Her little irritation about the disturbed slumbers and his chaffing manner passed like a summer cloud.Unconsciously she fell back into the accent of her girlhood when she said:

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

He dressed with as much care of his personal appearance as if he were in London.Then he went out for a walk along the shore, pausing under the shade of some great banian trees to enjoy the magnificent scenery.Presently he returned to the room where his wife was now almost ready for breakfast.

"Our friends on board the Hailoong and the Locust are all up and active. But there is no stir anywhere else except among the Chinese. Neither De Vaux nor any of his staff have put in an appearance."

"They have fallen into the ways of this climate," replied his wife, "and sleep when it is possible to enjoy sleep."

"I am afraid De Vaux will not be in condition to do much to-day.He drank heavily last evening.He has been in our employ a long time, and as a rule has done very well.But I wish that he drank less."

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

"All the more reason why he should keep control of himself.I was ashamed of him last night."

"But, Hector, people of rank all drink.You must not forget that Mr. De Vaux is a man of birth."

"Probably he was born some time, my dear.But from all accounts there does not seem to be much reason to be proud of the manner of it."

"Now, Hector, you ought to make allowance for the nobility.They have privileges which common people have not."

"They certainly seem to take them."

"That's not fair to people of rank, Hector.They have always been accustomed to do these things.Now with Dr. Sinclair, for example, it is quite different.He belongs to the common people and never had the chance to be anything else but respectable.But Mr. De Vaux and Mr. Carteret are men of quality.You couldn't expect them to be teetotallers and—and——"

"Decent," supplied her husband.

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

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

"No; I never heard anything against them.Mr. De Vaux has lived out here a long time.He may have fallen into the ways of the East.But I think that Mr. Carteret is a perfect gentleman."

Her husband looked at her keenly.

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

"Yes," she replied, without returning his gaze."He appears to be very much attracted by her."

"Was she attracted to him in return?"

"Why shouldn't she be?He is a handsome and most accomplished young man, and has the best prospects of succeeding to the title and estates."

"He is a younger son."

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

Her husband gave a short laugh.

"I have known one-lungers to live a long time," he said."You mentioned Dr. Sinclair a moment ago.Whatever offence did Jessie take at him which led her to treat him so disagreeably?"

Mrs. MacAllister had just finished dressing and arranging her hair, and was taking a last look at herself in the mirror.She closed her lips tightly, threw back her head, and gave a little sniff:

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

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

"I wish that I could believe that you are right.But I am afraid that you are not."

"What do you mean?"

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

"Well, if she wasn't, I cannot see what possessed her to act so badly.She did everything she could to make him uncomfortable.I feel as if I ought to make some explanation of her conduct or offer some apology."

There was another sniff as she answered tartly:

"It would be wiser not to."

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

"All the better if it should remain so."

"Why?"

She made no answer.

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

"That is because you have the usual stupidity of a man about everything in which women are concerned."

XIV

THE APPEAL OF THE HEROIC

"Is Jessie ready for breakfast?"

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

"I think we had better sit down.There is no use waiting any longer for De Vaux.I am afraid that he is not in a condition to appear.You had better call Jessie."

At that moment the tall, graceful figure of their daughter appeared in the bright light of the verandah, was framed for an instant in the doorway, and then came in, seeming to bring a wealth of light and brightness into the somewhat gloomy apartment where they were to breakfast.What a picture she made!The rich rose of her cheeks, the masses of her brown hair, the deep violet eyes were brought into sharp contrast with the white of her tropic attire.

