THE CALL OF THE EAST (continued 4)

"By my faith, it can't be the sea which is the attraction," retorted Lieutenant Lanyon, "for none of them will look at me. In Miss MacAllister's case it is the clannishness of the Scotch," he continued, loud enough for her to hear. "If McLeod weren't a Mac, he'd have no more show than I have, and that's no show at all, at all."

He thought that he would draw her by his very boldness, as he had done on more than one occasion before. All the satisfaction he got was:

"Now, Mr. Lanyon, please do not let everybody on board know that you cannot get a lady to talk to you. There's mother. She has just finished her conversation with Captain Whiteley. I know that she will take pity on you."

Lanyon joined as heartily as the rest in the laugh at his own expense, and, accepting her suggestion, was soon amusing himself and Mrs. MacAllister with his boyish tales of adventures and scrapes in the navy.

Meanwhile Miss MacAllister was saying to McLeod:

"Really, Mr. McLeod, I do not know what some of these men are made of. To think that they could sit here doing the little routine work of their offices, with battles going on within twenty miles of them, and never so much as go to see what a battle is like! I wanted to go myself. But father and the consul wouldn't let me."

"You must remember, Miss MacAllister, that the majority of things which are called men are not men. They are only dressed up to look like men. When they get in danger or any other place which needs men, all the man in them disappears and there is nothing left but the clothes."

"But Dr. MacKay says that Dr. Sinclair and Sergeant Gorman have not been in any real danger since they went over there. He says that the Chinese respect them too much to molest them."

"Yes; but that is where the difference comes in. Sinclair is a man. So is Gorman. So is MacKay. The Chinese know it, and they are safe. But some of the others—not all, only some—are not men. They wouldn't be safe."

"I wish that I were a man."

"If you were, I venture to say that you would be a soldier."

"I had a brother once. He was a soldier."

"I did not know that you ever had a brother. You never told me that."

By this time they had left the company on the forward deck and, walking away aft, were leaning on the rail. She was in a more subdued and meditative mood than McLeod had ever seen her before.

"No," she said, "I never told you. I rarely tell anybody. I do not know why I am telling you now."

McLeod listened in sympathetic silence. He knew that behind this fact of the brother of whom she seldom spoke there must be a tragedy. If she wished to tell him, he would listen. But if she did not, he would respect her reserve and not seek to pry into its privacy.

"My brother was an officer in a crack English cavalry regiment. He fought in Egypt and was mentioned in despatches after Tel-el-Kebir. But he was the only Scottish officer in the regiment, and the only son of a tradesman. The rest were Englishmen and sons of do-nothing aristocracy. They never ceased twitting Allister about being a Highland kern, and that his father was a shopkeeper, and had started life as an errand boy. The fact that he was mentioned in dispatches made them worse. They were jealous."

She paused for a moment. McLeod did not speak. She glanced at him. His face was set. One hand was clenched. The other gripped hard on the rail. She understood and went on:

"Two of them were especially insulting. At mess one evening they went beyond endurance. Allister was not quick with his tongue. He was slow of speech and could not answer them. But there was another way open, and he took it. He was big and strong, as big and strong as Dr. Sinclair. But not fair like Dr. Sinclair. He was dark like mother. He called the two of them out from mess, and with his bare hands gave the biggest of them a terrible thrashing. The other ran to his tent for his sword and revolver. When Allister went after him, for his Highland blood was up and nothing could stop him, the coward hid behind the excuse that they must fight as gentlemen. But when it came to fighting with revolvers, the Englishman who had been thrashed claimed that it was his right to fight the duel, as it was he who had been beaten. And the coward was glad to let him."

She paused again. Her face was pale, but her eyes showed the fire which burned within. McLeod was breathing hard, as if in a physical struggle.

It was quickly arranged and quickly over. Out there on the sand in the moonlight they faced each other and fired only once. Allister was not hit. The Englishman was shot through the lung. The regimental doctor said that he could live only an hour. He could not check the flow of blood.

"A few minutes afterwards Allister rode out of camp towards Alexandria. His orderly, who was Highland like himself, brought us word that he could not stand the thought of what it would mean to father and mother and me, that he should be tried and convicted of murder. That was two years ago to-day. Since that we have never heard a word."

For the first time in her recital McLeod spoke: "Did the Englishman die?"

"No, he did not. He is now strong and well. What is better, he bitterly repented the wrong he did my brother. He came to father and mother seeking our forgiveness, and was forgiven. Now he is helping to search the world for Allister. What became of the coward we never heard, except that he was dismissed from the service for cowardice. We never knew his name."

"That is the real reason why your father is spending so much time in those out-of-the-way places of the Far East. He hopes to get word of your brother."

"Yes. Mother is convinced that Allister is dead. But father and I cannot believe it. We believe that he is living, and that we shall find him. And father believes that it will not be very long. He told me only this morning that he was convinced that it would be soon."

"The Highland second sight."

"Yes. God grant that it may be so."

"Amen!" said McLeod solemnly.

For some minutes they leaned on the rail in silence. Her eyes were fixed on the water, which was flowing upstream with the rising tide. McLeod was looking away up the river to where he could distinguish the little passenger launch emerging from a fleet of cargo boats and bat-winged junks. It was steaming straight down the river at full speed. Presently he said:

"I wonder what's up. The launch is heading for us instead of going to her jetty."

"There are some Europeans on her," Miss MacAllister replied. "I can see two men wearing helmets under the awning. They evidently are coming on board."

Then she uttered a faint cry. One of the men had stepped from under the awning and stood at his full height on the bow of the launch. The next instant he took off his helmet and waved it at McLeod. The sunlight gleamed on a mass of fair hair.

"Oh!" she said. "It is Dr. Sinclair. As he stood up I thought it was Allister. Their figures are exactly alike. But it was foolish of me."

McLeod seemed hardly to heed what she was saying. He had climbed on the rail, was frantically waving his white cap, and yelling like a schoolboy.

"What cronies you two are!" she said with mock severity, but laughing all the while. "Talk about the Scotch being clannish! You Canadians beat anything I ever met for clannishness."

"Just some Canadians," answered McLeod. "Will you excuse me?" he called back as he went below.

"Those two must be desperately in love," she said to herself as she smilingly responded to Sinclair's courteous salutation from the bow of the launch.

The next instant McLeod had hold of both Sinclair and Gorman and was ushering them up the companion-way. The sergeant would have declined. But McLeod would take no refusal. The company present were his and Captain Whiteley's guests. And whoever they chose to invite would have to be received as such. And not only Sinclair, but the consul and others who had known him noticed that Gorman's brogue and exaggerated Irishisms were dropped as easily as if they had all been assumed, and the Irish noncom was as much at ease and as correct in his behaviour as any of those who boasted gentle birth.

XX

THE INFALLIBLE EXPERTS

The next evening (it was a Saturday) Dr. Sinclair dined with the MacAllisters. To his surprise, and much to his delight, he was the only guest. For the first time he saw something of their home life. He saw, too, Miss MacAllister in a role different from anything he had seen before. Up to this time he had always met her as a passenger or a guest, with no responsibilities save those of amusing and being amused. She had been the centre of an admiring circle, free to be as whimsical or wayward as the fancy of the moment suggested. That evening she shared with her mother the duties of hostess and devoted herself to making the evening pleasant for their guest. And Sinclair thought that never before had a single evening brought him so much enjoyment.

He wondered at the change. Was it another side of her character? Or was it that she had changed her attitude towards himself? The previous afternoon he had noticed that she received him with a frank cordiality which had surprised and delighted him. But she had been just as ready with gay banter and raillery as ever, especially when talking to Lanyon or any others of the guests who pressed their attentions upon her. This evening there was none of that. Bright and entertaining she certainly was. But there was not a trace of the whimsical, teasing spirit she had formerly manifested, nor a word which could make him feel uncomfortable. As the evening sped away he felt himself becoming more and more fascinated. He had met many beautiful and attractive women, but never one who cast such a spell over him.

