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.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 41951
   :PG.Title: A Tale of Red Pekin
   :PG.Released: 2013-06-08
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Constancia Serjeant
   :DC.Title: A Tale of Red Pekin
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1902
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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A TALE OF RED PEKIN
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      Cover

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      :alt: "I have counted the cost."

      "I have counted the cost."

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      A TALE OF
      RED PEKIN

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      BY
      CONSTANCIA SERJEANT

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      AUTHOR OF
      "A THREEFOLD MYSTERY," "THE YOUNG ACROBATS," ETC., ETC.

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      LONDON
      MARSHALL BROTHERS
      KESWICK HOUSE PATERNOSTER ROW E C
      1902

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   CONTENTS.

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   CHAPTER.

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I.  `Cecilia's Story`_
II.  `The Letter from Pekin`_
III.  `The Rising in the Village`_
IV.  `Cecilia continues her Story`_
V.  `A Terrible Walk`_
VI.  `Nina's Story`_
VII.  `A Painful Discovery`_
VIII.  `Taken Prisoner`_
IX.  `A Discovery`_
X.  `A Daring Attempt`_
XI.  `Mr. Li's Wonderful House`_
XII.  `They Wandered in Dens and Caves of the Earth`_

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.. _`CECILIA'S STORY`:

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   CHAPTER I.


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   CECILIA'S STORY.

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I can remember quite well when we all came to
China.  It is four years ago, and I was eight
years old, and you can remember when you are
three, so father says.  I am twelve now, and I
feel quite grown up, that is because I am older than
any of the others.  Most people call me prim and
old-fashioned, but mother says I am her right hand.
Rachel is the next to me, but she is in a different
generation almost, only nine years old, and quite a
child.  Then there is Jack, he is eight, and Jill, she
is seven.  Jill is not her name really—they all have
Bible names—but we call her that because she and
Jack are such friends, and always do everything
together.  Then there is Tim, he is only five years
old, and little baby Anna.  Baby Anna is so lovely,
and the Chinese women are very fond of her.  She
has dark eyes, and rings of dark hair all over her
head; but somehow she does not look like other
children.  She smiles, and yet she has a solemn
look: that rapt look that the cherubs have, like
pictures of the Blessed Lord Himself when He was
a little child.  Father says so sometimes, but mother
does not like it.  I never can think why, but she
looks so sad, and once I saw her brushing some
tears away.  I think really, though I have never
told anyone else, that mother is afraid baby Anna
will not live.  I heard the servants talking one day,
and nurse said she was sure the baby would never
live to grow up.

The Chinese women love her so much, they would
like to bind her feet; they think it spoils us all,
having such large feet—at least, those who are not
Christians do, and even the others—well, it is just
the very hardest thing in the world for them to have
the bandages taken off their feet, but for the love of
Christ they take them off at last, and then they are
baptized—father never will baptize them until the
bandages are taken off.

The Chinese are dreadfully, dreadfully cruel, and
very cunning and deceitful, but father says they
make splendid Christians.  You see it's not a bit
the same as it is in England—they have to go
through such dreadful persecution if they become
Christians; they have to give up everything for the
sake of Christ's love, and you love a person far, far
more if you feel you can give up everything, even
life itself, for their sake.

When we first came to Cheng-si there was not a
single Christian here, and the people did not like us
much, but father and mother were so kind, and did
so much for them when they were sick, that they got
accustomed to us, and now they come from all parts,
for miles around, to be healed.

You see, father is not like an ordinary Missionary,
he is a doctor, too; he reminds me more of the Lord
Jesus than anyone I have ever seen: he goes about
doing good and healing the sick—he has such a
beautiful expression.  I have not seen many men,
and I do not know exactly whether he is what people
call a handsome man, I rather think not, but it is
when he is healing the sick and speaking to them
that there is that light on his face which makes
me think of what is said about St. Stephen in the
Acts: "They saw his face as it had been the face of
an angel."

Uncle Lawrence is quite different: he is a soldier,
every inch of him, a good soldier of Jesus Christ too.
I have heard mother say so many times, and it is
that which makes him such a good soldier of the
Queen.  She says the best soldier is the Christian
soldier, and that very few people would contradict
that now, because of Lord Roberts; and then there
is General Havelock, and Sir Henry Lawrence, and
a host of others.  But Uncle does not look like
father, and he does not speak much; you know what
he is by his life more than by what he says.  He
has only one child, her name is Nina—Nina is three
years older than I—she is my bosom friend.  I
never in my life saw anyone so wonderful as Nina,
or anyone half so pretty; Nina is tall and dark, she
has beautiful eyes, not at all like baby's, but more
like wells of water, where the sunbeams lie; one
can never be sad with Nina, she is so bright and
sunshiny, like her laughing eyes; she loves me, too,
dearly, and calls me St. Cecilia because I am so
grave and old beyond my years.

Nina and Uncle Lawrence are always together,
and she is the pet of the regiment—yet she is not
spoilt.  I have not known her long, only since the
troubles began in China, and since they have been
in Wei-hai-wei, which is about one hundred miles
from this place; but our love for each other grew
up mushroom-like in a few hours.  She says she cares
for me more than for any other girl.  We write such
long letters to each other, and when we meet she
tells me stories about the officers, especially one,
Uncle Lawrence's greatest friend.

We do not get the news here very fast, as we are
quite in the country, but Nina wrote me a long letter
yesterday from Pekin, where they are now, and told
me what dreadfully cruel things the Chinese had
done.  She overheard a conversation between Uncle
Lawrence and Colonel Taylor.  Uncle Lawrence
was talking of the risk of being captured, and of the
awful peril which so many unprotected Europeans
were in—it is far worse than death, for they torture
people for days before they kill them.

"They should never capture anyone who belonged
to me," said the Colonel, sternly, and he just touched
his pistol with a meaning look.

Nina said her father went as white as death; she
guessed what was passing through his mind.  How
could he kill Nina?  Would it be right if it came to
the worst, and to save her from a lingering death of
agony?  I told father, and asked him what he
thought; for all the Europeans, so it seems, have
resolved to kill their dearest and die, rather than fall
into the hands of the Chinese.  But father—well,
father has such a strong, beautiful faith, he does
not blame those who would do this, but for himself
and for us—I know how he loves us—there were
tears in his eyes as he spoke; still, he said he would
not feel justified in doing this—he must leave it all
with God, and He will take care of His own.  I
know what it cost father to say this, because I know
what we are to him; but I also know that nothing,
nothing would ever make him do what he would not
think quite right: he does not blame others, but for
himself it is different.

He and mother walked up and down for hours last
evening, and part of the time I was with them, for
they often take me into their confidence, and that is
why I am so old for my years, I expect—the eldest
in a large family generally is, they say; all father's
thoughts were for mother.

"Oh, my dearest," he said—I think they had
forgotten me—"I never loved you so well, and yet
I am full of regret when I think of that quiet
Rectory where you might have been now if it had
not been for me.  Do you remember it, the first
time I saw you?  I can see it all again: the
Rectory garden, the old-fashioned grey stone house,
shadows slanting over the lawn, and underneath the
trees you were standing, the only young thing there,
shading your eyes with your pretty hands; you were
very much like our St. Cecilia, and I saw in a
moment, beyond the mere beauty of your face, the
Divine touch there, and I knew you were one of the
Lord's dear children, and my heart went out to you,
and I claimed you in my spirit then and there as my
helpmeet, the woman whom God, in His love, had
chosen for me.  But if I had known what a future
I was preparing for you, my beloved, I would never
have spoken."

"A dear future," mother answered, gently clasping
his arm with both her hands.  "Would I have
had it any different?"

"Yes, but, my darling—well, this news has
unnerved me—Boxers are like devils possessed, and, if
they should get hold of you and the children——"

And I saw father shudder; I had never seen him like
this before: his faith had always been so strong, and
now he seemed quite unnerved.

"They will not," said mother, calmly, and her
eyes were soft with unshed tears, and yet had
that patient, steadfast look the martyrs have.
"But if there is trouble in store for us, oh! my
dear husband, I would not have had it any different.
God has been so good to us: we have been so
happy, so happy together, there is nothing to regret;
it was all ordered by a Divine love which never
makes any mistakes; and it will be all ordered
now," and she laughed a little to make him
laugh, I think.  "Oh!  Paul, fancy my turning comforter!"

"Yes, darling," he replied, hurriedly, "I am
ashamed of myself, and, more than all, ashamed of
my lack of faith.  What is our faith worth if it
cannot stand this test?  His strength is small indeed
who faints in the day of adversity.  God remains;
He is over all, arranging every step of the way, and
I can leave even *you* in peace now with this
thought."  And then I heard father say, and his
face, which had been so wan and drawn before, was
now radiant and bright: "'Thou wilt keep him in
perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee;
because he trusteth in Thee.'"

But I crept up to bed and thought what dreadful
news that must be to make father look and speak as
he had done that evening.





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.. _`THE LETTER FROM PEKIN`:

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   CHAPTER II.


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   THE LETTER FROM PEKIN.

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Mr. St. John might well look grave.  "Upon
the earth distress of nations, men's hearts
failing them for fear."  Yes, this text was
being fulfilled.  It was all very well for
people in England to read of the awful things that
were taking place in China, but to be on the
spot—alone.  Ah, there it was, therein lay the
anguish—for he was not alone, if he had been he would not
have cared.  But his wife and children! it was the
thought of them that caused him such unutterable pain.

Abraham knew something of this agony when he
got up early that morning and saddled his ass.
What a pathetic story!  How difficult to read it
without tears.  It was just because Abraham felt
it down to the very depth of his being, and yet
never doubted God's love and God's power, that he
was called faithful Abraham—God's friend.

It is easy to talk of faith to others—and to have
it ourselves when everything goes well—but the
faith which God approves is that which casts its
burden on the Lord, that cries, "Though He slay
me, yet will I trust in Him."

Mr. St. John was a man full of faith.  He was
also full of love, or his faith could not have been so
tried; and he was a man of prayer: that disquieting
letter from Pekin had been spread before the
Lord, and he got up very early so as to spend the
morning hours in communion with Him.  He had
made great drafts on God's Bank, and his face had
regained its usual serenity of expression.  His
heart, so torn and trembling overnight, was now
calm with "the peace of God which passeth all
understanding"—the peace which the Lord has
promised to those who are stayed on him.

There was a slight sound.  He looked up
quickly; it was Cecilia—St. Cecilia the children
called her—coming over the grass to meet him.

"Father, darling," she said, as she twined her
arms about his neck, "I do wish I could do
something for you."

"But you do, dear child," he answered, tenderly.
"Mother's right hand: what more can we ask?"

"Yes, but father, *you*—you seemed so troubled
last night."

"If I did, my darling, it was very wrong," he
replied, gravely, "and showed a great want of trust
in our Heavenly Father."

"I could not sleep for thinking of you, and
wishing I were older, that I might really be able to
help you."

"Poor little Cicely," he said, tenderly taking the
sweet, earnest face between his hands.  "Poor little
right hand—old before her time.  You must not
take up our cares, darling.  Indeed, if we older
people had more faith we should never fret or worry
either, but, instead, cast all our cares upon the Lord
who cares for us."

"What are you and father talking about?  You
are both so grave," said Rachel, as she came
running up to them.  "Cicely looks just like that
picture we have up in our room—St. somebody or
other—I can't remember the name.  Not anybody
in the Bible, you know," said Rachel, garrulously,
"but it's just like Cicely, when she is in white and
grave, isn't it, father?  Only she's got no halo
round her head."

"You little chatterbox!" said her father, laughing,
"it's a pity someone else has not a little more
gravity herself."

"Oh, I can look very grave if I like, father.  I
practise sometimes in front of the glass, and I make
such a long face—really, yards long."

"Did you measure it with your yard measure, Rachel?"

"Oh, no.  But you know what I mean—as long
as yours, and mother's, and Cicely's."

"Well, I am sure we all feel very flattered," said
her father, smiling.  "What a little pickle you are."

"A pickle! what is that?  I thought it was
something to eat.  Is it nice?"

"Well, that is a matter of opinion," smiling.
"Some people are very fond of pickles; others find
them just a little bit too hot and strong."

Rachel was silent for a moment, then she
dismissed the subject with a toss of her dark curls.
"Father," she said, "do you know I am so glad
no one is coming to be healed to-day, so we shall
have you all to ourselves, and we can have some
round games like Cicely says you had in England."

Mr. St. John's face changed.  "Rachel," he
inquired, gravely, "how do you know that no one is
coming to be healed this morning?"

"Because Seng Mi said so, father.  The people
are angry about something, I don't know what, but
I am so glad.  Cicely, why don't you say you're
glad, too, instead of looking like St. Cecilia at the
piano?"

Cecilia flushed, and the tears came into her eyes.
Her father took hold of her hand and pressed it
between his own.

"Father, darling," she whispered, "has it come
already?"

"God only knows," he replied, sadly, "but we
shall be ready, at any rate, darling."

"Yes, father," she said, earnestly, lifting her
sweet, grave eyes to his.  "Do you know—I have
often wished to tell you—Jesus is so precious to me
that sometimes I long to suffer for His sake."

"My dearest child, God grant that He may be
more exceedingly precious to each one of us every
day.  God be with you all in the time that is
coming, and the dear native Christians.  Ah, Cicely,
my heart bleeds for them."

"Why, father?" asked Rachel, who had caught
the last words.

"Because, Rachel, I am afraid there is a time of
great trouble in store for them—terrible persecution.
Indeed," he added, "it has begun already; in
the letter which I received last night from Pekin,
your uncle speaks of the dreadful suffering, not only
of Europeans, but also of the native Christians—there
have been hundreds of martyrs for Jesus already."