Her father's eyes rested on her proudly, but fondly.Her mother too was proud of her rare young beauty, as it seemed to irradiate the room and drive away the shadows.But her pride in her daughter was different from the father's.Mr. MacAllister thought of her only as their daughter—beautiful, winsome, teasing sometimes, but so true in her love and dutifulness that she had never really caused an anxious thought.He loved her for her own sake, and hers alone.He felt a twinge of pain every time the thought entered his mind that the day would come when she would be separated from them.Mrs. MacAllister thought of her as possessed not only of grace and beauty, but of that culture and social training which she herself so sadly lacked.She thought of her as qualified to be a queen in the world of society; dreamed of the day when she should bear a great, old family name, perhaps that of a noble house, and should shed a reflected glory on the MacAllisters, who had acquired wealth and luxury, but could not contrive a history.Hers was a love of ambition.

Was the attitude of the daughter towards her father and mother an instinctive though perhaps unconscious response to the differing attitudes of her parents to her?

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

The conventional phrases were identical in form.But there was a world of difference in the accent.She kissed her mother somewhat perfunctorily.But she threw her arms around her father's neck, kissed him tenderly, and laid her proud head with its wealth of hair for a moment on his shoulder.Then she lifted it and asked very demurely:

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

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

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

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

"Father, why do men, when they find themselves getting drunk, take another glass of whiskey and soda, 'just to straighten up'?It seems to me that every glass of it they take makes them sillier and more stupid than they were before."

"Why do you ask me, Jessie?You know that I am almost a teetotaller.You should answer that question yourself.You were championing the cause of drinking last evening against Dr. Sinclair."

"Now, father, that's not fair."A slight flush appeared on her neck and flowed upwards, deepening the rich colour of her face."You know that I didn't mean that, especially when there were men around me drinking themselves into imbecility."

"Then, why did you say it?"

Her father's eyes, kindly but keen, were searching her face.She felt a fresh wave of hot blood mounting upwards:

"Oh, I don't know!You ought to have learned by this time that a woman cannot always give reasons even to herself why she does things."

"Well, whatever you did it for, you succeeded in making Dr. Sinclair very uncomfortable for a while."

"He deserves to be made uncomfortable," she flashed back."He makes other people feel very uncomfortable sometimes."

She glanced at her mother.Mrs. MacAllister's lips were tightly closed.Her nose was elevated a bit.She was about to sniff at something.She had not time.A high-pitched voice was heard outside:

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

A heavy footstep sounded on the stairway leading to the second story, where the living-rooms were.There were short gasps of laboured breathing, and De Vaux burst into the room, peering blindly in the semi-darkness after the brilliant sunshine without.

"Good-morning, Mr. De Vaux.You are just in time to join us at breakfast.We thought something had occurred to detain you.But we have just this moment sat down.Pardon us for not waiting on you.We are delighted that you are able to be with us."

Mrs. MacAllister was kind, almost effusive, in her welcome.But De Vaux could find no words to excuse his delinquency:

"Mrs. MacAllister! ...I have disgraced myself....'Pon my soul! ...Mr. MacAllister! ...This never happened to me before....'Pon my honour, as a gentleman! ...I'm ashamed of myself....Miss MacAllister! ...To think that I was to have the honour of having breakfast with you—and—I was late! ...Bless my soul! ...I do not know what to think of myself."

The head of the firm was gravely considerate and courteous towards the firm's agent, whose weakness he had noted the evening before.

"Accidents will happen sometimes, Mr. De Vaux.Allow me to assure you that you have caused us no inconvenience this morning.Will you not be seated and have breakfast with us?"

With some difficulty the stream of De Vaux's apologies and the succession of his bows were interrupted, and he was induced to be seated.But his face was purple and his eyes were bulging and bloodshot.Miss MacAllister could not resist the temptation.

"Mr. De Vaux," she said, "I am afraid that you have hurried too much in the heat.The blood has rushed to your head.I am really concerned lest you should have an attack of apoplexy.I have always been so afraid of apoplexy since our old butler died of an attack after celebrating patriotically but unwisely the bombardment of Alexandria.Will you not allow me to order a cold soda for you?Boy, one piecee soda, ice cold!"