Mrs. MacAllister was not extremely cordial. She did not wax enthusiastic over him as she had done over De Vaux and Carteret. But she was a Highland hostess in her own home. And though it might be only a temporary home in a foreign land, and though she had not been anxious to have Dr. Sinclair for dinner, she had too much of the hospitality of her native hills to do otherwise than endeavour to make him feel that he was welcome there.

Mr. MacAllister was cordiality itself. In Sinclair he found a kindred spirit. His interest in men, to whatever race they might belong, his keen insight and trained powers of observation, were refreshing to the shrewd business man after the many men he met who went about the world with eyes which did not see. From the moment they sat down to dinner until they rose from it he plied Sinclair with questions and compared the doctor's observations with his own.

"You have had a great opportunity of studying the Chinese during the last couple of months," he said. "I envy you. Since you went over to Keelung I have visited Foochow, spent another short spell in Amoy, and travelled over a considerable part of south Formosa. But I have felt all the time that I really did not get into touch with the natives. I couldn't speak their languages. I was staying always in the homes of foreigners. I came into contact with the Chinese only, as it were, at second hand. But for one who has just arrived among them, you have had a remarkable experience and an exceptional opportunity. I envy you."

"It has been an opportunity, though of course too short to form anything like final conclusions. Nevertheless, I saw enough to convince me that the greater part of the information about China which is being served up to the Western world by so-called authorities is absolutely unreliable. The ten-day tourists and meteoric newspaper correspondents get only surface impressions, and even these are generally wrong."

"We had one of them here while you were at Keelung and father was in the South," said Miss MacAllister.

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

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

"Indeed! How long did he stay?"

"Arrived from Foochow on the gunboat Falcon in the forenoon. Called on the consul, the commissioner of customs, and ourselves. Lunched on the Locust. Went up river in the afternoon. Stayed one hour, and returned by the same launch. Had tennis and tea at the consulate. At 6.30 put off to join the Falcon again and sailed immediately for Amoy."

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

"Oh, yes! Quite!"

"What is it?"

"The French will have the island in their possession in a month or six weeks at the outside. Their transports with large land forces and escorted by naval reinforcements have already passed the Suez. Before them the Chinese army will run like sheep, and the inhabitants will submit without a blow. Once the French flag is hoisted it will never be taken down. Formosa is lost to Britain through the stupidity of old Lord Littlengland, the Foreign Secretary. He refused to accept it when China actually offered to cede it to Britain to keep it out of the hands of the French, as he had absolute assurance from Li Hung-chang himself."

"Excellently done!" exclaimed Sinclair, laughing at her mimicry of the assurance of the expert. "Did he not call on Dr. MacKay?"

"No. I suggested that he should. He replied that he put no reliance on the opinions of missionaries. They were all narrow-minded fanatics, who couldn't take a broad, large-minded view of the situation."

"So he missed the one man who knows more of the probabilities of this war than all the rest of us taken together?"

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

"That is it exactly. It is just such self-conceited experts, who know all about China when they have been ashore at half a dozen seaports during the hours of call of a passenger liner and who refuse to learn from those who do know, who have given our Western nations such an exaggerated idea of their own superiority and of China's inferiority."

"Then you think that the Chinese have been underestimated as soldiers," said Mr. MacAllister.

"I certainly do. For one thing, I have never seen nor heard of among any other people anything like the ability of the Chinese to bear pain. I was compelled to perform without anæsthetics operations so painful that most Europeans or Americans would rather have died than have endured them. Yet the Chinese bore them with little more than an occasional groan or a suppressed 'ai-yah.'"

"Why, then, is it that they have made such a poor showing when opposed to European troops? I have always been informed that it was the lack of physical courage."

"It is not because of the lack of courage. It is the lack of training and the lack of leadership. Going into battle vain, self-confident, and contemptuous towards the foreigners, they have suddenly found themselves exposed by incompetent commanders, mowed down by the foreign weapons, disconcerted by well-ordered movements of trained men, and helpless to meet foreign strategy. The inevitable panic followed, and they ran."

"But we have been told again and again by the experts that it is impossible to drill the Chinese; that they will never be anything else than a mob."

"Then I wish those experts could have seen Sergeant Gorman and his ambulance corps. He was given some of the toughest material in Liu Ming-chuan's army. In a month's time they moved like clock-work. As the American general they have over there said, I'd just like to see Gorman 'lickin' a regiment into fightin' shape.' General Gordon proved what could be done with a Chinese army during the Tai-ping rebellion. If China only had a few native General Gordons, the world would soon receive notice that China was to be left alone."

"Is that not just where the difficulty lies, the lack of able, patriotic leadership? The authorities tell us that there is no patriotism in China. They say that every man is for himself, or at most for his own city or province, but he cares nothing for the country as a whole."

"That may have been true in the past, and doubtless still is true of the mass of the people. But it is no longer true of many of the younger and better educated men. There are young officers in the army who are just as patriotically Chinese, whether they come from the North or Centre or South, as we are British, whether we be from Britain or Canada or Australia. They are learning more from defeats than they would from victories. Some day before very long China will produce a man whom his countrymen will follow. Then it will say 'Hands off!' to the world."

"What do you think is the country's greatest need at the present moment? The missionaries say, Christianity. Hart, the Inspector General of Customs, who has lived half a lifetime in China, and the American Minister at Pekin endorse the missionaries' opinions. The special correspondents and the experts say political reform. What do you think?"

"Christianity, most emphatically. The political reforms will follow. When the new China appears in the world its leaders will be Christians."

Mrs. MacAllister, who had been listening with ill-concealed impatience, threw back her head and sniffed.

"Dr. Sinclair," she said, "do you really think that it makes any difference with these Chinese whether they call themselves Christians or heathens?"

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

"Well, I don't believe that a Christian Chinese is one bit different from a heathen Chinese. They are both just dirty Chinese."

"If you could see the difference between Dr. MacKay's students, who were with me as nurses and hospital assistants, and their heathen neighbours," replied Sinclair, "you would not say that. I have never seen nurses or medical students in a hospital at home more cleanly, faithful or efficient, or more apt to learn. Their people were just common, ignorant Chinese peasants. I know of no explanation of the difference between these boys and others of their class, except that these were Christians and the others were not."

"I see that you quite agree with my husband in this. But I do not. When we were at home it seemed romantic to hear about foreign missions. But when I came out here, and saw those ignorant natives, and heard some of them called Christians, it quite disgusted me. And Dr. MacKay actually asked us to go to the native church and sit at the Lord's Table with them. I was so surprised at him that I did not know what answer to make. I do not believe that they are real Christians at all. What was it Mr. Carteret called them? Oh, yes! Rice Christians! He said that they were 'rice Christians.' That means that they were in it for what they could get out of it. Mr. Carteret said that he had never known a real Christian among them."

Sinclair had intended to allow the subject to drop when he saw that for some reason his hostess held very pronounced views on it, different from his own. But her quoting Carteret as an authority on the sincerity or reality of religious beliefs touched him to the quick. He answered very quietly but firmly:

"All over the south of Scotland, from the Atlantic to the North Sea, in churchyard or hillside or lonely moor, are to be found flat slabs or tall monuments, marking the spots where the Covenanters of two hundred years ago were slain or where their bodies were laid to rest. Some of them were gentlemen of birth. Some were cultured ministers. But the great majority were plain people, sometimes ignorant people; just ordinary hard-working, unlearned Scottish peasants. Yet the places where they died are sacred to-day. Monuments are erected to them. Books are written about them. They are held up before us as the martyrs and heroes of our Church. Why? Because they died rather than deny their faith.