"Have there, father?"  Rachel's gentian-blue
eyes were very wide open indeed—"I haven't seen
anybody being persecuted here yet."

"No; but my dear little Rachel, it has not
reached us yet, God be praised for that; but it may
come any day—it might even come to-day."

Rachel was silent for a moment, and then
suddenly reverted to what had been uppermost in
her mind—of paramount interest to her: "About
the games, father," she said, coaxingly, "if mother
will give us a holiday, will you come and have some
games with us?  I should like blind man's buff and
hide and seek; Cicely and I will hide, and you shall
find us."

"Rachel," said her father, gently, "I should like
to do what you wish, but first I must tell you a
story, and then you shall decide yourself about the
games afterwards."

"Oh, a story, father, I shall like that; let's sit
down here under this banyan tree, and then we can
listen nicely," and Rachel flung off her big, shady
hat, and settled herself down by her father's side,
prepared to drink in every word.  With the dark
curls tossed back from her little, eager, upturned
face, and her sparkling blue eyes, she made a pretty
picture, and formed a pleasing contrast to her
equally lovely sister—indeed, Cicely's was the
lovelier face of the two, for God Himself had taken
up the brush and been the Painter there.

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   :alt: "Rachel flung off her big shady hat, and settled herself down by her father's side."

   "Rachel flung off her big shady hat, and settled herself down by her father's side."

"Once upon a time—that is the correct way to
begin, Rachel, is it not?—there lived a very wicked
and cruel Emperor, so cruel that his name has
become a proverb."

"Nero," exclaimed the children in one breath.

"Yes, that is right," said Mr. St. John, continuing
his story; "there were a great many Christians
then; they were people who loved the Lord very
dearly, for in confessing Him they ran the risk of
the most awfully cruel death—Nero had his spies
everywhere."

"What is a spy, father?"

"You will see, dear; they were people who
pretended to be what they were not; they professed to
be friendly with the Christians—even to be
Christians themselves sometimes—and they would go to
their secret meetings held in the catacombs."

"The what?" said Rachel, "what long words, father."

"The catacombs were vast dark passages underneath
the city where the Christians used to meet
and worship God; but you ask so many questions,
Rachel," said her father, smiling, "that I lose the
thread of my story."

"You were explaining about the spies, father,"
put in, Cicely, gently.

"Oh yes, to be sure; well, these spies got to
know all about the meetings, and they came too,
pretending that they were Christians themselves,
and then denounced everyone who was there to the
Emperor."

"How dreadfully mean," said Rachel, her eyes
flashing.

"Yes, dear; well on one occasion when a great
many of these followers of Christ were taken
prisoners, Nero gave a large entertainment, and
actually lighted his gardens with their bodies.
Now, Rachel, part of my story is true and part
is imagination—that part, I grieve to say, is true.
Now I want you to think of a man, a Christian
man, who lived with his wife and family some miles
from Rome in comparative safety; this man knew—his
children knew what their fellow Christians were
suffering, and yet that very evening they made merry
and had games, and a feast in the garden."

Rachel's eyes were full of indignant tears.
"How could they, father?" she said, "how could
they?  I should have cried all the evening!  I
couldn't have helped it."

"Just so, dear," said Mr. St. John, gently, and
he laid his hand tenderly on the child's hair.  "Last
night I got a letter from your uncle from Pekin—it's
a sad letter, Rachel; Christians are being
tortured and killed to-day in China, just as they
were 2,000 years ago in Rome.  And I know my
little girl would be the last to wish to make the
day that is bringing so much sadness and pain to our
brothers and sisters in Christ a gala day with us."

"No," said Rachel, with a great sigh, "of course
I shouldn't like that, but oh, how I wish the
Christians were not being killed, because it would have
been so nice to have had you to ourselves for a
whole day, father."

"Now, my dear little girls," said Mr. St. John,
rising, "I am going in to get some breakfast, if
mother will give me some; you had yours long ago,
I know, but I have been out here and not thought
much about the time; then I should like to have a
big prayer meeting; we must try and get the dear
native Christians together—they will need all our
love to-day."

"Yes, father," said Rachel, "may we go and ask
them to come, I should like that," she added,
dancing and skipping about.

"Ask your mother, darling, she must decide.
Christine," he said, as his wife came up, "do you
think it would be wise for the children to take
round the invitations for the prayer meeting?"

"I hardly think so," replied Mrs. St. John.
"The village is in the most unsettled state, and
there seems to be danger of a general rising."

"I must go and find out what it all means," said
Mr. St. John, quietly.

"Oh, my dear husband, do be careful.  Do not
run into any danger."

"I shall not, my dearest; never fear."

He kissed her and the children tenderly.  But
even as he spoke, he heard in the distance a
murmur like the roar of the sea, and there was
Seng Mi standing in the doorway with a white,
scared face.





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.. _`THE RISING IN THE VILLAGE`:

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   CHAPTER III.


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   THE RISING IN THE VILLAGE.

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"Teacher, they are coming—burning, looting, killing!"

"Not our people, surely?" said Mr. St. John.

"No; but they will join, never fear, when their
blood is up; they will forget all your kindness.  The
lady and the children should retire."

"Yes, yes, Christine," said Mr. St. John,
hurriedly; "go into the blue room and remain there
with the children until I join you; but if I am not
able to do so you know what we arranged—put on
the Chinese dress, escape through the house, which
will bring you out on the road to Wei-hai-wei, and
may God bless and be with my dear wife and
children."

"Paul, a wife's place is by her husband's side."

"Yes, yes, my dearest, but the children!"

"Oh, Paul, I am torn in two.  I do not know
what to choose.

"Darling, you have not to choose, God has chosen
for you; only one way lies open."

"Yes, but oh, my dear husband—you must let me
weep for one moment—to know that we may never
meet again, that you may be going to death—even
torture!"  She lifted her lovely, agonized eyes
to his.

"It is very, very hard to bear, my dearest; the
only thing that makes it possible is the love of
Christ; but, Christine," he said, hopefully, "I
believe we shall meet again in this world; if not, my
darling wife, you will know that I shall be with
Christ, and be the first to welcome you to the City
of the King.  All the paths lead there in the end,
do they not?"

"Yes, yes, my beloved husband, we shall meet
again in glory, even if we may not here.  Good-bye,
good-bye!  Cicely and Rachel, come with me,
darlings."

Rachel had been wondering what it was all about;
why her mother was crying, and why they were
saying good-bye; but she prepared to follow
Mrs. St. John, to whom she was very devoted.  Cicely
still clung to her father.

"Let me stay with you, father, father darling."  The
little white face raised to his, the gray eyes, so
like his wife's, all touched him infinitely; but he
loosened her arms gently from about his neck.

"My sweet child, it could not be: you must let
me judge, darling.  I should love to have you, but
it is quite impossible."

"Oh father, do—do let me stay."

"Cicely," said her father, tenderly, "I know you
do not wish to unnerve me.  I am sure you do not
wish to make it harder for me, and, my dear little
girl, it would increase my pain and anxiety in a
ten-fold degree if I knew you were not in safety.  Be
my own sweet, brave child.  Kiss me and then run
up to your mother.  I know you will do all you can
for her."

"Yes, yes; good-bye, good-bye, father darling."

"Good-bye, my own dear child, my precious
Cicely.  Please God, we shall meet very soon again."

He watched her as she turned slowly away,
weeping quietly.

"The bitterness of death is passed," he said to
himself.  "Now may the Lord enable me to do
His will whatever it may be, and face with courage
whatever lies before me."

The room into which Mrs. St. John had retired
with the nurse and children opened on to the side of
the house, and it was possible to get from the
verandah to the Mission-house, and from the
Mission-house again to that of one of the native
Christians hard by, and so on and so on—from one
house to another, if only the people were willing—without
ever being seen in the public street for about
a mile, till the road to Wei-hai-wei was reached.  It
had been decided between the husband and wife
that if things looked serious they should escape in
this way from the house and village to Wei-hai-wei.
They were to put on Chinese dresses, so as to court
observation as little as possible, and take money
and food for the journey.

Mr. St. John moved quickly forward to the front
of the house.  He was beloved in the village and
widely known, and hoped that his influence might
prevent further bloodshed; and then he could not
leave the native Christians.  If only he could
persuade the rioters to return, something might still be
saved, and he would gain time for his wife and
children.  He lifted up his heart to God, and
walked forward into the courtyard, his head erect,
his face lighted up with the courage which God gives
to those who put their trust in Him.  He needed it
all to-day.  The sight which met his view, when he
turned the corner, was disquieting in the extreme.
The din was terrific; the courtyard a mass of
howling, frantic rioters.  Glancing hastily back to
the house to see that all was right there, he suddenly
turned pale.  On the verandah overlooking the
courtyard stood a small, slight figure he knew only
too well—the little, white face of the child whom
he loved.

"Oh, father, father darling, don't go; oh, come
back to us; they will kill you."

"Cicely, for God's sake, my darling, go back to
your mother.  I must do my duty.  You are only
increasing my anxiety tenfold; go back at once."  The
little figure suddenly disappeared, and, with a
sigh of relief, Mr. St. John went out and faced the
angry crowd.  What he saw gave him the keenest
pain and apprehension.  Their hands were literally
red with blood.  They had killed several of the
native Christians, dragging their bodies along with
them in fiendish triumph.  One poor fellow lay at
Mr. St. John's feet; he was suffering from frightful
wounds, but he was still alive, and as for the
moment the attention of the crowd was distracted
by a fresh disturbance from without, the clergyman
managed to draw him into the house, and place him
for a moment in a position of safety.  He did what
he could for the poor fellow; gave him a long
draught of water, and staunched the flowing blood,
but it was evident to the practised eye of the
physician that his life was ebbing fast away.  Yet
the cross of Christ still triumphed—tortured,
wounded, bleeding to death, on his face there lay
the light which was not of this world.

"Teacher," he murmured, with a bright smile of
recognition, "it is all over, and I am glad.  Only a
few minutes more and I shall be with Jesus.  Do
not look sad, I have no pain, and I am going to the
land where there is no more weariness, or persecution,
or suffering."  Suddenly his whole countenance
was eradiated with joy.  "I see the gates of heaven
opened," he cried, with ecstasy, "and Jesus on the
right hand of God waiting to receive me.  Oh, what
a blessed thing to belong to Christ!"

"Dear, dear fellow," said Mr. St. John, tenderly,
holding the poor man's hand in a kind, gentle clasp.
"How thankful I am that the Lord sent me here.
It has made it hard for you in this world, but this
'light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh
for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of
glory.'"

"Yes, the glory; the glory, that is it," the dying
man murmured almost inaudibly, and even as he
spoke he seemed to pass away.  Mr. St. John laid
him gently, reverently down.  His heart was sad
and yet throbbed with joy.  The pain was over for
ever, and he was at rest with Jesus.  He had no
time for much thought; the noise seemed to be
increasing without, and once more he turned to the
court-yard.  What he saw there sent the hot blood
surging through his veins—tied to a post in the
court-yard was a poor woman he knew, one of the
converts who had but lately been baptized.

Poor Daig Ong stood there in agony of fear, her
hands were tied behind her back, and fastened to
one of the posts in the court-yard; she would be
beaten to death unless someone interposed—this
being a very favourite manner of execution amongst
the Chinese.  The man nearest to her raised his
heavy stick; there was a dull, sickening thud, a
groan of pain.  The man lifted his stick a second
time, but, in a moment, before it could descend,
Paul St. John was upon him.  He had not been the
best athlete at Cambridge for nothing.  With one blow
he dispossessed the man with the stick, the next
instant the poor woman was free, and he was standing
before her, his head thrown back, his nostrils dilated,
eyes ablaze with righteous indignation.  Stern and
beautiful he looked as he stood there, yet as he gazed
over that sea of cruel yellow faces, more like
demons than men, his anger died away, and a vast
wave of pity surged in his breast; it was akin to
that pity the Christ felt when He gazed at Jerusalem
and wept over it.  All this hatred and cruelty and
hideous passion were the result of devil thraldom—"and
such were some of you."  Yes, indeed, without
Christ, wherein should any of us differ?

.. figure:: images/img-024.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: "The poor woman was free, and he was standing before her."

   "The poor woman was free, and he was standing before her."

How little we in England, who speak of the
reproach of Christ, know what it really means in a
heathen country.  Perhaps we are coldly treated,
and we think it hard if we have to put up with a
sneer or a few unkind words, and flatter ourselves
with the conviction that we are bearing His reproach
that we are suffering persecution; but when we look
on the other picture our paltry woes dwindle into
insignificance.  Indeed, when we read, as we did
last year, of the awful hardships and privations,
the torturing deaths, which our missionaries and
the native Christians underwent, then we would
sink into the ground for shame.  We feel that we
can never thank God enough for His mercies to us,
the while we look on our fellow Christians over the
sea with an admiration a little, maybe, tinged with
envy, in that they were accounted worthy to suffer
for that beloved Name, dearer and sweeter by far
to every Christian than any other on earth.

For a brief moment there was a respite; a mob
ever recognizes power, and this was something they
could not understand.  What if the white man who
stood there so fearlessly towering above them were
an incarnation of one of the gods?  But no, the
pictures of their gods were far different from this:
they had cruel, wicked faces, like their own.  Still
they hesitated.  They had heard of this man, this
great doctor, of his wonderful cures.  Suppose, now,
he used his magic upon them, inflicting some sore
disaster, some awful punishment.  Paul St. John
noticed their indecision and took advantage of it to
whisper to the poor woman behind him to slip back
by degrees, and so make good her escape.  They
were standing together at the entrance of the
courtyard; the crowd, for the most part—the mad,
surging, bloodthirsty crowd—stood between them and
the house.  The eyes of the people seemed to be
drawn to him as the one central figure; they watched
him as a man on guard would watch every
movement of his opponent in a deadly duel.