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

What more she might have said remains unknown, for a warning look and a shake of the head from her farther prevented her pursuing her victim any farther.As it was, De Vaux was in a state of gurgling, stuttering impotence:

"Bless my soul! ...Miss MacAllister! ...Who else would have thought of it? ...Lord! ...Miss MacAllister! ...You have the kindness of an angel....'Pon my soul, you have! ...I assure you that I am quite well....Nothing the matter with me....Except that I sat up a little late with Carteret....Talked over the delightful evening we had....Nothing else, I assure you....'Pon my honour!"

"And how is Mr. Carteret this morning?"inquired Mrs. MacAllister solicitously."I hope that he is very well."

"My dear Mrs. MacAllister, make your mind easy about that.He is sleeping quite naturally and soundly....'Pon my word of honour, he is! ...The commissioner tried to waken him to go to the office....But he couldn't....Not even with a bucket of water....'Pon my soul, that's the truth!I never saw a man sleep so soundly....But he will be all right by this afternoon.He will waken up for tennis....He's our best tennis player....Bless my soul!There's no danger of his missing the tennis."

Miss MacAllister had tried to control herself through this exposé.But by the time De Vaux had finished the merry peal of laughter rang out without restraint.Her mother looked annoyed and mortified.Her father, scarcely able to conceal a smile, was diplomatically trying to lead De Vaux to some other subject.

"Did you chance to hear any more news of how the day went at Keelung, Mr. De Vaux?"he asked."Have any reports come in from the Chinese side?"

"Bless my soul! ...How did I forget to tell you? ...I met Captain Whiteley as I came down....Mrs. MacAllister, that is one of the reasons why I was late....'Pon my word!I was so upset and ashamed of myself that I could not present my apologies....I beg your pardon, Mr. MacAllister....Captain Whiteley told me that Dr. Sinclair was off to the front this morning before daybreak....By——! ...'Pon my soul, I mean, I was never so surprised in my life."

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

"Yes," replied De Vaux."He has gone to serve as a doctor with the Chinese army....Never heard of a man taking such risk....It's sheer suicide....By——! ...'Pon my soul, it is!"

Mrs. MacAllister glanced at her daughter, and her husband's eyes followed.Miss MacAllister was sitting up very erect and looking straight at De Vaux.Her lips were parted.Her face had paled a little.But her eyes were dark and glowing.

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

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

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

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

"I wish that I were a man," she flashed back."I would not see one man go out to a dangerous duty alone."

"But—but, my dear Miss MacAllister," blurted out De Vaux."We did not know that he was going....'Pon my honour as a gentleman, we did not! ...He left before we were awake."

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

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

"I think that Dr. Sinclair is simply foolhardy.It is perfectly absurd for a man to risk his life for the sake of those dirty Chinese.I do not know how any one can bear to live among them, let alone having to touch them."(De Vaux got very red.)"And as for going into a whole army of them to heal their wounds, it's simply Quixotic" (she pronounced it Kwy-so-tic), "that's all it is; Quixotic."

De Vaux winced at the pronunciation—perhaps also at the sentiment.He began to gurgle unintelligibly.As usual, Mr. MacAllister came to the rescue.

"It was with the hope of getting an opportunity to do medical work among these people that Dr. Sinclair came to this country.I should think that the present situation offers him an admirable opening.A physician or surgeon who is really in love with his work does not stop to consider whether his patients are attractive or not.His one thought is to heal them."

"It is all very good to talk about sacrificing oneself to do good," replied his wife tartly."And when I am at home I just love to hear missionary sermons, and sometimes to attend women's missionary meetings.But to come out here and live among those natives and think you can make them any better and get them to know anything about the religion which educated, intelligent white people believe in, is sheer foolishness.I am very much disappointed in Dr. Sinclair.It is nothing but foolishness."

"I think that it is just splendid to do something like that," said her daughter."Just think of it, to be over there where hundreds of men are being brought in wounded and to be the only one who can do anything for them!And to have those poor creatures wonder at the cures!Why wasn't I a man?"