"Less than a month ago and less than twenty miles from here, some plain people—merchants, farmers, artisans—were asked to deny their faith. They refused. They were beaten. They were tortured. They were hanged by the hair of the head. Two of them were drowned. Their religion was the same as that of the Scottish Covenanters. They died for it just as willingly as the Covenanters did. They were Chinese. If we say that the Scottish sufferers were martyrs and heroes, I do not know how we can refuse to say the same of the Chinese."

He had spoken quietly, in a low tone of voice. But the very quietness of his manner had deepened the impression of tense feeling, of emotion kept under firm control. His words had grown eloquent in spite of himself.

When he ceased there was perfect silence for some minutes. Miss MacAllister was looking wonderingly at him. He had always seemed so good-humoured, so easy-going that she had sometimes asked herself if he was really capable of deep, passionate feeling. At an unexpected moment she had got her answer. There was no mistaking the passion of admiration for a heroic deed which possessed him, the indignant protest against an injustice. It was all the more impressive because it was so restrained. For reasons which perhaps she could not explain to herself she felt a thrill of pleasure at recognizing this note of passion in his voice.

Mrs. MacAllister also sat silent for a time. Then she said in a very different tone from that which she had used before:

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

"It is not easy for any one of us to be entirely just to peoples so unlike us as are the Chinese," said her husband. "Yet, when we get down to the mainsprings of their conduct, we find that they are pretty much the same as our own."

XXI

THE LANGUAGE OF SONG

When dinner was over, Sinclair asked Miss MacAllister if she would play and sing for them. "I have not heard a song," he said, "nor the sound of a civilized instrument since the evening at the consulate, just after we landed."

For a moment her eyes danced mischievously. A question about that Indian song of his trembled upon her lips. But she thought better of it, deciding not to say anything which might mar the evening by any misunderstanding. So she replied:

"I am afraid that you will hardly call this piano a civilized instrument after you have heard it. It has almost ceased to be an instrument at all. Its age, the climate, and the lack of a tuner have combined to make it a mere caricature of a piano. But, if you'll try to imagine that the weird sounds it produces are music, I shall do my best."

"Your voice will more than compensate for any deficiencies in the instrument," he said as he conducted her to the piano.

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

"I am not flattering. I mean it."

She bent over the music; but he could see the warm colour flow up the side of her neck and face. He wondered if he had been too bold. Had he displeased her? She kept her head bent down and slowly turned the leaves of a song folio which rested on the keys. He could see little of her face. Had he by his rashness annoyed her and brought discord into that delightful evening?

Presently she seemed to have made a choice. She gave him one quick, shy glance, and he saw her face. The blush still lingered there, but there was no trace of displeasure.

"Would you like me to sing this?"

She laid the folio open on the piano. Sinclair's heart gave a leap. She had chosen a love song. It was not indeed a maiden's tale of love, but the love of a man for a maid. Nevertheless, it was a woman's song, and a woman's tenderness breathed through both words and melody of immortal "Annie Laurie."

"You could not have chosen anything I should have liked better. 'Annie Laurie' will never grow old."

She sang the first verse alone. Then she said:

"I thought that you were going to sing with me. Will you not put in a bass?" And a little mischievously: "It will at least help to drown the discords of this old instrument."

"I was enjoying your voice so much," he replied, "that I did not wish to spoil the pleasure by adding mine. But, if you wish it, I'll join you."

Other songs, mostly old Scotch favourites, followed. Sinclair noted that she did not choose war-songs as when she sang at the consulate. Her mood was different, and she chose those into which the singers of her race had poured all their pathos and their tenderness.

As they talked in the intervals, and sometimes prolonged the selection of a song, the hesitation and mutual reserve wore off and soon they found themselves conversing with the quiet confidence of those who had long been friends. There seemed to be no room for misunderstandings.

Again and again Sinclair caught himself wondering if this were the same girl who had badgered him so unmercifully a few weeks before. Or was this present situation only a bright dream, from which he would awaken to find himself still the object of her badinage and laughter? "Well," he thought to himself, "dream or no dream, I'll enjoy it while it lasts and hope that I may be long in waking up."

But there were a few things which reminded him that it was not a dream. Mrs. MacAllister did not enter quite so heartily into sympathy with her daughter's mood as did Dr. Sinclair. Perhaps it was not to be expected. More than once she endeavoured to interject her disapproval of their choice of songs.

"What are you going to sing next, Jessie?" she asked when three love songs had followed one another without a break.

"'Robin Adair.'"

Mrs. MacAllister sniffed audibly.

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

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

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

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

"Why do you not sing something lively instead of those lonesome pieces? It gives me a creepy feeling. Dr. Sinclair is just back from the war. Can you not sing him some fighting song, such as 'Bonnie Dundee' or 'Scots Wha Ha'e wi' Wallace Bled'?"

"Mother, I do not feel like singing fighting songs this evening. We are likely to have fighting enough soon. But if Dr. Sinclair has become so bloodthirsty as a result of his service at the front, I'll try to satisfy him. Must you give vent to your feelings in a war-song, Dr. Sinclair?" A gleam of fun shot through the mock anxiety of her face.

"Not at all, Miss MacAllister. I saw enough of glorious war to do me for a little while. The glory of it is mostly in the songs. There is little glory in the actuality. Anyway, I am enjoying myself too much as it is to take the chance of spoiling it by a change."

Miss MacAllister answered by a warning shake of the head, the severity of which was disarmed by the accompanying smile. But her mother set her lips close together, elevated her nose, and sniffed very audibly.

All unheeding, the young people chose another Scottish song, "Bonnie Charlie's Noo Awa." As the plaintive words and the wailing notes rang out,

"Mony a heart will break in twa

Should you ne'er come back again,"

Mr. MacAllister slipped out of the room into the verandah which looked over the river to the tall dark peak beyond.

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

"Will ye no come back again?

Will ye no come back again?

Better lo'ed ye canna be.

Will ye no come back again?

Mrs. MacAllister rose and hurriedly followed her husband.

A late moon was rising over the great bulk of the Taitoon range, shedding its pale light on the brimming river, save where the houses of the town and the clustered junks cast long, dark shadows. Out in mid-stream the Locust swam on the mirror-like surface. The call of a night bird rang plaintively across the water. Within, the voices of the singers rose again in the last stanza:

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

Liltin' wildly up the glen;

But aye to me he sings ae sang,

Will ye no come back again?"

In the dark shadow of the deep verandah a man and woman, both middle-aged, pressed close to each other. His arm was around her waist. Her head was on his shoulder. As he caressed and soothed her his tears fell on her face and mingled with her own. It was not of a long-dead prince they were thinking. It was of a lost son of whom they did not know whether he was living or dead.

The silver tones of the gunboat's bell rang out on the sweet night air, striking six times. Sinclair pulled out his watch with a look of incredulity:

"Eleven o'clock! Miss MacAllister, I am ashamed of myself. I had no idea it was so late. I have been enjoying myself so much that this evening has passed like a dream."

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

"You do not know what pleasure it gives me to hear you say so. It has been to me the pleasantest evening of my life."

She blushed at the implication, gave him the reward of a smile, and rose hurriedly from the piano:

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

XXII

HALCYON DAYS

The next three days were to Dr. Sinclair a continuation of that evening's dream. They were full of incident. But what made them still more pleasant and memorable was the fact that he often met Miss MacAllister, and that she was uniformly kind and seemed to enjoy his company. It is true that after Saturday evening they did not again meet alone. But no matter how gay the company might be, nor how much chaffing and repartee was passing among them, she never reverted to the attitude she had adopted during the first week of their acquaintance. She did not try to make him feel uncomfortable, nor did she cause a laugh at his expense.