Daig Ong was permitted to pass out unperceived,
and found refuge in a house belonging to one of the
native Christians.  When she was gone Paul St. John
breathed more freely.  He knew that unless
God wrought a special miracle in his favour this
could not last long; yet he felt no fear, Jesus had
never been so near.  It seemed to him that the Lord
was actually standing there beside him, and
something of the rapturous exaltation of his soul was
visible in his countenance.  He raised his hand to
speak.  The spell was broken.  With one hideous
cry, more dreadful, more cruel in its lust for blood
than that of any wild beast, they sprang at him and
threw him down and trod him underfoot.  It was
like a storm picture—you look out and see the
gallant little vessel battling with the waves, borne
up upon their crested billows, and the next moment
they roll over it, and only a ripple, a few bubbles,
show the place where it had been.  A few minutes
since, and Paul St. John had stood before them
like a beautiful avenging angel; now he lay there
silent and still, with his white face upturned to the
pitiless sky.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CECILIA CONTINUES HER STORY`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER IV.


.. class:: center medium

   CECILIA CONTINUES HER STORY.

.. vspace:: 2

So many dreadful things have happened since last
I told my story, that if I had not promised
Nina, I do not think I could have written any
more; but since the troubles began in China, Nina
and I agreed to write a little history of what is
happening every day, and afterwards we shall
compare notes, and then, as Mother says, it will interest
our friends at home, and perhaps some of the
Missionary papers may like the account for their
magazines.

It seems years since last I put down anything,
and yet it is only a few weeks ago since that day
when we were all together at Cheng-si.  How true
it is we know not what an hour may bring forth.  I
remember the day of which I am speaking so well;
it began so brightly, such a lovely morning.  Rachel
and I got up early and went into the garden with
father.  That hour seemed to me afterwards one of
the most precious in my life; it made one
understand a little of what the disciples must have felt
when the dear Lord Jesus had been laid in the tomb,
and they thought of the last time they were with
Him.  How tenderly they would recall His sweet,
gracious words, and His loving looks.

I felt like this about father when he was parted
from us.  We had been sitting in the garden with
him, Rachel and I, and he had been telling us
stories, when all of a sudden we heard a noise,
almost like the distant roar of the sea, and Seng Mi
told us the rioters were coming, and then we had to
say good-bye to father.  I wished, oh, so much, to
stay with him, but I could not disobey him, especially
when I knew it would only have increased his pain
and anxiety, but I crept out of the room where
mother and the others were, and went on to the
verandah which overlooks the court-yard.  Oh, it
was a dreadful sight!  I had never seen such fiendish,
cruel looking people before.  They had got hold of
poor Daig Ong and were going to beat her to death.
Father did not know anything of what was going
on when he first came out, the crowd being so dense
between him and Daig Ong, but I was above them,
and saw it all.  They dragged her along, shrieking
for mercy; it was dreadful!  I can hear her screams
now sometimes! and they tied her to one of the
posts at the entrance of the court-yard.  I pitied
poor Daig Ong with all my heart; I would have
done almost anything to save her, but when I saw
father I seemed to forget everything else but him.
Just then he looked round and saw me, and I cried
out to him to come up to us.  I could not help it,
though all the time I knew it was useless.  When I
saw that my being there only made him miserable,
I slipped back and ran to the room where mother
was and begged her to leave the others and come
with me, and all the time I cried to the dear Lord
Jesus to help us, and protect poor Daig Ong, and to
save father from the cruel people outside.  Mother
turned very white when I spoke to her.  She did
not know how to leave little baby Anna.  It was one
of baby's bad days.  She did not seem in any pain,
but she lay back in Nurse's arms very quiet and still,
and looked up at her with intently solemn eyes.

Mother had put on the Chinese dress, and all the
others were dressed in the same way; and appeared
ready to start at a moment's notice.  Mother's face
was very pale, but she had that patient, enduring
expression with which the martyr saints are always
drawn; it was only her eyes that were full of pain.
I do not know why I wished her to come, save that
I had always been accustomed to think she could do
anything, and to save father.

When we got down to the portico he was nowhere
to be seen.  We stood on the steps and looked out
over a vast sea of cruel, wicked faces.  At first I felt
no fear, partly because I was with mother, and then
it was such a relief to me to see that they had left off
beating Daig Ong, and that father was not there.  I
kept on wondering where he was, and felt sure he
had escaped with Daig Ong.

Now the great danger seemed to lie in the
possibility of their rushing the house.  Mother had
whispered to Nurse to take the others on the way
that had been arranged: through the Mission-house
and huts, out of the village, and we were to follow
afterwards.

As we stood there a grave Chinese gentleman
came up and took his place at our side.  I had
seen him sometimes when he came to study with
father, but had never spoken to him.  He came
quietly up and stood beside us, but he never once
turned to look at us, though mother looked up at him.

"Are you Mr. Li?" I heard her say.

"Yes," he replied, simply.  I saw a great wave of
relief sweep over her face.

"Do stay with us, do not leave us," she said.

"I intend to remain here," he replied, quietly,
but he did not even then turn and look at us.

"And you will do what you can?—My husband?"

He did not reply to the last, but only said very
simply—

"Madam, I came here on purpose to help you."

.. figure:: images/img-032.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: "I came here on purpose to help you."

   "I came here on purpose to help you."

"God bless you," said mother, fervently, and I
saw her lips move, and knew that she was praying.

Mr. Li was not a Christian, but he was so struck
by mother's wonderful calmness, the peace in which
she was kept when so many dreadful things were
happening all round her, that he felt he could hold
out no longer, and that very day he yielded his heart
to Christ.

By-and-by, Mr. Li said he thought it would be
best for us to get away as soon as possible.  He
promised to do what he could to protect the house
and the native Christians, and when we again spoke
of father, he said he had seen him helping Daig Ong
out at the back of the court-yard as he entered.

"I will find him," he added, "and will let him
know that I have seen you, and he will soon
overtake you."

And so we went away.  The others had started,
and we hurried after them; but first mother made
me put on the Chinese dress, and then, leaving the
deafening sounds behind us, we crept on into the
Mission-house.  We were only just in time.  As we
left the room, which mother locked behind her, we
heard someone trying the other door, and knew that
it would not be long before they forced the lock,
and then—

Mother hurried me on through the Mission-house,
carefully locking the doors behind us, on into the
first house, where we saw poor Daig Ong.  Mother
stopped to say a few words to her, and then we
passed on again; we dared not stay, for the rioters
might guess at our escape and bring us back again.
House after house we passed through safely, for the
people in the village knew us and loved us, until at
last we reached the road for Wei-hai-wei, and caught
a glimpse of Nurse and the others on a-head.  They
were going very slowly, and we soon overtook them.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A TERRIBLE WALK`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER V.


.. class:: center medium

   A TERRIBLE WALK.

.. vspace:: 2

Mother took baby Anna in her arms, and
baby smiled and touched mother's face with
her little hands, then looked up at the sky
again with that solemn, wondering look of hers; and
the next day, when the sun was setting, and its glory
fell on her little upturned face, Jesus called her to
Himself, and the angels carried her away from us to
Heaven.  It reminded me of a piece of poetry out of
a book of mother's, called "Voices of Comfort."  I
learnt it by heart to repeat to father, and if I can
remember it, I will write it down, because it is such
a lovely piece:—

   |  They are going—only going—
   |    Jesus called them long ago!
   |  All the wintry time they're passing,
   |    Softly as the falling snow.

   |  When the violets in the spring-time
   |    Catch the azure of the sky,
   |  They are carried out to slumber
   |    Sweetly where the violets lie.

   |  They are going—only going—
   |    When with summer earth is drest,
   |  In their cold hand holding roses,
   |    Folded to each silent breast.

   |  When the autumn hangs red banners
   |    Out above the harvest sheaves,
   |  They are going—ever going—
   |    Thick and fast, like falling leaves.

   |  All along the mighty ages
   |    All adown the solemn time,
   |  They have taken up their homeward
   |    March to that serener clime,

   |  Where the watching, waiting angels
   |    Lead them from the shadow dim,
   |  To the brightness of His presence,
   |    Who hath called them unto Him.

   |  They are going—only going—
   |    Out of pain and into bliss,
   |  Out of sad and sinful weakness,
   |    Into perfect holiness.

   |  Snowy brows—no care shall shade them;
   |    Bright eyes—tears shall never dim;
   |  Rosy lips—no time shall fade them;
   |    Jesus called them unto Him.

   |  Little hearts for ever stainless,
   |    Little hands as pure as they,
   |  Little feet—by angels guided
   |    Never a forbidden way.

   |  They are going—ever going—
   |    Leaving many a lonely spot;
   |  But 'tis Jesus who has called them;
   |    Suffer, and forbid them not!
   |

Rachel said baby Anna died because she thought
it would be much nicer to go to Heaven than to
Wei-hai-wei—but the little ones did not understand
it at all, they seemed to imagine she was away on a
visit.  Tiny Tim said he hoped they would be kind
to her where she had gone, and give her a lot of
presents; and we all kissed her little white face—it
looked like a flower somehow—and folded her sweet
hands on her breast, and then the rest went on, all
but mother and me, and we laid her gently down,
strewing the earth lightly over her, and covering her
little grave with flowers.  Then we knelt beside her
and prayed, and after a little time we walked on and
overtook the others.  Nurse said it was a good thing
baby Anna died, because the poor little thing would
have suffered so much, and I knew mother thought
so too, but still she could not help quietly crying,
because her arms were so very empty.  I shall never
forget that walk to Wei-hai-wei.  Rachel thought it
was great fun at first, and so did Jack and Jill.  They
liked wearing the Chinese dresses and doing no
lessons, but they soon got tired of walking, especially
Tiny Tim, who kept on calling out for father to come
and carry him.

The sun was very hot, but we were obliged to
press on, we were so much afraid of being pursued
and taken back again.  Sometimes we would see a
band of rioters coming, and have to leave the road
and hide; and once we were overtaken, and the
people looked at us very fiercely and called us
"foreign devils."  Tiny Tim was very frightened,
and hid his face in mother's dress, and I thought we
should be killed.  Somehow I did not feel much
fear.  I remembered the talk I had with father, and
Jesus was very near, and it seemed much better to
go to Him and be at rest for ever than to be hungry
and faint and tired, and to go through the pain of so
many partings as we had gone through lately.  But
the Chinese did not kill us as they did so many of
the missionaries.  I think they were afraid to do so,
as we were getting nearer every hour to places where
English soldiers were; but they took away a great
many of our clothes, and stole our money.  Nurse
had her money in her hand, and they beat her
knuckles with a stick till she dropped it, and then
they ran away laughing.

When we got to the first village we asked to see
the Mandarin, and told him how we had been treated;
our clothes and money taken, and how were we to
get on, and what should we do for food?  But instead
of helping us, he was very cruel indeed.  He hated
the Christians, and said he wished we had come
yesterday, as then he would have killed us all, but
now he had had orders, owing to the Empress being
so merciful, not to do so, but just to send the "foreign
devils" away.  So he sent us on to the next village,
and though we were tired and hungry yet we were
glad to go, as he seemed so fierce and cruel.  In the
next village the Mandarin was kinder, and gave us a
little rice to eat, but he said he could not keep us.
This happened in all the villages through which we
passed.

Sometimes they would give us a little food, but
they would not allow us to rest or give us any carts
to ride in.  They always took us outside the village,
and then went away.  Mother said afterwards it was
because they were afraid of killing us, and yet they
did not wish to have us with them.  It was a weary,
weary time, especially for the little ones, but through
it all God never forsook us; indeed we seemed to be
kept in constant communion with Him, and as we
drew near to Wei-hai-wei a most wonderful thing
happened.

We were very weary, and sat down by the roadside
to rest.  The children said they could not walk a
step farther, and though it was not, of course, quite
safe to do so, yet we were so near a place of safety
that mother made up her mind to rest there for the
night.  We went a little off the high road, to a place
as much screened from observation as possible.
Mother and Nurse sat down and made the little ones
as comfortable as they could, and then, as we always
did, we asked God to take care of us and be very
present with us during the night.  We had hardly
gone off to sleep when we heard steps approaching
Tramp, tramp, came the footsteps, nearer and nearer.
I was wide awake in a moment, and my heart stood
still, for, in the gathering darkness, I saw plainly a
tall Chinaman approaching.  He seemed to be alone,
but this might not be the case.  What if he were the
leader of a band of Boxers!  I did not mind so much
for myself, but I could not bear to think of the others
being tortured and killed.  He looked terrible in the
darkness as he came towards us.  I did not know
what to do.  I only thought, in a wild kind of way,
that I would go to him and ask him to take my life
and not to waken the others.  I could talk Chinese
a little, and hoped to be able to make him understand.
I got up quickly, without even disturbing
mother—she was sleeping heavily, for sorrow, as the
disciples of old—and as he strode over the ground
which divided us I rushed up to him and put out my
hands, and then I remembered nothing more till I
heard a voice—a loved voice that I never thought to
hear again in this world.  I dreamed I was in
Heaven with father, and he wore a Chinese dress,
but when I came rather painfully back to earth again,
the first thing I was conscious of was that I was in
the arms of the tall Chinaman I had seen.

.. figure:: images/img-039.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: As he strode over the ground which divided us, I rushed up to him and put out my hands.

   As he strode over the ground which divided us, I rushed up to him and put out my hands.

"Don't hurt them," I cried out in an agony,
"kill me instead, but do not hurt them: they have
suffered so much already."

"Cicely, my darling, don't you know me?"