"Yes, and have one of the dear, grateful creatures stick a knife into you when your back is turned," said her mother sarcastically.

But her daughter paid no attention to the interruption:

"Mr. De Vaux, do you know the country over there, around Keelung, where the fighting is going on?Of course you do.Won't you tell us all about it?"

So through the remainder of the breakfast she plied De Vaux with questions, and brought out the fact that he had really a remarkable store of knowledge about the island and its inhabitants.And all the while the father looked on, and occasionally thought of her conduct the evening before, and wondered.But her mother looked unutterable things, ever and anon interjected an acid remark, which served as pickles to the bill of fare, and frequently sniffed.

XV

THE LURE OF THE EAST

Mountain and river, land and sea slept that afternoon in the wealth of sunshine which flooded the earth.A scarcely perceptible sea-breeze ever and anon caused the lighter foliage to tremble.The great fronds of the palm trees hung absolutely motionless, the air quivered in the heat.Millions of cicadas shrilled in the trees and shrubbery.In some way or another their ceaseless quavering, shrilling notes seemed to fit in with the quivering wavelets of atmosphere, until one came to look upon them as cause and effect and inseparably associated.That tremulous atmosphere would not be complete without those quavering notes.The notes would not be complete without the atmosphere.

The native birds were all silent.Only the English sparrows seemed utterly indifferent to the heat.They fluttered and chirped and fought just as cheerfully as they would have done in the soft climate of their native England or amid the Arctic frosts of a Western Canadian January.

Human life was almost as quiescent as that of the birds. Down by the water-front of the town a number of junks were hastily loading in order to put to sea with the late afternoon tide. Around the Hailoong a little fleet of cargo boats clustered, busily discharging their lading into her hold. McLeod had evidently been successful in his trip up-river. On the downs back of the consulate and the mission buildings Chinese soldiers were mounting cannon of many ages and designs on their earthworks.

These were the only signs of activity.The soldiers and cannon were the only indications of war.A great quiet rested over the beautiful landscape, a peace as cloudless as that summer sky.

Clang-clang! Clang-clang! Clang-clang! Clang-clang! Eight bells! Four o'clock! The brazen notes rang out from the Hailoong. Like an echo they were answered, only in silver tones as soft and sweet as those of a cathedral chime. Involuntarily one looked around for the church-spire and waited to hear the hymn tune come floating on the air. But there was no church, and there was no holy hymn. It was the bell of the trim little gunboat, Locust, resting out there on the bosom of the river striking the hour of four.

A group of white-clad figures appeared on the bright green of the consulate lawn.Other figures clad in white, men and women, were moving in ones and twos along the narrow road on the top of the hill or through the shrubbery of the consul's garden to join them.It might be a tropic land and a day of tropic sunshine.The natives of that land, all save those who were compelled to work, might be seeking shelter from the sun and waiting for the cool of the evening before again exposing themselves to its rays.But, like the sparrows from his home land, the Englishman could not rest.The sun had no terrors for him.If he had no work to do, he would have sport.The whole English-speaking population who could get away from their duties, whether residents or transients, were assembling for the afternoon game of tennis.

Yet they were not foolhardy in their exposure to the sun.They took precautions.Indeed, the striking thing about their sport was the trouble they had taken to make it comfortable and enjoyable.

The lawn, if it could not boast the carpet of green velvet which characterizes an English lawn, was well covered with close-set grass.In spite of the efforts of the great slugs to burrow it into holes and throw up pyramids of earth, daily rolling had kept it firm and smooth.A green wall of hedge, reënforced by wire netting, surrounded it.The big bulk of the old Dutch fort sheltered half of it from the rays of the declining sun.An oblong of sail-cloth, stretched between two tall masts, shaded the other half.The players had rarely ever occasion to be exposed to the sun.Chinese coolies, in the dark blue and red uniforms of the consul's service, two behind the players and two at the net, picked up the balls and handed them to the players.Long, comfortable settees and chairs, and a table laden with cool drinks, nestled against the hedge in the shadiest corner.