On Sunday morning at nine o'clock there was a service in the little native church, a few rods from the hong of MacAllister, Munro Co. In addition to the local Christians there were many refugees present who had fled from their homes in the inland villages, having lost everything but their lives.

The Communion of the Lord's Supper was observed, Dr. MacKay presiding, assisted by his missionary colleague and some of the oldest native preachers. Mr. MacAllister and his daughter, Dr. Sinclair, an engineer and a petty officer from the Locust, and one member of the customs staff sat with the wives of the missionaries and the native converts. The service was conducted in Chinese. Consequently the words were unintelligible to most of the foreigners present. Yet they were conscious of the tense feeling, the close and reverent attention, the spirit of prayer of the native worshippers.

Once only did the officiating missionary use the English language. He was administering the wine, and spoke the words of a formula in Chinese. The audience had been silent and reverent before. Now the silence could be felt. He repeated it in English:

"'This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is shed for many for the remission of sins: Drink ye all of it. It may be that many of you will drink no more of the fruit of the vine until that day when you drink it new in the Kingdom of God.'"

When the service was over Sinclair walked slowly along the narrow street with Miss MacAllister and her father. For a time they were silent, as if each were letting the impression of it sink into the mind. Miss MacAllister was the first to speak.

"I have never thought myself religious," she said. "I am afraid that I have been like so many others, a member of a church because it is customary and respectable. But if the spirit and atmosphere which were in that little Chinese church this morning prevailed in our big churches at home, I think I could be religious."

"I am afraid that you are underestimating your own interest in religion," replied her father. "And perhaps you are mixing, just a little, reverent feelings and actually living as a Christian. They are very different things. But it is true that the spirit of worship I have found in many of those native churches has made the services of a considerable proportion of our home churches appear mere barren, lifeless formalism in comparison. The West may have again to learn from the East the devotion and self-forgetfulness of Christianity."

They had reached a point in the narrow, crooked street which commanded a view of the harbour and of the sea beyond. An exclamation from Sinclair directed their attention seaward.

A small merchant steamer was seen coming towards the harbour. As she drew near a puff of smoke streamed out from the Vipère, and after an interval the heavy boom of a cannon floated along the water. The little merchantman promptly reversed. A boat from the Frenchman ran alongside. After half an hour's delay the boat pulled away again, and the Fokien steamed slowly in, picking up a pilot as she came. Her captain had satisfied the search party that she had no contraband of war on board.

In the afternoon Sinclair and Miss MacAllister met at a service conducted in English in the little mission college for the benefit of the foreign community. The missionaries, the consul and his wife and daughter, the officers and a detachment of men from the Locust, and the MacAllisters attended. Very few of the other foreign residents took advantage of it. Most of them had shed their church-going habits and their interest in religion of any kind as soon as they came to the Far East.

Even Carteret's desire to stand well with the MacAllisters could not overcome his rooted aversion to attending a Christian service of any kind. Mrs. MacAllister was much surprised at his absence in view of the readiness with which he had expressed his opinions on the sincerity of the Chinese converts and his apparent interest in matters spiritual. She thought that he must be weary from his duties during the week and must feel the need of resting on the Sabbath. Otherwise she was sure that he would have been present, as he was so much interested in religion.

It might have been a revelation to her to have known how the pious young man was at that moment engaged. In company with Clark, the tea-buyer, and two other kindred spirits, he was enjoying a game of baccarat, while sundry bottles of various brands decorated the table. Before that Sabbath day reached the midnight hour, Clark and his two companions were to subside in more or less restful positions on the floor, there to lie in stertorous, swinish slumber till well on in the morrow. But Carteret, who was banker in the game, though his pale face was flushed and his eyes were glassy, was able to reach his room with comparatively steady step; was able to feel with satisfaction that in his pockets rested securely the spare cash of his three comrades, together with various I.O.U.'s. He was a pious young man, much interested in religion, and greatly distressed by the insincerity of the native converts.

Meanwhile, most of those who had been at the service had accepted the consul's invitation to ascend to the top of the old Dutch fort, and from that lofty point of vantage survey the scenery and watch any movements on board the French warships.

"What is that away to the northwest, just north of where the sun will set?" said Sinclair. "Is that an evening cloud or is it a trail of smoke from a steamer?"

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

"It is the smoke of a steamer, and she is coming directly this way. Looks as if she were from Foochow."

They watched her while she came over the rim of the horizon and drew rapidly nearer. Now the Frenchmen could see her, and there was a movement on board. But she evidently did not see them against the background of the coast.

"Up goes her flag. She sees the Frenchman and is letting them know who she is. She is British. What do you make of her, Boville?" handing him the glass. "You know most of the boats along the Coast."

"She's a long way off; but she looks like the Waverly, a tramp. If it is, she is almost sure to have contraband on board. By Jove! she's putting about!"

A long jet of smoke spirted out from the Vipère. The report went volleying off among the hills.

"A blank!" exclaimed Gardenier. "I believe that fool captain is going to run for it. He's stoking for all he's worth and heading straight across the channel. He must be crazy. He hasn't a chance in the world."

"No, I fancy he has no chance on that smooth sea," replied Boville. "But if there was a gale blowing or better still, a typhoon, Archie Scott would drive that old tub of his through at full speed where Monsieur of the Vipère would have to heave to."

But there was no prospect of a storm that calm evening and the warship was tearing through the water. Another jet of flame and smoke streamed out from her. A little plume of spray rose close to the bow of the fleeing steamer.

"It's all up with Archie this time," laughed Gardenier. "The Frenchman is too fast for him. That shot brought him to his senses."

The daring little merchantman was boarded, and just as the sun set she was seen steaming back towards Foochow, while the Vipère returned to her place of guard.

"This is quite exciting," said Miss MacAllister. "I had little idea when we sailed from Amoy that I was going to get so near to actual war."

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

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

"I really can't say. I don't know what is in the minds of those Frenchmen. But I do not like the way they are acting. It is pretty much the way they manoeuvred before they bombarded Keelung."

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

"It's not so romantic as it is to read about it in the papers," said the consul. "What do you think, Sinclair? Hallo! What's this? Look here, doctor, I'll have you arrested for alienating the affections of my daughter."

The remark caused all eyes to be turned towards Sinclair. He was seated on one of the battlements. On his knee was perched Constance Beauchamp. One arm was thrown around his neck. With the other hand she was caressing and arranging the heavy waves of his fair hair. A flush appeared under the tan of his face. Before he had time to reply Constance broke in:

"Oh, daddy, I was just asking Dr. Sinclair why he did not let his hair grow long and fall in big curls on his shoulders. Then he would be so handsome. He would be just like the picture of Harold Fair-Hair, King of Norway, in the last story-book Aunt Jo sent me from England. Dr. Sinclair, won't you let your hair grow? Do! For me!"

Sinclair's face had crimsoned at the sudden attention drawn to him and the frank admiration of the little maid. But he was too gallant to refuse:

"I couldn't resist that appeal. I'll promise. I'll not get my hair cut again until you give me leave."

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

"I admire your courage, doctor, more than your good sense," laughed her father. "But it is always the way. A big man can be twisted around the fingers of the littlest maid."

But the one whose presence at this little scene had made the blood tingle in Sinclair's face more sharply than all the others thought to herself:

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

That scene on the ramparts of the old Dutch fort became one of the most cherished treasures in the picture-gallery of her memory.

XXIII

IMPENDING STORMS

"Well, Mr. De Vaux, I see that the French fleet has arrived. Has the commander given any intimations of his intentions yet?"

"Bless my soul, Mr. MacAllister! ... Is it possible that you have not heard? ... These boys are most exasperating. They'll be the death of me yet.... 'Pon my honour, they will! ... I was with the consul when Admiral Lespès' messenger arrived, and the consul gave me the notice to read.... Extraordinarily decent of the consul! ... I sent the boy to you that very minute with a chit. Did he not deliver it?"