The voice again.  I was so weak and unnerved,
or I should have recognized before my own precious
father.  I went off once more then, this time for joy
and thankfulness, and woke to feel his strong arms
round me, and knew that God was good, and that
my pain was over.  My care and anxiety was gone,
for was not father with us again?  Were not his
arms round me?

"Humanly speaking," said father, in answer to
our breathless questions, "my escape is all owing
to Mr. Li.  He stood between me and what would
probably have been a torturing death.  I was struck
down, and when they saw I was not dead, their
rage knew no bounds—and that noble fellow defended
me, and did what he could to protect our property
till the Mandarin came.  The Mandarin put me in
prison, but Mr. Li rescued me, provided me with
this dress, gave me food and money for the journey,
brought me on my way, and here I am.  I often
thought of Onesiphorus.  'He oft refreshed me,
and was not ashamed of my chain.'  Thank God!
Our loss has been his unspeakable gain.  He told
me last Tuesday night that he could hold out no
longer.  He was full of wonder at the peace in
which we were kept whilst death was so near and
our property was being destroyed, and especially at
your calmness, my darling.  Under God it was just
the touch that was required.  He yielded then and
there, and gave himself to Christ.  He is anxious
to make a public profession of his faith by being
baptized as soon as ever the opportunity
occurs.  He will make a splendid Christian, for
he has counted the cost and found Christ worthy."

"Thank God," said mother, fervently, "this one
soul saved is worth all the pain."

"I knew you would feel like this, Christine.
The Lord has been very good to him and to us.
He has brought us all together again.  We are all
here, are we not, dear wife?"

Mother did not answer, but I saw her bosom
heave.  Father looked round anxiously, and the
tears slowly welled into his eyes.  He put his arm
round mother.

"It is all right, Christine," I heard him whisper.
"He knows best.  She has been saved so much
pain.  When was it, my dearest?"

"Last Wednesday, Paul."

"And to-day is Friday.  Three days in heaven
beholding the face of the Father.  Let us thank
Him, dear wife, for this also."

We all knelt down upon the grass, and after that
I heard father and mother talking far on into the
night, and, looking up, I saw God's stars in His
sky, and felt how very near He was, and then I
went to sleep, and the next day, towards evening,
we met some English soldiers and arrived at
Wei-hai-wei.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`NINA'S STORY`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VI.


.. class:: center medium

   NINA'S STORY.

.. vspace:: 2

I promised my cousin Cicely St. John that I
would write a little history of what took place
after we were separated from one another.  She
is going to do the same; and then some day
when we go back to England we shall get it all put
together and have it published in one big book.  It
has always been my ambition to write a book, and I
am quite sure that I can write.  People all have
their particular gifts—writing is one of mine.  I
was not very good when I was at school, but I
never found the essays any trouble at all.  And
when I was fourteen I got a five-shilling prize in a
magazine, and my story was published in the
Christmas number.  It was illustrated, and the
picture in the place of honour on the cover.  I was
so delighted about it and so was father, but then he
always does love everything I do.  People say he
spoils me, and perhaps he does; all I can say is, it
is very nice being spoilt!  I am always happier
when I am with father and his friends than with
girls of my own age.

I never cared much for girls; the little ones talk
about their dolls and the big ones about their
clothes.  I like hearing father and his brother
officers talk and tell tales of sport and adventure.
Of course I know father would have liked me to
have been a boy.  He must have been disappointed,
though he never said so, because then I should have
been a soldier like he is, and gone to the war in
South Africa, or perhaps have been here in Pekin,
just as we are now.

It is a month since we came to the Celestial City,
and such a long time since I stayed with Uncle
Paul and Aunt Christine.  We went to them when
we first came out to China.  I had never seen them
in my life before.

.. figure:: images/img-045.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: The Pagoda at Pekin.

   The Pagoda at Pekin.

Cicely is different from other girls, and I love her
dearly.  She is much younger than I am, two years
younger, but she seems almost as old.  She is so
grave and a little old-fashioned; somehow I feel
better when I am with her and Uncle Paul—they
make me want to be good.  I often wonder where
they are, and hope things are not as bad for them
as they are with us, for here in the Celestial City
things look very black indeed.  Father wishes he
had left me behind in Wei-hai-wei, but I would
much rather be with him, even though the worst
comes and he has to kill me himself.  Uncle Paul
thinks one ought not to do this, but then Uncle Paul
is an angel.  When I am with him I feel all the
time a longing after something better.  I told
Mrs. Ross about him.  Mrs. Ross is my great friend here.
She is young and very pretty, and she met Uncle
Paul once.  When I told her what he made me feel
like, she said, "Yes, I know, dear, he makes you feel
as if you didn't care how your frock fitted, but when
you get away you think to yourself you may as well
look as nice as you can."  Mrs. Ross has only been
married a few months.  She came here just after
her honeymoon.  She has the most wonderful eyes
I have ever seen, like the stars in the soft, dark sky.
She and I and nearly always together, though she is
years older than I am.  Still she says she is very glad
to have me for her friend, as there are so few girls
out here.  Captain Ross looks stern and troubled,
and very careworn, but all the men have that
expression now, and if only you saw the faces of the
Chinese you would not wonder much; they are so
dreadfully cruel and revengeful, and they look at us
as if they hate us and would like to murder us all.
If they killed people outright it would not be so
dreadful; but they torture a person for days first;
they do this to their own people, how much more
then to us, if they had us in their power?

It is the cruel Empress who hates the foreigners,
and it is her emissaries who have stirred up the
people against us.  The Boxers are her tools really,
and the ignorant people are told all kinds of things
which they believe, that the Europeans take their
little children and kill them, and that it is our
presence here which causes the lack of rain, and
then they pretend to see most wonderful apparitions,
those who appear always bearing the same message,
"Kill! kill!"  The other day they declared that a
marvellous vision appeared in the sky; it was a
spirit girl, they said, with a lamp in her hand.
Father and I went out to see it, but of course we
did not see the girl, but only a brilliant light in the
sky, and the Chinese, who are very superstitious,
imagined the rest.  But what caused more stir and
alarm than anything else was the mysterious Red
Hand which suddenly appeared in Pekin.  Mrs. Ross
and I saw it on a house one day, and then
again on another, and as the people caught sight of
these dreadful Red Hands they gesticulated wildly,
and seemed terribly excited.  Mrs. Ross was very
frightened, as she thought it meant that the Boxers
were going to kill all the inmates of the houses on
which the Red Hand appeared, but Captain Ross
said he had been told by someone who knew that
we, the foreign devils, were accused of marking the
houses, and wherever this dreadful mark appeared a
curse was sure to follow; in seven days one of the
inmates would go mad, or in fourteen days they
would die.  This was just before a most dreadful
event occurred.





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.. _`A PAINFUL DISCOVERY`:

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   CHAPTER VII.


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   A PAINFUL DISCOVERY.

.. vspace:: 2

Several days passed by.  One gets
accustomed to everything, and we were getting
used to the big fires at night and all the
mysterious warnings we had had, and I was
getting very tired of not being able to run about as
in the old days before we came to Pekin.  It was a
lovely morning, and I made up my mind to go round
and see my friend, Mrs. Ross.  I was allowed to go
and see Mrs. Ross, but when there I was never
supposed to be out of her sight.  Father was busy
when I left, so I did not see him, but Phoebe, our
old servant, followed me with a great many
injunctions and warnings—at which, I am sorry to say, I
only laughed.  The sunshine seemed to intoxicate
me—I revelled in it—I could no longer feel any fear;
afterwards I thought I must have been mad that
morning.  I turned round in the middle of my flight
down the path which led to the house in which
Captain and Mrs. Ross lived.

"Phoebe," I cried, shaking back my curls, which,
somehow, always would come tumbling about my
face, "Phoebe, you may depend upon it the Chinese
are not nearly so black as they're painted; anyway,
black or yellow, or whatever they are, it's a lovely
day, and I'm going to enjoy myself."

"And what am I to tell your pa, Miss Nina?"

"Oh, tell him anything you like—why, tell him
the truth to be sure—that I've gone to spend the
morning with Mrs. Ross."

"Miss Nina, I don't like the looks of you this
morning.  When your eyes are as if there was little
imps a-dancing in 'em, then I looks out for squalls."

"Thank you, Phoebe," I said, laughing and
making her a mocking curtsey.  "My eyes feel very
flattered, I can assure you."

"Oh, they're well enough, and bright enough,"
she replied, grudgingly, "but I should like to see a
bit more soberness about them; why, when I was
your age, miss, I was married.  Mr. Larkins—

"Poor man," I ejaculated under my breath.

Phoebe did not hear; she was lost in reminiscences
of the past.

"Poor, dear Mr. Larkins, he were took quite
sudden like; his mother died of heart complaint,
and yet I never thought to say to Larkins, 'Who
knows, my dear, but you might be took the same
yourself, one day.'"

"I should think not, Phoebe; it would have made
poor Mr. Larkins very uncomfortable if you had.  I
daresay," I added, under my breath, "he was none
too happy as it was," but, like all deaf people, the
very thing I did not mean her to hear she heard at
once, and turned upon me angrily.

"Not happy, miss!  As happy as the day was long
was Mr. Larkins, and a deal happier if the days be
these here days in China."

"Oh, Phoebe, the day is bright enough; there is
nothing wrong with that."

"The day is all right for them as wasn't kept
awake all night by those bloodthirsty villains."

"I heard nothing, Phoebe; I was asleep."

"It's all very well for them as can sleep; but,
there, you're only a child, after all."

"Why, Phoebe, you said a minute ago that I was
old enough to be married," and with this parting
shot I ran away.

Poor old Phoebe; our troubles pressed sore upon
her.  I had never seen her so put out before.  She
had been in our family for forty years, and was,
therefore, privileged to be very disagreeable
sometimes.  As I ran down the path I met Mr. Crawford;
he saluted, hesitated, and finally stopped short.

"Whither away, Miss Nina?"

He had such a kind, honest face, one of those you
feel instinctively you can trust.

"I am going to see Mrs. Ross."

"All by yourself?  Pardon me, does the Colonel
know of your intention?"

"Oh, yes—that is, I don't know; father was out
when I left, but Phoebe saw me go, and I had to
listen to lectures yards long.  I hope," I added,
saucily, "that I shall not have to listen to any more."

His boyish face had grown quite grave, his honest
eyes had a look of apprehension in them, but he
spoke lightly.

"I see you are a very determined young lady, but
perhaps you will allow me to accompany you so far;
then, when I have seen you safe in Mrs. Ross's
hands, I can make my report to the Colonel and set
his mind at rest."

"Oh, you can come if you like," I replied, grandly.
I was accustomed to have a great deal of attention;
indeed, I could not have received much more had I
been a little princess.  "One would think I was the
most precious thing in the world."

"Well, are you not?" he asked, gravely.

"It depends what precious means," I replied,
sapiently.  "If it means very good, I am afraid I am
not that—at least, not half so good as Cicely."

"Who is Cicely?"

"Cicely St. John; she is my cousin; she is altogether
lovely," I cried, with enthusiasm, "and so is
Uncle Paul; he is a missionary out here at Chen-si."

"A missionary—and at Chen-si—then God help him!"

He said the last under his breath, but I heard him.

"Oh, Mr. Crawford," I cried, earnestly, for I love
Uncle Paul dearly, "you do not think he is in
danger?"

"I should think he probably left, Miss Nina,
before the troubles began, and you know," reassuringly,
"'Ill news flies apace,' so that, as you have
heard nothing to the contrary, you may take it for
granted he is all right."

We had got to the end of our walk now, but
he opened the gate for me, and still lingered.

"I want to know that you are quite safe," he said,
smiling.  "You see what a gaoler I am.  Ah, there
is Mrs. Ross."

I ran to her and kissed her joyfully.

"Nina, darling, how delightful; come to spend a
long day with me, I hope?"

"I should like to," I replied, "if Mr. Crawford
will let father know."

"Your obedient slave, Miss Nina; I will be sure
to acquaint the Colonel, and now I must be going."

"Won't you come in, Mr. Crawford?" said Mrs. Ross.

"I fear I cannot," he replied.  "I have to report
myself at headquarters.  I was on guard last
night."

"Any fresh news?" asked Mrs. Ross.

"Nothing but the usual story of the last few days.
They have been firing a lot more houses, and the
visions and apparitions are as numerous as ever."

"And the Red Hand?" asked Mrs. Ross,
shuddering.

"Oh, we have got quite accustomed to it by this
time," he replied.

He spoke lightly to reassure us, but it was easy to
detect a vein of apprehensiveness behind his light
tone.

Mrs. Ross looked pensive, and this pensive look
added to her beauty and made her entrancing.

"Well, Nina," she said, when we were alone,
"what would you like to do this morning?"

"Anything you like, darling," I replied, eagerly.
"I am so tired of doing nothing and sitting in all
day.  I know what I should like," I cried, excitedly;
"I should like to go into the park."

"The park?" said Mrs. Ross, turning her liquid
gaze to the window.  "Yes, it looks inviting this
morning.  I wonder if we could.  I fear George
would not like it—he can't bear me to leave the
house; but, really, everything seems very quiet this
morning, I don't see why we shouldn't go a little
way.  One does get so tired, as you say, of sitting in
the house.  It seems strange," she added, smiling,
"the park being such an excitement to us.  It was
positively none when we could go any day, but
'Circumstances alter cases,' to quote a very trite
proverb, and I fear you and I, Nina, are very
human, and share the universal longing for what is
out of reach."

"Yes.  Do you know," I replied, laughing,
"father never will forbid me anything, because he
says he knows I should want to do it immediately?"

"What a character you are giving yourself,"
smiling.  "At any rate you are true; and, if you
loved, you would be easily guided."