"Really, Mr. Beauchamp, this is the luxury of tennis.A canopy to shelter us!Coolies in livery to pick up the balls!I'm surprised that you do not have proxies to run for us, as they do in cricket when the veterans play.You really ought to have native boys to do the running."

"We're working on it, Miss MacAllister; we're working on it.Soon we'll be able to give it to the world.Brand new game!Tropical tennis!Latest thing in sport!Four players to a side!Two in the inner courts and two in the outer!Only two rackets to a side!Native boys in liveries of smiles and sunshine to carry rackets from back to forward players and vice versa, as occasion to meet the ball requires.Great discovery!Carteret and I are working on it."

"Magnificent, Mr. Beauchamp!Magnificent!"exclaimed Miss MacAllister amidst a burst of laughter."You and Mr. Carteret will be catalogued with Columbus and Sir Isaac Newton among the great benefactors of the race.When will you be able to bestow it upon mankind?I do hope that it may be while I am here."

"It would have been before this, were it not that Carteret and I differ on a small point, a mere detail."

"And what is that?"

"I think it sufficient to provide the players with easy-chairs in which to rest between strokes.But Carteret wants them to be permanently suspended in hammocks, and that the balls must be so served as to enable the players to return them without arising from a reclining position."

There was a peal of laughter at the consul's little absurdity.Carteret joined in with the rest.But his pallid face flushed at the palpable thrust at his well-known indolence.

Commander Gardenier was unable to come.But his second in command, Lieutenant Lanyon, a young Irishman, was delighted to escape the routine of duty on board ship for a day ashore and the company of some attractive ladies.With the headlong courage of his race, whether in love or in war, he immediately asked Miss MacAllister to be his partner in the first set, without waiting to see if that were agreeable to his host, who was arranging the players.His frank, boyish, open-eyed admiration of his choice was so good to see that the consul, usually a bit of an autocrat in all such matters, laughingly accepted the situation.

"Carteret, will you take my wife as partner and defend the honour of the island?These two reckless young visitors have evidently taken it upon themselves to challenge the residents."

"Certainly, Mr. Beauchamp.I shall be delighted to have so skilful a partner as Mrs. Beauchamp.We shall endeavour to give a good account of ourselves.From their manner I should judge that our opponents are perfectly confident of winning."

He looked to where the young naval officer and Miss MacAllister were standing.They were already deep in conversation and apparently entirely oblivious to the rest of the company.He heard Lanyon say:

"By Jove!luck has come my way to-day.Little did I think when we were ordered to Tamsui that there would be such fortune before me as to meet any one like you.It does my heart good just to look at you."

Miss MacAllister laughed merrily.

"Do you always express yourself so frankly on so short acquaintance, Mr. Lanyon?"she asked."I'm afraid that I cannot believe much of that.I think that you are Irish.You probably said the same thing to the last partner you had."

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

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

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

Just then Mrs. Beauchamp called to them:

"Come, come, Mr. Lanyon.I cannot allow this.You are monopolizing Miss MacAllister and delaying the play."

"By my faith," was the quick reply, "it's myself that would be mortial glad to monopolize her."

"Oh, Mr. Lanyon, this is shocking.On less than half an hour's acquaintance, too!If you say anything more like that I'll not be your partner."

"Then, if there's any danger of your leaving me, I'll take it all back with my mouth; but I'll think it in my heart just the same."

Carteret's pale face, a little paler to-day than usual, had the same expression of studied contempt as when he met Sinclair the evening before.His lips parted to utter some sarcastic remark when Mrs. Beauchamp interposed:

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

In a moment the lawn was animate with the quick-moving white figures of the players, and the blue and red of the attendant coolies.The contestants were all experts at the sport, and the set might have been prolonged indefinitely had it not been that Lanyon would not serve a fast ball to Mrs. Beauchamp.Again and again she assured him that she was quite capable of receiving a fast service and that he must not throw the game away.But the young lieutenant's Irish gallantry would not allow him to volley such balls at her as he drove at Carteret.On the other hand, the latter had no such scruples, but played to win.Consequently he and his partner did win rather handily.