"Not yet."

"I'll have him flogged, Mr. MacAllister.... 'Pon my soul, I will.... It is the only way to deal with them, Mr. MacAllister.... Now, where can he be? ... Stopped somewhere along the road, playing fantan and gambling away his month's wages! ... By——! ... 'Pon my word, I mean it's most exasperating.... Flogging is the only thing to cure them when they start gambling. Isn't that your experience, Carteret?"

"I think that they all ought to be flogged," replied Carteret languidly. "Never yet met a Chinese who was good for anything."

"Opinions may differ on that point, Mr. Carteret," said Mr. MacAllister sharply. "But, De Vaux, you have not yet told me what notice the French admiral sent."

"By——! ... Bless my soul, I mean how stupid of me! I beg a thousand pardons, Mr. MacAllister.... How did I forget that? ... Those boys annoy me so. I really cannot think of what I am doing. 'Pon my soul, I cannot! ... But Admiral Lespès' notice! Would you believe it, he says that he will bombard the town to-morrow morning at seven o'clock.... Did ever you hear of such an atrocity?"

"How do you do, Mr. De Vaux? Did I hear you say just now that Tamsui was to be bombarded? Or was I mistaken?"

"Miss MacAllister, you are perfectly correct.... I am sure that you are never mistaken.... 'Pon my soul, I am! ... You are quite right. I am sorry to say that Tamsui is to be bombarded in the morning."

"Oh I'm so glad! That is, I'm not glad that it is to be bombarded. But I am glad that since it is going to happen it should take place while we are here. I should have been so disappointed to have missed it. How do you do, Mr. Carteret?"

"Since the ladies have arrived, we had better proceed to luncheon at once," said Mr. MacAllister. "We do not know what developments there may be this afternoon."

As soon as they were seated at the table Mrs. MacAllister turned to Carteret and said:

"Do you really think, Mr. Carteret, that the lives of the foreign residents will be endangered by the bombardment?"

"There will be very little danger, I assure you, Mrs. MacAllister. The French will direct their fire at the earthworks and the camps on the downs. As soon as they plump a few shells among them the whole Chinese army will run like sheep, and the bombardment will be over."

"I am so glad to hear you say so, Mr. Carteret. It was what I felt myself. But it is a relief to know that one who has lived here and knows the natives is of the same opinion. You think that the French will take possession of the town early in the day?"

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

"I do not believe that the French are going to have it so easy as that," broke in De Vaux. "'Pon my soul, I do not! ... The Chinese will give them more than they reckon upon. Mark my words.... Dr. MacKay thinks the same, and he knows more about the Chinese than any of us."

"But, Mr. De Vaux," replied Mrs. MacAllister, "you must remember that Dr. MacKay is married to a Chinese woman. Really, I never got such a shock as when I heard that. My opinion of missionaries went down to zero. To take a Chinese woman as his wife! How could he?"

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

"I suppose it was one of the sacrifices he felt himself called upon to make in order to do the Lord's work," he replied sneeringly. "These fanatics will justify any insanity by claiming that the Lord commanded them to do it."

Miss MacAllister's colour deepened. Her eyes flashed ominously. Her father's face was grave, to the verge of sternness. Before either of them could speak De Vaux interposed.

"Dr. MacKay is not the only one who thinks that the Chinese will put up a resistance," he said. "When I was coming along, Dr. Sinclair and Dr. Black of the Locust were busy at the Mission Hospital, getting it ready to take care of a lot of wounded. 'Pon my honour as a gentleman, they're right. There'll be fighting here to-morrow. By——! I mean, 'pon my soul, there will!"

Mrs. MacAllister sniffed.

"I do not depend much on Dr. Sinclair's judgment," she said, "since he went over to Keelung to be a surgeon among the Chinese. I was very much surprised at him. I cannot understand how he can endure being among those dirty natives. It would make me sick. And to handle their bodies and treat their wounds! ... It's loathsome, perfectly loathsome. I am astonished at Dr. Sinclair."

"Dr. Sinclair evidently has not your feelings about it, Mrs. MacAllister," said Carteret in his most contemptuous tone. "He is a Canadian, and on his paternal farm was probably not accustomed to any more savoury surroundings than he finds among the Chinese. Doubtless, he feels very much at home."

The next moment he bitterly repented having spoken. Miss MacAllister sat up very straight. Her eyes gleamed at him like two dagger-points. Her face flushed crimson, and then paled with anger:

"Mr. Carteret, that remark of yours was entirely uncalled for. Dr. Sinclair is a gentleman. You are not a gentleman or you would not have made such a statement."

"Oh, Jessie!" cried her mother in horrified accents. "What are you saying? You did not mean that."

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

Mr. MacAllister, who usually with ready tact softened such acerbities, maintained a grim silence. De Vaux threw himself into the breach and made an excited, stuttering attempt at mediation, compelling Miss MacAllister to laugh against her will.

In spite of this, and in spite of Carteret's abject apology and retraction, a tense feeling pervaded the atmosphere throughout the remainder of the luncheon, and all were glad when it was over.

To Miss MacAllister the remainder of the day was no less trying. She realized that her sudden flame of indignation had surprised her into betraying to prying and unfriendly eyes feelings toward Dr. Sinclair which she had not before dared to confess to herself. She knew that her mother had been bitterly chagrined by her open espousal of the big Canadian's cause and by the merciless snub she had given that ambitious woman's pet aristocrat. But she knew her mother too well to imagine for one instant that this scene, painful though it was, would make her desist from the purpose to which she had set her mind. She had not long to wait for the proof of the truth of her conclusions.

That afternoon the ladies were left pretty much to their own devices. Some of the men were busy preparing for the morrow. Others who had little to do were on the old fort or other vantage points, watching the warships which lay just outside the harbour, and were speculating in an inexpert fashion on the probabilities and prospects of the following day. All of which speculations and prophecies the following day proved to be false. But in the meantime the idle ones grew eloquent over their own imaginings, and, like most armchair experts, persuaded themselves that they did know something about war and the respective fighting qualities of French marines and Chinese soldiers.

Taking advantage of her husband's absence, Mrs. MacAllister called her daughter into her room. After some preliminary fencing, she plunged into the subject she had in mind:

"There is no need of my concealing from you, Jessie, how deeply I was grieved and disappointed by your conduct towards Mr. Carteret to-day."

"I am very sorry to have hurt your feelings, mother. But I am not sorry for telling Mr. Carteret the truth and giving him what he deserved."

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

"Mother, Mr. Carteret took advantage of his privileges as our guest and of the friendship we have showed him to make an unwarranted and ungentlemanly attack on another friend of ours, who has also been our guest."

"Tut, tut, Jessie! Mr. Carteret did not say anything about Dr. Sinclair which should make any sensible person angry."

"He made statements about Dr. Sinclair which were not true; and he made them in the most insulting way possible."

"That is merely a matter of opinion, my dear. Dr. Sinclair himself acknowledged that he was born and reared on a Canadian farm. And though I will acknowledge that he has done remarkably well, considering that, to a gentleman of Mr. Carteret's birth and training he is just a peasant, nothing more than a common peasant."

"Then, mother, to Mr. Carteret we are just peasants, nothing more than common peasants. Your father was a shepherd, and father's was a peasant farmer."

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

"Jessie," she said, "what is the use of always humiliating your father and mother by continually reminding them that they were born poor? We have risen above that now and associate with the best in the land. People should be judged by what they are, and not by what they were born to."

"That is exactly what I think, mother. By that standard Dr. Sinclair, who was born on a Canadian farm, is a gentleman. And Mr. Carteret, who was born in an English castle, is not a gentleman."