"Yes, that is it," I cried.  "I would do anything
for love's sake; I love father, and so I would not
hurt him for the world; his wishes are my law."

"Do you know," said Mrs. Ross, turning her
lovely eyes on me with a new expression in their
depths, "without meaning it, you have exactly
described the relationship which exists between the
renewed soul and the Father?  I shall never forget
that sermon your uncle preached on that subject.
'And because ye are sons, God has sent forth the
Spirit of His Son into your hearts, crying, Abba,
Father.'  I don't know what makes me tell you this,
but I have never felt the same since that day."

"No one ever does feel the same after meeting
Uncle Paul; but the worst of it is I get so naughty
again when I am away from him."

"So very, very naughty," she said, playfully, "and
this is one of your wicked deeds I fear, and I am
aiding and abetting you."

"You darling," I said, fondly, locking my arms in
hers, "I don't know what I should have done in this
place without you; and what a nice morning this is,
and how pleasant it is here under the trees."

"Yes, but we had better keep the house in view;
you see I have the caution which comes with age!"

And so we strolled on under the trees, and forgot
our troubles for one short morning.  The air seemed
deliciously sweet and fresh, though, a few days later,
it grew unbearably hot.  We were just thinking of
returning to the house when in the distance I saw a
curious object on the ground; it lay under the trees
about 200 yards away, and nothing would content
me but that I must go and find out what it was.  In
vain Mrs. Ross expostulated, and pointed out the
danger of going so far and getting out of touch with
the houses; the spirit of mischief prompted me, and
I ran away laughing.  Lilian followed, entreating
me to stop, but, I am sorry to say, the more excited
she grew the more I laughed and the faster I ran—on
and on, until I got quite close to the object which
had excited my curiosity.  Judge of my horror when,
on looking down, I found it was one of our own
soldiers lying there, dead; he had evidently been
murdered by the Boxers.

I felt sobered in a moment.  The beauty of the
day had gone, and the sun seemed cruel now, as it
blazed pitilessly down on the man's white, upturned
face.  I recognized him at once, for he had been for
years in my father's regiment, and was a great
favourite with us all.

And now he lay there in the bright sunshine,
dead.  I knelt by his side, quite forgetting the
danger we were in, until Lilian Ross came up and
almost dragged me away.

"Nina," she said, "you must be mad; come back
with me this instant.  We are out of sight of home,
and any moment we may be stopped."

I rose sobbing, and quite subdued now, prepared
to follow her quietly, feeling indifferent to
everything.  It was too late.  As we retraced our steps,
we heard wild shouting and cries, that awful
cry that woke the stillness of the night—"Kill,
kill."

Lilian turned as white as snow.  I realized that it
was through my rashness; we were probably
doomed to a cruel death.  I felt it keenly, because I
saw that I had sacrificed Lilian as well as myself,
but she never reproached me.

"Nina," she whispered, hurriedly, "have you got
your satchet with you?"

The fear in her lovely eyes was reflected, I know,
in mine.

"Yes," I said, fumbling with my hand in the
bosom of my dress, "it is here."

"That is right, we may need it.  I do not fear
death, not since I met Mr. St. John; but
torture—" and she shuddered.

"Oh, Lilian, and I have brought you to this.  I
shall never forgive myself—never."

"You did not mean it, darling."

"No, but it comes to the same thing."

"It may be possible for us to escape, even now;
let us take this turn, Nina, it will lead us round by
the other entrance."

The horrid sounds were coming nearer—we turned
to flee, but it was too late.  They caught a glimpse
of us as we disappeared, and with wild, horrible
cries they came rushing after us.  A sensation of
cruel fear—the knowledge that certain death stared
us in the face—a quick review, as in a mirror, of all
my past life—an agonized prayer for help, a sickening
sensation of pain—and then a blank.  And then——





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.. _`TAKEN PRISONER`:

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   CHAPTER VIII.


.. class:: center medium

   TAKEN PRISONER.

.. vspace:: 2

I was in a vast hall, and Lilian Ross stood
by my side.  How we got there I did not
know, I only knew that we were there and still
alive, that death was yet to come.  At the other end
of the hall, upon a kind of red dais, stood a man.  I
suppose he was a man, but he appeared to me to be
more like a personation of the evil one, he had such
a cruel, wicked face; and, as he sat glowering there,
he looked as if he would like to devour us, so great
was his hatred and wrath.  One or two men were
near him, but, for the most part, they stood in a
vast circle, leaving a clear space in the centre for
us, and, as they glared at us, they brandished their
spears and shrieked for our blood.  They seemed
more like wild beasts than men.  Then one who
stood near the throne began to gesticulate, and
brandish his horrid, blood-stained spear, but the
man on the raised dais smiled.  His smile was worse
than the other's fury, and then he said a few words.
I could not understand it all, but I knew enough of
Chinese to guess that we were to die a lingering
death of agony.  The implements of torture were
all round us, and these men thirsted for our blood;
indeed, they seemed to be mad with the lust for blood;
but there were preliminaries to be gone through;
they would not touch us until they had performed
their horrid ceremonies.  Waving their hands and
brandishing their spears, they seemed to be
mingling in some kind of weird dance.

In the centre was a blood-stained stone, and, as
they sang, they bowed down until their spears
touched this stone.  They seemed by these terrible
orgies to be working themselves up to a still greater
pitch of fury.  Every moment I expected to be our
last, for it seemed as if they would not be able much
longer to restrain themselves, but would tear us to
pieces in their fury.

I closed my eyes and shuddered.  We clung to
each other and tried to pray.  Then I found out
that they were speaking to us.  I could not understand
all that they said, but I understood enough to
know that they wished us to abjure our religion.
We were to deny Christ, and fall down and worship
their horrible idols.  If we did this, they promised
us our lives.  It was a deadly temptation.  Lilian
thought of her husband, and I thought of father;
and we were young, and life was sweet, and it was
so horrible to die without saying good-bye to
anyone.  Perhaps people in England will wonder and
blame us that it was a temptation to us at all, but I
heard Uncle Paul say once that temptation was not
sin: that it only becomes sin when we yield.  They
say that times of great persecution are times of
decision, too.  I had not cared much for Christ in
the old days; I had not been like Uncle Paul or
Cicely—I had been careless and thoughtless; but
now, with a cruel death staring me in the face, now,
I chose Him.  I turned to Lilian.  "Christ for
me," I said, in reply to her questioning look, and
all my heart seemed on fire and my soul to be full
of love.  Lilian had made the choice also—I read
the answer on her face before she spoke.  Terribly
frightened as I was, I gazed at her in the keenest
admiration; her beautiful hair had become loosened,
and now fell over her shoulders in a mass of gold;
her lovely starlight eyes, pure and steadfast as those
of any pictured saint, were fixed on our persecutors.

"Nina," she said to me in a whisper, "I do not
know whether they would allow us to take that
poison, but even if it were possible I think it would
be better not to do so.  We are in God's hands, and
they cannot touch a hair of our heads until He gives
them permission."

"Yes," I replied, "I agree with you—it's difficult,
of course, to know if a thing is right or wrong now,
but Uncle Paul would not have done it.  I will
follow him."

They seemed to be making some horrid preparations
at the other end of the room—our time had come;
we felt that and prepared to die.  It's all very well
to read about these things in a story, but unless you
have passed through it yourself, you can have no idea
of the horror and fear and deadly anticipation of
coming woe which we felt.  I was positively sick
with terror, but I also felt full of an overwhelming
love—I knew that Christ was worth all and more
than all.

I whispered to Lilian that it would soon be
over, and a text came running into my mind,
"Our light affliction which is but for a moment,
worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal
weight of glory."

They seemed to have completed their preparations
now, and came toward us with horrid cries.

"Oh, Lilian, do pray that we may be kept."

"Yes, yes, darling, it will soon be over, and then
the glory."

I just remember that—I know they seized us;
they tore us away from each other.  And then I can
recall nothing but some awful place of pain—a place
of confusion and horrible noise and terrible suffering
and then a blank, which seemed to last for years and
years—then Lilian's voice, very faint, very far
away—then a little nearer, a little louder.

"Are you better, darling?"

"Yes" (my voice was so weak, I could hardly hear
it myself), "have I been ill?"

"Very, very ill, but you are better now, thank
God, thank God."

"Where are we, Lilian?"

"In a kind of a cave at the back of a house."

"But how did we get here, I want to know all
about it."

"I wonder if you are strong enough to hear more now?"

"Yes, yes," I cried, feverishly; "it will make me
much worse not to know."

"Well," she replied, soothingly, "I think it would,
and you must not agitate yourself.  Now I will give
you a cooling draught, and then you must lie quite
still, and I will tell you everything."

"You won't hide anything, will you?  I want to
know what happened after that dreadful torture,"
and I shuddered.

"You were not tortured, darling; what their
intentions were I do not know.  I think they did
mean to put us to a cruel death, but God is over all
and prevented it."

"But why have I been ill then, Lilian?  I am
sure I could not have fancied it all."

"My poor darling, you had a dreadful blow—they
pushed us so violently apart that you fell with your
head against that platform; it was a horrid cut, but
it is healing up nicely now."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, the sight of your blood, instead of calling
forth their compassion, only seemed to infuriate
them, and as I knelt beside you and tried to staunch
the blood, I thought all was lost; but just at that
moment a wonderful thing happened: I heard a
great noise at the far end of the hall—two men had
entered, and one of them was violently gesticulating.
It appears that enormous rewards have been
promised for our discovery, and this man had
undertaken to find us.  I could not make out what
they said, but, no doubt, you would have been able
to do so.  The other man, who was scholarly and
refined-looking, and altogether of a different type,
seemed for some reason or other to have great
influence with them.  He did not say much, but
when he did speak they listened, and gradually they
ceased to brandish their spears, and after what
seemed an eternity to me, I saw that they had given
up the idea of murdering us, at any rate for the
present.  What arguments these men used, of course,
I do not know, but anything like the expression of
concentrated disappointment and rage on the faces
of those who would have killed us, I have never seen.
It makes me shudder to think of it now.  An order
was then given, and we, or rather, I was marched off,
for you, poor darling, were past marching or doing
anything.  The two strange men picked you up, not
un-gently, and we moved off; it seemed to me along,
long way.  Then there was another altercation, but
at last it was decided that we should be taken to this
house, and here we have been ever since.  These two
men guard us; if you look through the room opening
out of this into the courtyard, you will see one of
them standing there now.  I do not know what
their intentions are, but I conclude they are
friendly—at any rate, we have not been molested by the
Boxers since that terrible morning; and they have
been kind and attentive in bringing us food; and
once, when you were very ill, they brought a
Chinese doctor to see you.  I think we must either be
outside or else very near the walls of the city; at any
rate, it's a long, long way from the Legation.  Now
that you are better and can speak you will be able
to talk to them; my great difficulty has been that
understanding the language so little I have not been
able to converse with them at all."

.. figure:: images/img-063.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: "You will see one of them standing there now."

   "You will see one of them standing there now."





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.. _`A DISCOVERY`:

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   CHAPTER IX.


.. class:: center medium

   A DISCOVERY.

.. vspace:: 2

"See," I said, "he is looking our way.  I should
like to speak to him."

"But, dear child, are you strong enough?"

"Yes, yes," I cried, feverishly.  "Do ask
him, Lilian, to come here."

Lilian beckoned to him, and he came and stood
in the doorway—a tall, imposing-looking figure,
with an air of dignity about his dark, intellectual
face.

I had talked to him only a few moments when
I uttered an exclamation of delight.

Lilian looked at me a little apprehensively, and,
catching sight of my face in the mirror opposite, I
saw that it was flushed, and that my eyes burnt like
diamonds.

"Darling," Mrs. Ross whispered, soothingly, "I
fear this will be too much for you."

"Oh, no," I cried, excitedly.  "It is joy, Lilian,
joy.  This man comes straight from Chen-si, from
Uncle Paul; he is a convert, and will be baptized soon."

Lilian looked radiant.

"How wonderful it all is!" she said, softly.  "How
the Lord has overshadowed us!  I cannot the least
grasp it yet, but no doubt you will find out all
about it."

"Yes, just fancy, Lilian; it's Mr. Li.  Cicely has
so often mentioned him in her letters, he is such a
clever man, and used to come to read with Uncle
Paul; but I did not know that he had become a
Christian."

"I arrived in Pekin," Mr. Li was saying to me,
"the very day you were captured.  I had some
knowledge of the man Wang—indeed, I was able to
benefit him once—and he is attached to me in his
way, but we must not depend upon him.  I fear he
is wholly influenced by mercenary motives; it will
not be wise to address me when he is here, and I
need hardly tell you that he has not the smallest
suspicion that I have any knowledge of you.  He
wants the reward which has been offered; he met me
as I was making my way into the city, and, knowing
that I had some influence with the soldiers, he asked
me to go with him to see if it were possible to save
you.  Thank God, we arrived at the Hall just in time."

"Thank God," we both said, or, rather, we
almost breathed it from the depths of our being.

A moment's silence followed.

"Does my father know that we are safe?" I
asked, anxiously.

"Yes," said Mr. Li, soothingly, "and your
husband also," and for the first time he turned his
grave gaze on Lilian.  "And there was another,
too, a young man, very young; when he heard
that you were prisoners, he begged the Colonel
to let him go at once; he said he had the strength
of ten men, and that he would fight his way to you
or die."

I did not say a word.  I turned my head and
remained silent, but I saw a young, bronzed face,
and a pair of steadfast, blue eyes, that had never
been shadowed by fear or indecision.