When the set was over and others had taken their places, Carteret found an opportunity to engage Miss MacAllister in conversation as they were seated in the shade of the old fort.

"I was disappointed not to have the pleasure of being your partner," he said."I had been looking forward to it all day."

Instantly there flashed into her mind the picture of him De Vaux had painted that morning at breakfast, and she could scarcely repress a laugh.She wondered to herself how much of the day he had been in a condition to think of her.But she answered readily:

"I should be very pleased to be your partner for a set, Mr. Carteret.There will probably be an opportunity later.You are an expert at tennis."

"We all ought to be experts in this place," he replied."We get plenty of practice.Outside of office hours there are only two pastimes open to us—cards on wet days and tennis when the weather is fine."

"Why," she exclaimed, "I should not have thought that!From what I have seen of Tamsui, I think that it is quite lively.With dinners and tennis, with warships coming and going, with always the possibility of seeing a row among the Chinese or between them and somebody else, I think it must be really exciting living here.I should think that it would be great sport."

"You may think so, Miss MacAllister, from what you have seen of it.But the condition you have seen is quite abnormal.We do not have London merchants nor ladies from London drawing-rooms visiting us every week.Neither do we have the company of naval officers on ordinary occasions.Perhaps, if we had more ladies, we might have the attention and protection of our gallant seamen more frequently."

His voice had the sneering tone of the evening before.Miss MacAllister's eyes flashed ominously.He saw the danger signal and quickly changed the tone and the topic:

"Really, Miss MacAllister, as a general rule this place is beastly dull.There are so few to associate with.No matter how enjoyable their company may be at first, it simply becomes unbearable when you have no one else, don't you know?"

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

He saw that he had made a tactical blunder, beat a hasty retreat, and executed a flank attack:

"I assure you, Miss MacAllister, that I had reference only to those with whom one is forced to associate in the casual relations of life.We are not associated by choice, but by the caprice of fortune or by compulsion.And the realization of the compulsion makes the association the more unbearable.We get to hate the very sight of one another."

"I can quite understand that," she replied."I learned that when I had to spend a year in a very select boarding-school, with a principal and teachers whom I hated, and not one girl of whom I could make a real friend.I was more alone than if I had been like Robinson Crusoe on his island."

He was quick to pursue the advantage:

"That is it exactly.I should be far less lonely if I were entirely alone or if I had only one companion, so long as that companion were congenial."

She looked sympathetically at him, but did not speak.

"That is the tragedy of life in the Far East," he continued."That is why so many men take to drink."

She thought of the evening before and of what De Vaux had let out at breakfast.She said nothing; so he went on:

"That is why so many men become inveterate gamblers; why so many who came out with high hopes of accomplishing something end by committing suicide."

As he talked on in this strain, quietly, yet evidently with deep feeling, Miss MacAllister began to ask herself if she had not, in her own mind, judged this young aristocrat too harshly.Perhaps he was not so bad as she had thought him the evening before, when she had refused any longer to play his accompaniments.Perhaps there was some excuse for his being in the condition which De Vaux had blundered out to them that morning.

At any rate, he seemed to be revealing to her another side of his character.She had met him first as the graceful, polished man of the world, a little cynical perhaps, and yet so courteous in his manners towards her as to hide the unpleasant characteristics.She had noted his contemptuous attitude towards Sinclair, his look and tone of studied insult.She had caught a glimpse of the greedy, lustful expression in his eyes as he bent over her at the piano, and, before the evening was done, the leer of intoxication.