"For shame, Jessie, to talk like that! You have no right to say that of Mr. Carteret. You humiliated him at our own table to-day, and he bore it like a gentleman."

"Like a coward, you mean!"

"And by getting indignant on behalf of Dr. Sinclair," continued the mother, without paying any heed to the daughter's interjection, "you practically said to everybody that you were in love with him."

"I said no such thing."

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

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

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

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

Miss MacAllister spoke bravely. But the thrust had gone home. If there was one thing she dreaded, it was the thought that she should make herself cheap, that she should appear to offer her love instead of having her love sought and won. The thought stung. But she would not acknowledge it.

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

"Mother, I cannot understand what makes you imagine such things. Dr. Sinclair has never spoken of the subject of marriage, even in the remotest and most impersonal way."

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

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

"You may say that it is absurd if you wish, Jessie. But, after the way you acted to-day, I thought that there must surely be some ground for your championship of him."

Again the implication stung. Had she been making herself cheap? Was her secret which she had refused to acknowledge to herself laid bare before everybody? She winced at the thought. But she said nothing.

Her mother pursued her advantage:

"Now, Mr. Carteret has followed the only course open to a gentleman of birth and breeding. He has honourably come to your father and mother and has asked our permission to be considered a suitor for your hand."

"Was that permission given?"

"Jessie, what do you take us for? Do you think that we have no care about your future? The heir presumptive to the title and estates of Lewesthorpe would be considered one of the catches of a London season."

"Mother, tell me, did father accept Mr. Carteret as a prospective lover and husband for me?"

"Yes, certainly.... That is—— You know your father's way.... He did not put it in so many words, but he gave what was equivalent to his consent."

"That is to say that father told Mr. Carteret I could choose for myself. Now, mother, is that not what father said?"

"Well, perhaps it was something like that. But, at any rate, it was the same thing as giving his consent. He made no objections to Mr. Carteret's trying to win you."

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

"Certainly, my daughter. What kind of a mother would I be if a handsome and accomplished young gentleman, a gentleman of birth and prospects, should offer you his heart and hand,—what kind of a mother would I be not to encourage his suit?"

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

"Jessie, do not make rash statements, which you may regret. I am not asking you to promise to marry Mr. Carteret. I only asked you to give him a chance to win your love."

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

"But, Jessie, think of his prospects. His father is a feeble old man. His death is expected any day. The present heir has only one lung."

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

"But, Jessie, stop and think of it. Mr. Carteret will then be Lord Lewesthorpe, and you would be the Countess of Lewesthorpe."

"Mother, there is no use in your talking like that. I do not care if he were the Prince of Wales. I would not pledge myself to try to love a man whom I do not respect."

"Jessie, I am bitterly disappointed in you. You are all I have. If Allister were living it would be different." Tears, real tears, of grief and mortification sprang into the older woman's eyes and began to roll down her cheeks. "If I had Allister, it would be different. He would build up the family. But I have only you, and you will not do anything I wish. I am grievously disappointed."

"Mother, you are not fair to me. I have tried to do what you wanted. But you are asking of me what I cannot do. I cannot give myself body and soul to a man I despise, a man I can never love."

"But think of the title, Jessie, and the estates, and the old mansion built in the time of Queen Elizabeth. And think of the place you would have in society. You would learn to love him if you would only let yourself."

"Mother is it possible that you think that I could love a man for these things? I must love him for himself, or not at all."

"Then I suppose that you will tell that low-born, penniless Canadian doctor that you love him," said her mother bitterly. "Next thing you'll be wanting to marry him and settle down here as a missionary among those dirty Chinese."

The taunt stung again as it had stung before. The quick blood flamed into her face and passionately she flashed back:

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

It was the defiant answer of maidenly pride, fired by the insinuation that she had allowed her feelings to cause her to transgress the limits of maidenly reserve. In her sudden anger she was fighting against the dictates of her own heart.

But her mother, in the determination to satisfy her pitiful ambition, did not hesitate to seize the unfair advantage and wrest her daughter's words, giving them a meaning which had not been intended:

"I am very glad to hear you say, Jessie, that you will not marry Dr. Sinclair. Your attitude towards him the last few days gave to me as well as to others, and I am quite sure to Dr. Sinclair himself, the impression that you were in love with him. I am glad to have it from your own lips that it was nothing more than a passing fancy, a harmless flirtation."

Miss MacAllister waited to hear no more. She could not contradict her mother's artful twisting of her words without confessing her love. She could not do that, for Dr. Sinclair had not confessed his, nor had he asked for hers. She was trapped. Her mother had trapped her and she could find no escape.

She fled from her mother's room, ran to her own, and in a passion of tears of anger and shame threw herself on a couch. Was what her mother had said true? Had she exposed her heart to the vulgar gaze? Did they all think that she was offering her love to Sinclair without its being sought? She would teach them. They would not say that again.

XXIV

THE BALL BEGINS

Boom! Boom!

Two jets of smoke spirted out from the new earth battery on the spur of the hill running down to the pilot village by the beach. The light sea-breeze met them, lifted them in balloon-shaped clouds, and carried them slowly backwards over the battery and against the hills. The earth trembled with the heavy explosions of the Krupps. One shell splashed a little to the left of the Triomphante, and a trifle short. The other plume of spray rose directly beyond the warship and so close that it showed how near the Chinese gunner had come to his target.

"By Jove! the Chinese have opened the ball. They did not wait for the Frenchman to start. It's only twenty to seven."

The consul clicked his watch shut as he spoke, and turned his binoculars on the French fleet. Sinclair and Sergeant Gorman, who stood with him on the top of the old fort, had their glasses turned in the same direction. They had not long to wait. On board the Triomphante men could be seen running to their stations. In less than two minutes a puff of smoke streaming out from her told that the duel was on. Before the boom of the big naval gun had travelled across the intervening two miles or more of space other jets of smoke poured out from the Triomphante, the Galissonnière, and the Duguay Trouin as they lay strung across the mouth of the harbour. To the north and east of the first of these a little cloud, rising and floating on the breeze, told where the Vipère lay close in shore, hidden from sight by the hills.

The second of October had come, and with it the bombardment. In spite of its imminence, most of the foreign residents were calmly enjoying their morning nap when the tempest broke upon them. Of course there were exceptions. The officers and men of the Locust were at their places, ready for any duty. Dr. MacKay's working day had begun hours before. The commissioner of customs had been down to the offices to take a last inventory before the storm of iron and fire in which they were likely to be destroyed should begin. He had been joined by Mr. MacAllister and his daughter, who were looking for a point of vantage from which to see the opening of the battle. These and the group at the consulate were the only ones astir. The rest were peacefully slumbering, prolonging the morning doze to the last moment, though they knew that the bombardment was announced to commence at seven o'clock sharp.

Their drowse was rudely broken in upon. Within fifteen minutes from when the first gun was fired the four ships and the Chinese batteries were putting up a tremendous concert. The earth rocked with the bellowings of the great guns and the bursting of shells. The Triomphante and the Galissonnière ever and anon alternated a broadside with the independent firing of single guns. Even Carteret was awakened when the windows of his room were shattered and a great slab of plaster fell from the ceiling, bringing his mosquito curtain down on top of him in a tangled ruin.

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

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

"Will you drop into Thomson's and tell them that my wife and Constance will call for them in a few minutes and accompany them to the rendezvous?"

"I'll tell them."

"And Dr. MacKay and his family—do you think that there is any use of our trying again to get him to go to some safer place?"

"No, there is no use. He has his students there, and a lot of his preachers and converts with their wives and families. To send them to any of the interior towns would mean Sin-tiam over again. They are in less danger here from the French shells than they would be from the heathen mobs. He will not leave them. If they are going to be in danger, he will be in danger with them."