"Of course, it would have been madness," Mr. Li
went on, calmly, "if would simply have meant
death to everyone concerned.  The Colonel saw that
at a glance, as the Legations are fast closed now,
and every man is wanted to defend them.  Your
only hope of deliverance lies in stratagem.  This
man carried news to the Colonel to-day, and will
probably bring you a message, but I have plans,"
said Mr. Li.  "I do not see the least use in
returning to Pekin, there is only danger there; on the
contrary, I should advise escape."

"Yes," we both said, "if only that were possible,
but how?"

"I will tell you," he replied, and, as he spoke, the
ghost of a smile lighted up his dark face, "there is a
gentleman without the gates whom you both know;
he has been making his way from Wei-hai-wei,
whither he has conducted his wife and children in
safety."

"Uncle Paul?" I cried.  "Is he here?  Why did he
come?"

"He came because he knew you were at Pekin,
and guessed you might want him."

"It is just like him; oh, I do hope he is not
in danger."

"Rest assured," he replied, gently, "he is in
God's hands, and he is doing what is right.  He
runs less risk than an ordinary foreigner, as he is a
doctor as well as a missionary.  I think the rioters
at Chen-si could hardly have been aware of this fact
when they attacked him."

"God keep him safe," we both murmured fervently.

"Amen," said Mr. Li.  "How wonderfully God
has worked hitherto.  I arrived at Pekin the very
day I could be of service to you.  I knew that
Mr. St. John was coming on here, and I have held
communication with him already."

"How can he help us?" asked Mrs. Ross.

"In this way," he replied.  "You cannot get into
the Legation, it is fast closed, and help cannot come
from there, for even if it were possible for a man to
escape, he would be murdered when he set his foot
outside the walls."—Mr. Li little knew of the
strength, and courage, and determination of which
Englishmen are capable.—"Hope lies in another
direction altogether; from this house there are
secret passages which lead out of Pekin; the Boxers
know nothing of them, for," he added, with a touch
of pardonable pride, "they were devised with great
care, and were the work of many years."

"Does this house belong to you?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied, "the construction of these
underground passages was a source of great interest
to me in the past.  I do not think that anyone
in Pekin knows of their existence, for, when they
were constructed, I employed Chen-si people.  I
knew nothing of God then, and yet all the time He
was directing me to build them for your deliverance."

"It is marvellous," said Mrs. Ross, softly.  "I
suppose our gravest danger lies in remaining here?"

"That is so," he replied, gravely.  "When Miss
Nina" (he had caught my name at once, though he
pronounced it in a curious kind of way) "is well
enough, we must start at once."

"I am well now," I cried, and tried to rise, but I
sank back trembling.

"No," he replied, "I fear we have been talking
too long; the excitement has been too much
for you."

"Yes, Nina darling, do try and rest, or you will
be ill again."

I felt that what they said was true; my head
swam, my blood seemed to be on fire; as I became
delirious, I thought I heard Lilian say:—

"I wish Mr. St. John could see her," and afar off,
it seemed to me, another voice replied:—

"It might be possible to-night."

After that I heard nothing more.  I had, instead,
a terrible dream.  I thought there was a fire.  It
was an awful sight; the flames seemed to scorch me
as they leaped up, ruddy and bright, into the
heavens, and those cruel men who had tried to kill
us, armed with pitchforks, forced me nearer and ever
nearer to the flames.  I shrieked for mercy, but they
only laughed as they pushed me in.  And then I was
on fire, I was burning.  Oh, the unutterable agony
of that burning!  I tried to escape, but I could not,
for they formed a ring round me, and shouted and
danced in horrid glee; and then, all of a sudden I
looked up, and beyond the fire I saw a face that
I seemed to know quite well, it had mingled with my
dreams, with my prayers so often lately—the face of
the Christ—He whom I loved, whom I had chosen.
I saw His face as I had loved to picture it, all worn
as it were with the sorrows, and pain, and woes of
humanity, and, withal, crowned with ineffable
patience and sweetness.  I was falling back into the
flames, but He held out His hand, and the demons
gave way and melted into thin air.  Oh, that strong
right hand of His!  He caught me, and the burning
all seemed to go, and the flames were extinguished.
I was floating in some lake of ambrosial coolness, a
delicious kind of languor stole over me, and the face
of the Christ bent over me and smiled.  And then,
somehow, as in a dream He vanished, and Uncle
Paul was there in His stead.  I still lay on the
couch, the only difference being that Uncle Paul was
there, his left arm under my head, and in his right
he held a cordial, part of which I had swallowed.

"She will do now," I heard him say, "and if she
is left absolutely quiet we can get away to-morrow."  I
heard it all as in a dream, nothing seemed to
surprise or trouble me, but as I sank into a delicious
sleep I heard someone say, without taking in the
meaning of the words, or being in the least alarmed
by them:—

"It might be fatal to remain here another night."





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.. _`A DARING ATTEMPT`:

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   CHAPTER X.


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   A DARING ATTEMPT.

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It was a hot, sultry night, but in the Legations
people had other things to think of besides the
weather.  Another day of suspense and
agitation had passed.  An Envoy had appeared, and
a letter couched in the usual terms of studied
Chinese politeness, purporting to be from Prince
Ching, had been discovered posted on the gates.
They were grieved indeed that the foreigners had
broken the peace by firing on their troops, thus
stirring up unfriendly relations!  Their only wish
was to establish peace, and they concluded by
suggesting that all the foreign ministers should
leave the Legations in detachments, to be
protected by trustworthy officers whom the
Chinese would themselves select; so great was
their affection for the foreigners, and so intense
their anxiety to protect them!  But *not a single
armed foreign soldier* could be permitted to pass
out, as this would only have caused doubt and
suspicion in the breasts of the peaceable Chinese!
An answer must be sent at once, or consequences
might follow which it would be impossible to
prevent, notwithstanding the depth and extent of
their affection for all the foreigners residing in
the Legations at Pekin!  This manifesto was read
and re-read, and received the contempt and
derision it deserved.  Did they really think, men
asked themselves, that they would abandon the
Chinese Christians who had stood by them so
loyally, to be deserted and massacred; had
they forgotten Cawnpore, with its nameless
horrors; and were they going to leave their wives
and children at the mercy of these polite demons,
without striking a blow in their defence?  No, a
thousand times no; in whatever else they might
differ they were all at one here; they might
temporize to gain time, but at their post in the
Legation they would remain until death or relief
came—and from Christian hearts prayer went up
to One who was able and willing to help.

Colonel Leicester paced restlessly to and fro in
front of the pavilion.  It was late, but he could take
no rest—his stern face was furrowed with care,
and there were lines about his eyes and mouth
which had not been there a short time previously.
Wang had been with him that day—Wang had
often been with him lately.  It was difficult to get
into the Legation, but for astuteness Wang had
not his equal, and he expected a large reward.
The Colonel knew that his child and her
friend were safe, still he felt wretchedly anxious
and unhappy, especially on account of Nina's
illness; and the worst of it was, his hands
were tied; there was nothing for it but to wait—he
could not leave the Legation, even if he had
been able to do so; it would not be right to desert
his post, his honour forbade that; besides, it would
have been certain death, and he had no wish to
risk the certainty of leaving his child unprotected.
For Captain Ross it was the same.  Half distraught
when he first discovered that his wife was missing,
he had begged the Colonel to let him go and see
what he could do to recover her and Nina, or
avenge their death; indeed, it was with the greatest
difficulty that the Colonel prevented him from
precipitating himself over the wall into the
seething cauldron outside.

After a time he grew calmer.  News was
brought that his beloved one was in comparative
safety, that there was no immediate danger.  Still
he could not rest—it was torture to imagine what
might be taking place, and yet he could do
nothing.  He tore his hair and wrung his hands
in agony.  A common sorrow is a wonderful
cementer of friendship, and the two men were
drawn very close to each other during that awful
time.  But to-night Captain Ross was absent on
duty, and his place by the Colonel's side was
occupied by a younger man.  It was a young,
eager, boyish face that looked up at the Colonel,
a young voice trembling with emotion that spoke
with eager entreaty.  "I shall not be missed, I
don't count for anything; do let me go, sir.  I
can't bear to think of Mrs. Ross and Miss—Miss
Leicester being in danger with no one to do
anything for them but these Chinese devils."

The Colonel's face took on, if possible, an added
shade of sternness, but he did not speak.

"You know, sir, what a relief it would be to
you and Captain Ross; you cannot go—of course
that goes without saying—but I can, and this very
night, if only you will give the necessary permission."

"Crawford," said the Colonel, kindly, laying his
hand on the young man's shoulder, "do you know
what you are doing?  As surely as you leave here
you go to certain death, and how can I, even for
the sake of my own and only child, send you to
that death?  It would be murder, you have not
counted the cost."

The young man lifted his face, pale with the fixity
of a noble resolve, and his brilliant blue eyes shone
like stars in the dusk.

"I *have* counted the cost," he said, fervently,
"I *must* go.  If you withhold your permission out of
consideration for my life, then, though I have never
been insubordinate before, I shall be now.  I go
to-night."

The Colonel seized his hand and wrung it.

"Then go," he said, "go, and God bless you, and
be merciful to me," he added, brokenly.

"Amen," Mr. Crawford reverently murmured,
adding in his full, rich voice, "The Lord knoweth
them that trust in Him."

"You are a good fellow, Crawford," said the
Colonel, "you know I have never been a great
talker.  Perhaps I ought to have said more to
you young fellows, but I must say one thing, and
it is this: I cannot understand what men can do
at times like these without a saving faith in
Christ."

"I know that I should be lost without Him,"
replied the subaltern, simply.

The two men then began to speak in hurried
whispers; it seemed a relief after the tension and
indecision of the last few moments to have
decided upon some course of action.  After
conversing together earnestly for a few minutes they
retraced their steps to the Colonel's quarters, and
for a long time after that silence reigned so far as
they were concerned.  The night was comparatively
still—every now and then flames leapt up into the
sky, telling the story that another house had been
wrecked by the Boxers, or the stillness was broken
by their shrill cries; like beasts of prey they awoke,
in the darkness, to prowl about seeking whom they
might devour and destroy.

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   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

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Two hours later, when the clocks pointed their
hands to midnight, two Chinamen might have
been seen stealing from the Colonel's quarters.
The Colonel's dog must have been a bad house
dog, for he seemed rather pleased than otherwise,
and wagged his tail appreciatively when the
younger of the two men put out his hand to
stroke him; the guard, too, allowed them to pass;
indeed, until they passed the outmost sentry,
no one impeded their progress.

"Halt!  Who goes there?"

"A friend."

The voice was the voice of Jacob!  He
must indeed have been a clever Chinaman to
speak English with that intonation: and yet the
sentry hesitated; here were two Chinese stealing
out of the camp, and to all appearance hailing from
the Colonel's quarters.  The sentry's challenge,
clear, and incisive, rang out on the night air; but
they knew the password, that was enough for him;
he had no business to detain them.

The two figures stole silently on until they
reached the wall—now if their progress was not
arrested here, all might still be well, but, if the
British saw them, and an alarm was given, they
might be shot as they dropped over the wall.

"I had not reckoned on this," said the younger
man of the two, "We run more risk here than
outside the Legation."

"That is true, sir," replied the other, deferentially,
"but everything seems pretty quiet now, this
is our best time."  They looked cautiously round—not
a soul was in view.  In the distance they heard
the tramp of the guard—every now and then a shrill
cry from the besiegers rent the air, and flames shot
up into the sky from the burning houses, but no
immediate danger appeared to threaten them.

"Now, sir," said the elder of the two, who seemed
to possess the agility of a cat.  In a moment he had
scaled the wall and prepared to lower himself on the
other side.

"Leave the talking to me, sir; it will be best for
you to be silent."

"Yes, yes," agreed the other, hastily, "you may
be quite sure I shall risk nothing; too much depends
upon it," he added under his breath.

They had reached the top of the wall in safety
and were about to lower themselves on the other
side, when all of a sudden the silence of the night
was broken; they were discovered and the alarm was
given—the sharp whiz of a bullet passed within an
inch of their faces.

"Down, sir!  Down quick for your life!"

In less time than it takes to write it, the two men
had dropped silently over the wall, and were now
running as fast as they could from the Legation.

"Keep as much under cover as possible, sir,
or they will mark us down."

"I never thought of this," said Mr. Crawford,
laughing.  "My friends are more to be feared than
yours."

"Oh, we shall come upon mine soon enough, sir,"
Wang replied, "and then it will be best for you to
be silent."

He had hardly finished speaking when they
almost ran into a company of Boxers, but with great
adroitness, Wang contrived to mingle and join with
them, raising the cry as he did so, "Sha, sha, sha."  They
kept with them until the Chinese began to loot
and burn some buildings, then they slipped off.

"Now, sir, we are safe, unless we meet any of the
men who were here the day the ladies were taken."  They
were passing, as he spoke, the rude hall where
Lilian and Nina so nearly lost their lives.

As they left it behind they heaved a sigh of relief.

"We are very near now, sir; the secret
entrance, known only to Mr. Li and myself, is just
ahead; I will wait here in case anyone comes up,
and distract their attention whilst you make the
entrance.  About twenty yards ahead you will see a
curious stone in the ground, close by the plane tree;
measure again six feet from that, and you will come
to another tree; hit the tree three times smartly and
they will let you in."

Mr. Crawford walked on quickly.  Time was
passing; there was already a glimmering of dawn in
the East.  It was necessary that he should effect an
entrance, and also necessary that the entrance
should not be betrayed to the enemy.  His heart
beat high, the goal was almost reached, and half, at
least, of his mission had been accomplished.  He
approached the tree indicated, hit it three times
smartly with his sword, and then waited anxiously.
After a few seconds, which seemed to him of
interminable length, he thought he distinguished a faint
sound beneath him, but, to his horror, he saw a
party of men approaching from the road down which
he had just come.  He had only just time to slip
behind the plane tree, and from this post of observation
he noticed that Wang was talking to them, and
had adroitly contrived to distract their attention; he
was pointing to the hall in the distance, and they
were all eagerly looking the other way.