But here was another aspect which she had not looked for.Without appearing to seek sympathy, he was appealing to her feelings, and in spite of herself she responded:

"I had not thought of the life out here in that way," she said."It had appeared quite fascinating to me."

"So it appears to nearly everybody at first.But after a while it palls upon them.At last it becomes unbearable."

"Then why do they not go home, or to Australia or America or somewhere else where they would be among their own people?"

"We are forgotten at home.We should be strangers there.And as for Australia or America, life out here unfits a man to succeed in lands where everybody must be his own servant and where there is no road to success but by hard work."

A little ray of comprehension shot into Miss MacAllister's mind.It was with a touch of impatience that she answered:

"But, Mr. Carteret, you do not mean to say that you have been long enough here to unfit you for work anywhere else.If you do not like the life, why do you stay here?"

"Pro bono familiæ," he replied with a bitter laugh."Because of the affection of my beloved elder brother."

"The consul tells me that he enjoys himself here," she said, avoiding any discussion of his family affairs."He says that there is very good shooting and some of the best sea-bathing he has ever experienced."

"He is welcome to the shooting, tramping over the hills and through the rice fields in a climate like this.As for the bathing, any pleasure in it is spoiled by the walk home in the heat afterwards."

At that instant the consul, who was playing, returned a ball with such a screw on it that after falling in his opponent's court it bounded back over the net.His opponent, in a mad effort to return it, plunged headlong into the net and fell.In celebration of which achievement the consul threw his racket high in the air, turned a handspring, and ended up by reversing himself and walking across the court on his hands, with his feet in the air.

"Splendid, Mr. Beauchamp!"cried Miss MacAllister."Brilliantly done!Especially the gymnastic performance!"

"Right-oh, Miss MacAllister!"exclaimed a deep voice behind her."The consul is acrobat enough to make a shining success as a sailor man."

It was Captain Whiteley, come up to drink a cup of tea and say good-bye before casting off for Hong-Kong.

"Oh, Captain Whiteley, I'm so glad to see you before you go!But what is this I hear?You have let your doctor go off to Keelung to carve Chinese, and perhaps be carved himself.I am surprised at you."

"Not my fault, I assure you, Miss MacAllister.He was bound to go.He is of age.I could not restrain him."

"I think it is just splendid of him to go.That is the sort of thing I admire in a man.If I were a man, that is what I should like to do."

"I am awfully glad, Miss MacAllister, that Sinclair has at last done something which pleases you.I was beginning to be afraid that you were offended with him past the possibility of reconciliation."

She looked at him sharply.His face was lamblike in its innocence, but his eyes were twinkling.

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

The telltale colour deepened in her face, and her mother, who was talking to Carteret nearby, heard and saw, closed her lips tightly, and sniffed.

The little party of white-clad players were still on the lawn when the Hailoong moved down the river, zigzagged her way through the field of mines, and once well beyond the bar steamed straight out over the motionless sea in the path of red-gold light from the setting sun. It seemed the breaking of the one link between them and the outside world. In the soft stillness of that evening in the Orient, London with its mud and smoke, its roar of traffic, its drab colours and familiar, unromantic life, seemed so far away that it might have belonged to another world.

Strange to say, it was not of London that Miss MacAllister was thinking.Again and again she surprised herself thinking of the big, fair-haired Canadian doctor.She tried to picture to herself his surroundings amid the sick and suffering, the men torn with shot and shell.She could not help contrasting them with the peaceful environment of the consul's tennis party, where men had been enjoying themselves in the company of the ladies, and incidentally emptying long glasses of whiskey and soda or sipping tea.

She recalled the looks of the man himself, his clean-cut features, straightforward gaze, his good-humour even when she was badgering him, and the hearty, boyish laugh when he and McLeod were plotting some mischief together.Involuntarily she contrasted him with the cynical discontent, the weary air and self-pity of the man with whom she had talked that afternoon.If Sinclair could have known her conclusions, he would have been well content.