"I fancied that it would be that way with him. Well, I think all the more of him for it. Now I must go and get my family down to the rendezvous and see that the rest of the British residents are under the best cover possible. Hallo! Who's that on the beach road below the custom house?"

"The commissioner, Mr. MacAllister, and Miss MacAllister," said Sinclair, who had his glasses on them.

"What the deuce are they doing there?

"Looking for a good place from which to see the fun," laughed Sinclair, though his face showed more anxiety than mirth.

"Boville ought to have more sense," snapped the consul. "Last evening he was in a great fluster about seeing that everybody was safe at the rendezvous before the ball began. But I suppose that Miss MacAllister has coaxed him, and he couldn't resist."

"Quite likely," replied the doctor, while an odd little smile played around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. "They are turning back now. Mr. MacAllister has taken charge. He has the young lady by the arm and they are heading for home."

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

The two men laughed; Sinclair a little doubtfully, as if he was not too sure that such a thing was possible; the consul with the air of conscious superiority which needs not fear. They little knew what the day had in store for them.

"We must be off. It's getting pretty hot over there, and it may swing around this way any minute. Sergeant, would you stay here a little while and watch Monsieur Lespès? If he seems inclined to pay his compliments to the town as well as to the batteries, run up the red signal. But don't stay here after this is in the line of fire. I don't want you to get your head knocked off."

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

Sinclair and the consul ran down the dark stairway within the old fort and hurried away, the latter to his house close by, the former to MacKay's to get his instruments and then to Thomson's to give them the consul's message. Gorman stood alone on his watch-tower, looking out upon the scene.

The solid old memorial of Dutch and Chinese workmanship stood on the most prominent angle of the hill which thrust itself forward towards the sea. For two and a half centuries it had braved siege and storm and the wasting forces of tropical typhoons, of rain and sun and clinging, insidious tropical vegetation. In a line with it, along the brow of the hill facing the harbour, were the consul's house, Dr. MacKay's bungalow and that of his colleague, and the residences of the customs officers. Just behind MacKay's house were the two mission schools. In a parallel line below the hill and mostly close to the shore were the customs house, then after a considerable interval MacAllister, Munro Co.'s, Reid & Co.'s, Dr. Bergmann's house, and the Mission Hospital, right in the native town. Away at the far end of the town, a mile beyond the other foreign residences on a little eminence facing the river, were the house and godowns of Scott & Co., known as Peeatow. Over each foreign building flew the British flag, save where Dr. Bergmann had hoisted the flag of his fatherland. Out in mid-stream, right in front of MacAllister, Munro Co.'s, the trim, workmanlike Locust floated on the rising tide.

The residence and godowns of Mr. MacAllister's firm had been chosen as the rendezvous. They were in a sheltered position in what was almost a little cove between the hill and the river. There Commander Gardenier had sent a force of ten bluejackets under a petty officer. As Gorman moved his glass from point to point to fix all in his memory a boat pulled away from the Locust carrying another guard of eight men to Peeatow, where a number of foreigners had elected to remain, because of its distance from the ships of war.

The sergeant turned again to the artillery duel. All over the open downs to the north shells were furrowing the hard, dry soil, ricochetting from knoll to knoll, and exploding harmlessly on the grass. The points where the fewest shells fell were the hollows in which the Chinese camps were sheltered. In spite of the hurtling showers of projectiles which at times filled the air, these seemed to be practically immune.

"Howly Moses!" said Gorman to himself, "if that's the kind of shootin' the Frinchies do, the only safe spot in tin square miles is the man they're aimin' at."

Then a great, clumsy blue-grey water buffalo, the draught beast of the island, disturbed in its accustomed pasture grounds by thundering guns and cracking shells, went lumbering across the common a short distance away. Its ugly snout was thrown forward, its great curved horns laid back against its shoulders. A shell plumped into the ground under its belly and, exploding instantly, blew the buffalo into ten thousand fragments.

"Furst casuality!" exclaimed Gorman. "Private Wather Buffalo of the Furst Battalion, Tamsui Blues, General Soon's heavy brigade. Turned into mince meat. Chewed and partly digested. Dead and mostly missin'."

The next instant it was:

"May the divil fly away wid that gunner! Fwhat the blazes does he mane by shootin' there? Does the omadhaun think that he has killed all the haythen Chinese in the island, that now he's thryin' to kill the Christian white people?"

A shell from the Galissonnière had passed in a great arc over his head. Its sound was that of a long-drawn whine mingled with the rush of a sudden gust of wind. It exploded between the Girls' School and Dr. MacKay's house.

"If it's the Chinese he's tryin' to hit, I wud call that a mortial bad shot. I'll wait to see if that wan was only an accident, or if they're goin' to presint us wid anny more."

He did not wait long. Another rush and whine and a shell passed a little to his left, almost on a level with the spot where he stood and, exploding on the common just back of Thomson's bungalow, threw a cloud of earth high in the air.

That was enough. The red flag fluttered up to the top of the tall signal staff, from which it did not come down for more than twelve hours.

A moment later the consul came out of his house, accompanied by his wife and little daughter and a couple of native servants, to make their perilous way to the rendezvous. He glanced up at the danger signal:

"Are they at it already, sergeant?

"They are, sir; the worse luck to thim. Make the best time you can, sir, an' march in open order."

"Thank you, sergeant. But don't you stay up there to be hit. You can't be of any more service now. Get to cover somewhere. You might be needed at the hospital."

"Very good, sir."

The consul's little group strung out along the narrow road following the brow of the hill past the two mission houses. As they came to Dr. MacKay's they saw the missionary pacing to and fro on his verandah. The consul called to him:

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

had better do as the rest are doing, bring your family down into the shelter below the hill."

The missionary stopped his rapid, nervous pacing backward and forward, lifted his hat in salute, and replied:

"Thank you, Mr. Beauchamp. I have all the protection I need: 'Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day.'"

As they spoke a projectile drove deep into the ground of the garden between them, but did not explode. Undisturbed, the missionary resumed his walking up and down, while the consul hurried after his family. At their gate Mr. and Mrs. Thomson, accompanied by Dr. Sinclair, joined them.

"Run for it! Run!" Beauchamp shouted as the now familiar rush and moan of a shell was heard. The nimblest of them had hardly quickened their pace when it hit the very edge of the almost perpendicular cliff a few yards behind them, ricochetted at an angle to its original course, and plunged into the harbour. Without more ceremony they did run, stringing out until separated by wide intervals, turned sharply down the face of the hill by a narrow path and stone steps which led under some spreading banians, and in a few minutes were at the door of the rendezvous. The shells screamed through the air overhead, skipped along on the hard earth of the hills, or splashed into the river below.

"Wasn't that fun, daddy? You should have been able just to see you and mother run. It was better than a show."

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

"Not much fun that I could see, Constance," replied her father grimly. "I prefer some other kind of a show."

"Oh, I like this best, father. And it would have been ever so much more fun if Mr. De Vaux had been with us. Wouldn't it have been great to see him run, hear him puff, and say, 'Bless my soul'?"

"That will do, Constance. It wouldn't have been very great if one of us had got blown up by a shell."

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

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

Sinclair laughed, slipped his arm around the little maid as she pressed to his side, ran his fingers through the heavy, dark-brown curls, smiled into those frank child eyes which looked so straight into his, and passed on to the hospital to join Drs. Black and Bergmann.

Meanwhile, Sergeant Gorman, coming from the consulate towards the town, had stopped to ask Dr. MacKay if there was any service he could render.

"From the way the Frenchmen are shootin', I do not expect that we'll have manny cases in the hospital, barrin' it may be some of ourselves, if there's anny of us left to patch the rest together. So I moight as well be doin' an odd job for you, if there's annything that would be of service to you."