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.. _`MR. LI's WONDERFUL HOUSE`:

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   CHAPTER XI.


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   MR. LI's WONDERFUL HOUSE.

.. vspace:: 2

But this state of things could not go on for
ever.  Mr. Crawford waited in an agony of
impatience; for every moment he expected
one of the party to turn round, and then he
knew he would be discovered.  Would the man
never be able to undo the door?  It seemed an
eternity to him, whilst the bolts and bars were being
withdrawn; and what a terrible noise they made!
He felt sure they would be heard, and—yes, one of
the men talking to Wang suddenly turned, started,
and pointed in the direction in which he was
standing.  He gave himself up for lost; but at that very
moment the ground under his feet seemed to slide
away—so suddenly, that he would have fallen into
the dark cavern had he not sprung quickly to
one side.

A dark head, adorned with a pigtail, appeared for
a moment above ground.

"Quick! quick!" the man said, in Chinese, "I
fear we are followed."

Mr. Crawford had hardly time to think, though,
like lightning, the thought did cross his mind that
Wang might have betrayed him; but even a
moment's hesitation might have been fatal, and he
sprang down into the darkness.  Not a minute too
soon—as the trap door closed above him, he
distinctly heard voices and footsteps overhead.  His
fears of an ambush, however, and treachery in one
direction were soon dispelled, for his hand was
seized in an honest British clasp, and an English
voice exclaimed:—

"Mr. Crawford, I believe?"

"Yes; and you are—?"

"Paul St. John.  You may have heard of me."

"Often," replied the younger man.  "I am so
glad to meet you."

"And I to meet you."  And the two men grasped
each other's hands.

"How is Miss Leicester?" asked Mr. Crawford, eagerly.

"Better," replied Mr. St. John, "but she is still
very weak.  Her nervous system has undergone a
great shock, and it will be some time before she
is quite herself again.  In addition to the blow
which she received, and the fright, there was a good
deal of fever, and in this climate fever seems to have
a tremendous grip on the constitution, and it is a
long time before one recovers, even when one
is young and strong.  She needs rest, but that,
unfortunately, she cannot have, poor child, as
I gather that it would not be safe to remain
here another night.  I am thankful to say the fever
has now gone; I must give her a strong cordial,
and we must make the journey as easy as we
can for her."

"I will carry her all the way," cried Mr. Crawford
eagerly.

"I know you will do all you can," replied
Mr. St. John, kindly.  "You will be of the greatest
possible assistance to us, and you will bring Nina
news of the Colonel; she has felt very much being
the cause of so much anxiety to him, and of course
you know that worry always retards recovery.  We
will join the others now, and make our plans for
instant removal, if necessary."

"I fear it is necessary," said Mr. Crawford, gravely.
"I'm very much afraid those yellow fellows saw me.
They were talking to Wang, and he tried to distract
their attention, and succeeded to a certain extent
admirably; but I rather fancy they saw me and
smelt a rat.  Ah, here is Wang; now we shall hear
what he has to say."

The man appeared to be in the greatest state of
excitement.

"They are coming, sir!  All is lost; they will be
upon us in less than an hour.  They saw you, sir,"
he said, turning to Mr. Crawford.  "I was certain
of it, because I saw them exchange glances, and they
said nothing to me.  They will not go into the
secret entrance, because they might think we should
expect them there, but they will go to the gates."

"Are you quite sure that they saw Mr. Crawford?"
asked Mr. St. John.

"Perfectly," replied Wang.  "There is no time to
lose.  I know these fellows so well; they were extra
polite and friendly with me, when we parted, but I
had my suspicions, and, to make it a certainty, I hid
and watched their movements after they left me.
First they examined the place where you disappeared,
Mr. Crawford, and I heard them say it would be
impossible to force that, and we might expect them
to do so, and prepare accordingly.  I heard them
say this, and saw them make their way to the Hall,
whither they were going to acquaint the others."

Paul St. John and Mr. Crawford looked grave and
anxious; they were not acquainted with the secret
passages, as were Lilian and Nina.  They instinctively
turned to Mr. Li, who had not yet spoken.
His dark, colourless face was as imperturbable as ever.

"There is no reason for so much terror," he said,
quietly, turning to Wang.  "Have you seen that
the gates are closed and barred?"

"Yes; but they will be over them like monkeys,
and we shall all be killed.  I did not bargain for
this; it has been very stupidly managed.  I do not
care to stay for the reward, as it is no use to me
when I am dead.  With your permission, gentlemen,
I will make my way back to Pekin and acquaint the
Colonel of the fate of his daughter."

"You will do nothing of the kind," said Mr. Li,
sternly, looking at Wang, whose white face and
shaking hands betrayed his abject terror.  "You
will remain with us, and make yourself as useful as
you can.  I may tell you, though you do not
deserve it, that there is no need for such excessive
alarm.  Do you really think it likely that I would
allow myself to be caught like a rat in a hole,
especially when I have two ladies under my charge?"

The man muttered a sulky rejoinder, but he
seemed partially reassured; and there was that in
Mr. Li which commanded respect and instant
obedience.

"I do not mean to minimize the danger, of
course," said Mr. Li, gravely, when the Chinaman
had gone out to see that the entrance was made as
secure as possible; "or to say that we run no risk,
because that would not be true, and I think the
longer we remain here the greater risk we run.  If
we are ready, let us start at once."

"Stop," said Paul St. John.  "There is one thing
we have forgotten: my brothers, let us pray."

When he rose, the light was on his face, as on the
day when he had faced the rioters at Chen-si.

"Now, my friend," he said, turning to Mr. Li,
"I am quite ready, and I think I am expressing our
universal wish when I say that it will be best for you
to take command of our little expedition."

"I think it *will* be best," said Mr. Li, "because
I am so well acquainted with the ground—and with
the men also," he added, smiling.  "I have some
influence over Wang.  Mr. St. John, you and
Mr. Crawford will go forward with the ladies.  I will
bring up the rear with Wang."

Very white, very fragile, looked Nina, very
different from the laughing girl who had left her
father's house only a few days since.  Mr. St. John
had administered a cordial to her, and under its
influence the faintest tinge of colour was beginning
to creep up into her pale cheeks.

She clung to him for support; Lilian Ross and
Mr. Crawford supporting her on the other side.
Mr. Li and Wang brought up the rear.  Alert, calm,
decisive, Mr. Li was evidently one of those born to
command.

"They are coming," said Wang, beginning to
tremble again, "swarming the gates like rats."

It was true; hideous yellow faces, with heavy
pigtails and coarse black hair, were already
crowding the entrance, and in the course of a few
minutes they would be in the courtyard.  There
was nothing then to prevent their getting into the
outer room in which Mr. Li and Wang were
standing.  The others were in the inner room
prepared to await his orders.

At that moment the Chinese caught sight of
Mr. Li and Wang, and a fiendish smile of triumph
lighted up their faces.  Mr. Li also smiled.

"Not so fast, my friends," he said, quietly; and
as the first man landed on the ground he gently
pushed Wang in front of him through the door
leading into the inner apartment, and slid the bolt.

"That bolt will be no good, sir," said Wang;
"they will force the door in a few minutes, and
we shall all be tortured and killed."

"I must beg of you to be silent," said Mr. Li,
sternly.  "If you would like to join the party
outside, there is still time to do so, but I think
that you would probably prefer to remain with us."

Poor Wang protested most humbly that he
had never meant anything by his words, and so
great was his attachment to their persons that
nothing in the world would induce him to leave them.

"That being the case," said Mr. Li, drily, "and
your attachment to us being so great, you will do
all in your power to help instead of hindering us.
I cannot have these ladies alarmed.  Now see,"
he said, turning to Lilian and Nina, who had
turned a shade whiter, for though they placed
unbounded confidence in Mr. Li, it was not
pleasant to hear the sounds in the outer room.

"Now see: I touch this button, and look at
the result!"  As he spoke he pressed a spring in
the wall, and a huge sliding door shot right
across, protecting the door through which they
had passed, and which the Chinese were forcing
from the outer side.

.. figure:: images/img-088.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: As he spoke he pressed a spring in the wall.

   As he spoke he pressed a spring in the wall.

"I think," said Mr. Li, with a smile of triumph
in his dark eyes, "they will find it a little difficult
to break through that door.  Now let us collect
what we require for the journey."

"The packages are here," said Mr. St. John.
"We have had them all placed in the corner of
the room."

"That is well," replied Mr. Li.  "Now we
will continue our journey.  It will take our
friends some little time," he added, pleasantly, "to
force an entrance into this room, and I think they
will be more than ever puzzled when they get
here.  You see these four doors," he said,
pointing to one side of the apartment which seemed to
be composed entirely of doors, "Which do you
think is the one to be used?  They are all
dummies," he continued, after a pause, in which
the doors had been tried and various opinions
expressed: "but I fancy they will puzzle our
friends.  The real one is here."

He touched a spring which was wholly invisible
to any but the most practised eye, and they found
themselves in a kind of hall, the walls of which
were very lofty, the light entering by mere apologies
for windows, let in close to the ceiling.  There
were low divans all round this hall, and Mr. Li
begged them to be seated.

"We may as well rest here a few moments," he
said, noticing Nina's white face.  "We are safe for
the present, at least."

At this moment Mr. Crawford crossed over to
where Mr. Li was standing, and spoke in a low tone.

"I suppose," he said, "there is no danger from
outside?  I wonder they do not try and effect an
entrance from without."

"They would find it a little difficult," replied
Mr. Li.  "No cat could climb these walls, and
only a cat could get in at the windows.  No, the
danger does not lie here, but further on.  From this
room there is a subterranean passage about a
quarter of a mile long, but unfortunately it has no
communication with the rest of the house opposite;
the exit being at the other end of the grove of
plantains, under which it runs.  I always intended
to complete the work, but it has not been done, and
the consequence is, we must risk getting across
twenty yards of open country.  For men it would
not be so difficult, but the care of two ladies
complicates matters.  We must hope and pray that the
men will be so occupied with getting into the house
that they will not think of anything beyond.  Still,
we must prepare for emergencies.  I shall lead the
way, for I must open the door of the other house.
The lock is a complicated one, and only I can turn
the key.  You and Mr. St. John will follow with the
ladies.  It will be as well to acquaint Mr. St. John
also of the possible danger, without alarming the
ladies.  Ah, here he is."

"Brother," said Paul St. John, laying his hand
on the other's arm, "what fills me with wonder is
your great ingenuity.  Surely you must have
travelled a great deal, for I have never seen a
house like this in China."

"No," replied Mr. Li, smiling; "*I have* travelled
a great deal, and am very cosmopolitan in my
tastes.  When I was a boy I used to pore over
Eastern tales of adventure, and I determined to
build one of those wonderful fairy palaces one
reads of: a place of concealed doors, sliding
panels, and underground passages."

"It is the dream of most children," said
Mr. St. John, smiling, "but very seldom realized.
You have succeeded admirably."

"Not quite as well as I could wish, though."
added Mr. Li; and he then told Mr. St. John
wherein the danger lay.

Paul St. John grasped his hand.  His smile was
as bright and radiant as before.

"Well, brother," he said, gently, "it shall all
be well.  You can say with us now; 'For me to
live is Christ, and to die is gain.'"





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.. _`THEY WANDERED IN DENS AND CAVES OF THE EARTH`:

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   CHAPTER XII


.. class:: center medium

   "THEY WANDERED IN DENS AND CAVES OF THE EARTH"

.. vspace:: 2

It was quite a relief to be underground.  The
long, dark, narrow passage infused a sense of
safety and protection which they could not feel
so long as there were doors, save the one by which
they had entered, which it was almost impossible
for anyone but the most experienced expert to
discover, and there were no windows at all; no fear of
seeing the cruel yellow faces pressed against the
window panes, of hearing the savage, beast-like cries.
Mr. Li walked on ahead, cool, calm, erect; a
dignified figure, moving along in the darkness, inspiring
confidence and trust.  Wang was slouching away
but, without appearing to do so, Mr. Li kept him
close by his side, and he now carried the torch
which lighted them through the darkness.  Mrs. Ross
followed with Mr. St. John; Nina and Mr. Crawford
bringing up the rear.  Although the danger had
been hidden from the former, yet there are some
things which it is quite impossible to disguise.
Without being told we guess at them, and in her
weakness she turned intuitively to the strong man
who had braved so much for her sake.  She had
clung at first to Uncle Paul, but Uncle Paul—she
had always felt it—she felt it at the present
moment, to her regret and shame—was a being too far
above her ever to claim her entire sympathy.  She
loved him with all her heart and soul, she adored
him, but she was sadly conscious of inferiority.  She
knew that she had given herself to Christ, that the
whole bent and aim of her life would be different
from what it had been in the old, careless past,
and yet she did not think she could stand on the
same plateau as Uncle Paul and Cicely, who
seemed to be almost in heaven already, She had
heard Mr. St. John's words; she knew that death
would be nothing to him, the gate to glory, to
Christ; his face shone now with ineffable loveliness
as he walked by Lilian Ross's side, helped her
over the broken places, and discoursed to her of
the things of God.

But Nina wanted to live—the colour had crept
back into her pale cheeks, her witching eyes
were bright with suppressed excitement.  She did
not wish for death, but life.

"I cannot say yet," she said to herself, "to die
is gain, but I can say," she added softly, "for
me to live is Christ."

Young Crawford did not talk to her much, he
saw that her thoughts were occupied, and he had
much to occupy his own; he had replied to that
one look of her dark eyes, a look which
supplicated help and protection, and implied perfect
trust, by a few whispered words of reassurance,
and his expression was so ardent, so brave, so
fixed in its high and steadfast resolve, that
it was impossible to feel fear when walking
by his side.  His blue eyes blazed in the darkness.
If an army had been lead against him, he felt that
he could face it, and yet be victorious.

"Nina," he said fervently—forgetting in the
excitement of the moment that he was using her
Christian name—"Nina, do you recollect in the
history of Elisha how he prayed that the young
man's eyes might be opened, and how when they
were he saw that the whole mountain was full of
chariots and horses.  Do you know I feel like that
young man, as if the Lord had opened my eyes;
I believe that He will appear for us, that in this
place, grim and dark though it be, we are
surrounded by myriads of His angels for our protection."

"And yet," replied Nina, a little doubtfully,
"God *does* permit dreadful things sometimes to
happen to His children."

"That is true," said young Crawford, "and
that is one of the things which will be explained
one day, but I do not believe it will be so to-day.
I cannot think that the Lord would have allowed
me to have this feeling, which almost amounts to
a revelation, for nothing.  Be of good cheer," he
added, tenderly.  "If a thousand men came against
me, I should not fear; the Lord is on our side, and
you shall never fall into their hands.  Come, take
my arm, you are not strong yet."  He kept his
sword arm free, but with the other he gathered
her hand in his, and placed it within his arm,
and the support which this afforded her seemed
to impart to him additional strength.

They had reached the egress now and held
their breath.  This was the critical moment.
When they opened the door what would they see?
Would the way be clear or would they be caught
like rats in a trap?  In that case, unless
deliverance came from some entirely unexpected source,
they would have to remain where they were until
their provisions failed them, or they were
discovered and overwhelmed by numbers; or they
would have to fight their way across the open space
Three men, good and true, for they could not reckon
on Wang, to protect themselves and two helpless
women!  It was a terrible look out, and a deep,
fervent prayer rose from every manly heart
to God for His protection; Paul St. John,
casting his eyes on Lilian and Nina, and thinking
of his absent wife and children, lifted up his
great heart in supplication also—"Lord, if it be
possible, for the sake of these, and those absent
who are dear to us, deliver us now; nevertheless
not my will, but Thine be done."

"It's all right," said Mr. Li, looking cautiously
out, "but there is not a moment to lose, I will go
on at once; prepare to follow when you see me
reach the other side; close the door behind you and
come quickly; Wang, you will keep close to me."

Without another word, he strode silently and
rapidly across the open space, all the time keeping
one eye on Wang, and one on the distant trees.
Putting his hand in the inner pocket of his robe
where he had placed the key for safety, he turned
very white, for—the key was gone.  Meanwhile the
others had followed, he heard the door close gently
behind them, and now here they all were beside
him, close to a place of safety which it was
impossible to enter.  It was indeed a terrible situation!
They could not retreat, and they could not go on,
and every moment increased the danger.  Mr. Li
knew it was only a question of time.  The Chinese
might give up the search inside, come out into the
grove, catch sight of them as they stood there, and
do them to a cruel death.  For a space even Mr. Li's
firmness seemed to be shaken.

"I know I put the key in this pocket," he
exclaimed in a distracted tone; but on a sudden
his face changed like lightning, and he sprang on
Wang, who stood there shivering like an aspen
leaf.  "You traitor, you have robbed us," he cried.
Mr. Li was transformed, his voice was terrible,
his expression relentless and stern as that of an
avenging archangel.  Mrs. Ross turned white and
Nina fainted right away and would have fallen
had not Mr. Crawford caught her with his left
arm; in his right hand he grasped his sword.
With set teeth and blazing eyes he stood there
ready to sell his life dearly.  He beckoned to Paul
St. John, who was endeavouring to encourage
Mrs. Ross, and preparing to defend her.

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   :alt: In his right band he grasped his sword.

   In his right band he grasped his sword.

"There is a chance of escape still, sir," he said.
"You are a missionary, your life is of so much
value, and then there are your wife and children to
think of: it would be possible to slip back, amongst
the trees, and take the ladies with you."

"And leave you to die, my brother," said Mr. St. John
gently; "that cannot be God's will, surely."

"I may not die," replied the young subaltern
brightly.  "I do not feel at all like death yet, I shall
give them a lot of trouble, but it would hamper me
to have Mrs. Ross and Miss Leicester here; how
will they stand the sight of blood?  They might
even be wounded in the scuffle, and if the worst
comes it would increase the bitterness of Death to
know they were in danger, to know I had died
in vain."

"True," said Mr. St. John, tenderly; "then farewell
until we meet again on earth or in the glory.
Come, Nina darling," he whispered, gently raising
the fainting girl and folding her in his arms.

"It is needless," put in Mr. Li.  He spoke sharply
and decisively; all this time he had been occupied
with Wang, and Wang had been protesting and
blaspheming and swearing by all his gods.

"Now," said Mr. Li, and his voice sounded
terrible in its sternness and solemnity.  "You
know me, and I know that you have that key;
I am not going to risk the lives of five innocent
people; if you do not give up the key you die.  As
surely as there is a God above us, so surely do I
send you to appear before Him."  He drew a
revolver from his pocket and held it close to the
man's eyes.  "I give you exactly three minutes
to make up your mind; if at the end of that time
you have not confessed, I shall blow your brains out."

It is impossible to say whether Mr. Li would
have carried out this threat.  If he had attempted
to do so, no doubt Mr. St. John would have
thought it right to intervene, but Mr. Li knew his
man, and before two minutes were up Wang was
blubbering out that Mr. Li had dropped the
key, and that he (Wang) had picked it up not
knowing what key it was, and here it was if
Mr. Li wanted it so much, where he had placed it for
safety in his pig tail!

"You scoundrel," said Mr. Li, contemptuously.
"I only wish I had the time to give you the thrashing
you deserve; even now," he said, as he tore the
key out of the man's hair, "it may be too late
the delay may cost us our lives."  As he spoke he
heard a noise behind him, and, looking round, they
saw that their fears of discovery were realized.  The
enemy had come to the conclusion at last that the
house was empty, and as they emerged from the
wood, they caught sight of the little band, and
uttered a scream of triumph.  Young Crawford
stood like a lion at bay, his noble head thrown
back, his unsheathed sword grasped firmly in his
hand, his eyes shining as if they were on fire.
Mr. St. John stood beside him, endeavouring to shield
the two shrinking girls.  Would the lock never turn?
There was something peculiar about it, and it was
rusty—it seemed a century before it turned with an
angry, rasping sound, but that sound was sweetest
music in their ears.

"Quick, quick," cried out young Crawford in
an agony of impatience, for he saw that it was only
a question of moments.  The Chinese had quailed
before his terrible expression; they had not cared to
face him or his gleaming sword.  But what could
one man do against so many?  They prepared
to spring.  Meanwhile the half-fainting girls had
been dragged into the place of safety, and young
Crawford stood on guard alone.

"Come, brother, come," shouted Mr. St. John.
It was too late.  Infuriated at the escape of their
prey, the foremost men sprang across the open
space to where young Crawford stood.  He was just
in front of the open door, yet he could not enter—if
he turned they would be upon him and force an
entrance also, if he fell back it would be the same
thing.  "Close the door," he shouted out to Mr. Li.
"Put your back against it," called out Mr. St. John.
Mechanically he obeyed.  Inch by inch, still with
the point of his sword pointing at his foes, he
retreated, until he stood with his back up against
the door, prepared to sell his life as dearly as
might be.

They did not hesitate long.  With wild shrieks
like those of a famished wolf, they rushed upon
him: but he was an expert in the art of fencing.
He knew how to parry and thrust, he had the
swordsman's quick eye and mobile hand and arm.
The end would be the same of course, but theirs
would not be an easy victory.  The minutes passed
and still he held them at bay; they rushed at him,
but he shook them off as some noble animal shakes
off the dogs that are worrying him to death.  Not
many that came within the sweep of that terrible
sword returned again to the attack.  Three times he
thrust them back, and still he stood there unharmed,
save for a slight flesh wound in his forehead from
which the blood trickled down his face.  But he
felt that the end was near, his breath came in great
throbbing gasps, his sword cleaved to his hand, his
heart laboured painfully; he fell backwards, down,
down, down into the darkness, and thought that
he was dead and that an angel bent over him, but
the angel's eyes were suffused with tears and bore a
curious resemblance to Nina's.  "He will do now,"
someone said; and then he fell asleep, the most
delicious sleep he had ever experienced in his life.
When he awoke Nina and Mr. St. John sat by his side.

"Wherever am I?" he cried, rubbing his eyes.
"I thought they had done for me; how good God
has been," he said, looking at Nina, "but I cannot
think now how I got here.  You see," he went on,
turning again to Nina, with a bright, sweet smile,
"I was right after all, God *did* deliver, only *He*
could have done so, for I was in a terrible plight, and
thought it was all over.  I never expected to see any
of you again," he continued a little sadly, for he was
weakened by exertion and the great strain of mind
and body he had undergone.

"Dear Lord, we thank Thee for Thy great
goodness to us," said Mr. St. John, reverently
kneeling beside the rude couch on which young Crawford
lay.  A fervent Amen burst from the lips of all
present.  Nina was crying quietly, she was very
weak still, and this last strain had proved almost too
much for her overwrought nerves.  Mrs. Ross sat
beside her, and held her hand fast locked in hers.
Mr. Li stood there, calm and dignified as ever, but
there was a very kind, pleased look about his
dark eyes.

In answer to young Crawford's query, he smiled,
"You will be greatly surprised when I tell you,"
he said, "and think it more of an Arabian Night
than ever.  I told Mr. St. John to tell you to stand
with your back against the door because there was
a false panel there.  When I had got the ladies well
into the house, I returned to watch the situation
through a spy-hole, which I also have near the door.
I was obliged to be careful, for I did not wish to run
the risk of getting any of our friends in also.  I saw
you beat them back three times, and I also marked
that your strength was failing, and that they paused
for an instant for the final onslaught; it was the
decisive moment, and a minute's hesitation would
have been fatal.  As you swooned I slid the panel
and dragged you in—not a moment too soon.  In
fact I had barely time to replace the bolt before they
were upon it.  Indeed I did secure a trophy," and
he held up a portion of a Chinese robe.

Young Crawford looked at Mr. Li admiringly.
"You have a wonderful mind," he said, "a marvellous
power of organization.  What a splendid leader
you would make!"

"To God be all the praise," replied Mr. Li,
humbly, "it is He who created and directed."

"Where is our friend, Wang," asked Mr. Crawford,
smiling.

"He managed to get away in the rush," replied
Mr. Li, "but I do not think he will be able to do
much harm, indeed I think we are well quit of him."

"Are we quite safe now?" asked Mrs. Ross of Mr. Li.

"Yes, I think so," he replied, smiling.  "This is
a very wonderful house, if you will not think me
vainglorious for saying so, and the egress is well out
of Pekin.  I shall be able to secure provisions, and
get messages, I hope, into Pekin, and by easy stages
to conduct you to Wei-hai-wei.  At any rate you
may rest in safety here for a time."

"Rest and peace," said Mr. St. John, gently,
"what a gracious God ours is, giving His children
just what they require.  'He that dwelleth in the
secret place of the Most High shall abide under the
shadow of the Almighty.'"

"Uncle," said Nina, "I wish you would sing a
verse of that lovely hymn you and Aunt Christine
sang to us in the garden at Chen-si; it was hearing
you sing that hymn that made me long to lead the
new life.  I thought it would be so nice to rest under
the shadow of His wings."

"And have you not found it so, dear child?"

"Yes," she replied, softly, "I have; there *is* rest
and peace under the shadow of His wings.  Sing for
us now, dear uncle, that we may rest."

"I will, if you will all join with me in the
refrain."

   |    In the shadow of His wings,
   |    There is peace, sweet peace;
   |  Peace that passeth understanding,
   |  Peace, sweet peace that knows no ending,
   |  There is rest, sweet rest;
   |  There is peace, sweet peace,
   |  There is joy, glad joy,
   |  In the shadow of His wings!
   |

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   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

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One more scene, a few months later, at the old
Rectory belonging to Mrs. St. John's father.  It
was Christmas time—that sweet season when,
because of the love of Christ, the coldest heart
warms, the most unforgiving relents and forgives.

The rambling old Rectory was bright with sweet
faces and glad young voices.  Mr. and Mrs. St. John,
Cicely, Rachel, and the boys were there, only
one little flower was missing, especially cherished in
her mother's heart, the little one that had been with
God so many months now.  Cicely had grown much
in the last few months, her eyes were deeper
still—she was very near the stream which can never be
recrossed, where the child and the woman meet.
Colonel Leicester and Nina were also there, Captain
and Mrs. Ross, and Mr. Li.  The latter had been
baptized, and had made giant strides in the spiritual
life.  "What splendid Christians these Chinese
make!" exclaimed Paul St. John more than once.

There was one visitor still to come.  Mr. Crawford
had begged to be allowed to join the party, at
any rate for a few hours, and they could not do less
than offer him hospitality.  It was Christmas Eve,
and the chiming of the bells floated sweetly to them
through the frosty air.  Cicely and Nina, arm in
arm, were on the terrace, listening to the bells.
There was also a sound of carriage wheels which
Nina did not appear to hear.

"Are they not sweet?" said Nina to Mrs. Ross,
who had joined them.

"Yes, but do you know, Nina," Lilian Ross
replied archly, and almost in a whisper, "I think I
hear something else besides, a long way off,
perhaps—but still I think I hear besides—the sound of
wedding bells."

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R. W. SIMPSON & CO., LTD.
Printers, Richmond Press, Richmond and London.

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