"Nothing that I know of just now, sergeant! Nothing! We have made all the preparations we could think of. We are in the hands of God. But your offer is itself a service. I thank you."

A shell drove into the ground in a plantation of young banian trees just to the west of the house. Its explosion threw up a miniature volcanic eruption of gravel.

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

"'The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strong rock, in Him will I trust.'"

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

A petty officer from the Locust came up the garden walk, saluted, and said:

"Are you Dr. MacKay, sir?"

"I am."

"Commander Gardenier sent me to present his compliments, and to invite you to bring your family and your valuables and come on board the Locust. He says that you are in great danger here and that no place on shore is safe. A boat is waiting at the jetty, sir."

His words were interrupted by the weird moan of a shell, followed by an ear-splitting crack. The air was full of smoke and dust and flying fragments of metal and stone. It had struck a big boulder directly in front of the house, on the edge of the narrow road at the foot of the garden.

As they recovered from the shock, MacKay was speaking as quietly as if nothing had happened:

"Give Commander Gardenier my thanks. Tell him that I am deeply indebted to him for his thoughtfulness. Say to him that I have no valuables save these." He swept his arm around the semi-circle of native converts, preachers, students, and simple believers. "He could not accommodate all these. It is not his duty. They are subjects of China. But these are my valuables, my children in the Lord. Since I cannot take them with me, I shall stay with them."

"I shall tell him, sir."

The sailor saluted and withdrew.

When Sergeant Gorman told Sinclair of it at the hospital he said:

"I was born a Catholic, an' I'll die a Catholic. But whin I see that man up there on the hill an' thin think of that college in Skibbereen, an' the priests that have me little farm, that isn't mine neither, at Sleeahtballymackcurraghalicky, I'll tell ye it isn't the memory of the priests that kapes me a Catholic. It is because I am an Irishman an' I hate the name of a turncoat."

XXV

THE BALL PROCEEDS

"This is a sudden and unceremonious inroad of uninvited guests, Mr. MacAllister," said the consul as he entered. "Awfully sorry to crowd you so."

"There's no necessity for apologies, Mr. Beauchamp. We are only too glad to share with all any shelter or safety our situation may afford. Will you not stay and be as comfortable as the circumstances will allow?"

"Thanks, very much. I cannot stay just now. I see that you have every one from the hill except MacKay and his family and those who are at the hospital. But there are others who have taken refuge at Scott & Co.'s bungalow. I want to look in at the hospital, and then go on to Peeatow. I shall leave this party in your care and that of Boville. If it gets too hot here, signal Gardenier, and he will take you all on board. I shall be back in an hour."

He was off, following the narrow, crooked, rough-paved Chinese street, his quick, nervous step carrying him rapidly on his tour of inspection.

Mr. MacAllister went up to the living-rooms where the ladies were with De Vaux, Thomson the missionary, Clark the tea-buyer, Boville, Carteret, and practically the whole customs staff. The house never ceased shaking with the continual discharge of the cannon. Ever and anon the sharp splitting crash of a bursting shell, some nearer, some farther away, gave the nervous a start. Less frequently could be heard, even within the house, the mingled whine and whirr of a passing projectile.

Not one of the ladies showed a sign of fear. Mrs. Beauchamp was quiet and self-controlled. Perhaps there was a trace of anxiety as her eye followed the light, fawn-like movements of Constance, or when she thought of her husband out trying to assure himself of the safety of others. But there was no fear. Mrs. MacAllister was at her best. Whatever her faults might be, timidity was not one of them. She belonged to a war-like people. Her colour was high Her dark eyes shone with a strange fire. She looked a score of years younger than she was. Her husband was struck by the change in her. He found an opportunity to say:

"You look beautiful to-day, Flora."

"I am thinking of you, Hector. If you have to go out into danger, I want to go with you. Now I know why Allister would be a soldier. And I know what Jessie would mean when she says she wishes she wass a man. I nefer knew before."

She was deeply moved. The instinct of a fighting race had suddenly come to life with the sound of battle and the accent of her childhood's speech was back upon her tongue.

She looked around for her daughter. Miss MacAllister was standing near a window talking to Boville. She was drawn up to her full height, dwarfing the rotund commissioner of customs. Her cheeks were burning. Her eyes had an almost unnatural light. Her bosom was heaving with the short, quick breath of one in struggle. Perhaps for the first time in her life Mrs. MacAllister understood her daughter's feelings. But she did not understand how much their interview of the day before had added to their intensity.

"Mr. Boville, I really cannot stay in here and not be able to see what is going on. I simply cannot. Let us go out on the verandah."

"Very well, Miss MacAllister. I do not know that it is any more dangerous there. I shall be glad to go with you."

"So shall I!" exclaimed Mrs. Thomson, whose natural vivacity had likewise been quickened by the excitement of the occasion. "I must go out. If there's any danger, let's take it in the open, and not shut up here like rats in a hole."

Her husband made a slow and feeble protest. But, with a half-defiant "You may hide in here if you want to," she ran out where she could get a view. Meanwhile, Constance Beauchamp danced in and out, bringing reports of what was to be seen to her mother, who remained sedately inside.

A heavy projectile splashed in the river midway between the company's jetty and the Locust. Another dropped on a cargo boat lying at the jetty, smashing through its bottom. The boat immediately filled and sank. A third drove into the soft mud of the shore close by and exploded, bespattering the whole vicinity with slime. There was a moan and rush nearer still, a shrill human shriek, a splitting crash, and a small native house spouted up a cloud of dust and splinters and fragments of sun-dried brick. Then it collapsed in a little heap of debris. In that heap were the bodies of an old Chinese peasant and his wife, and a little child. The great guns of the French Republic's battleships had claimed some notable victims.

At the first sound of the shell Miss MacAllister and Mrs. Thomson were unceremoniously rushed into the house by Boville and De Vaux. The latter showed a presence of mind and courage in time of danger of which his excitability on ordinary occasions had given little promise. The shower of fragments rattled harmlessly on the roof and walls.

For a few minutes they appeared to be safe. But they did not have a long respite. There was a terrific crash and rending. The house shook as if in the grip of an earthquake. A great, gaping hole appeared in the back corner of the room on a level with the floor.

"Out on the verandah! Quick!" yelled Boville.

"Don't stop there! Bless my soul! To the far end!" echoed De Vaux.

With one exception all ran to the end of the verandah farthest from where they expected the explosion to take place. For a moment or two there was dead silence as hearts stood still in expectancy of the death-dealing shock. Then a quick step was heard running up the stairs and into the room they had left. The next instant Sinclair stepped out on the verandah.

"I hope no one was hurt," he said. "There is no immediate danger now. It's a dead one."

A heavy shell from the Triomphante had ricochetted from the hill behind, struck the back of the house just above the level of the floor of the room in which the refugees were, passed through the wall and floor, and landed amid the boxes of tea piled in the lower story. Dr. Sinclair was just entering the storeroom on the ground floor at that moment, and soon satisfied himself that it could do no more harm.

His assurance was received with a chorus of grateful exclamations. In the midst of them Mrs. MacAllister turned to Carteret and said:

"I am very glad to see, Mr. Carteret, that you are perfectly safe."

She had not failed to notice that he had been the first to reach a place of safety, and had ensconced himself in the corner farthest from the expected danger. She had got a glimpse of the man's character. She could forgive drunkenness and gambling, and some other things which need not be mentioned. These were the privileges of the nobility. But cowardice! She despised that. Her voice was icily cold when she said:

"I am very glad to see, Mr. Carteret, that you are perfectly safe."

Carteret's pale face, paler than usual, flushed. But with ready effrontery he carried himself through:

"Thank you, Mrs. MacAllister; I am very glad to see that every one is perfectly safe."

At that moment Sinclair's voice was heard saying:

"What's the matter in here? Was any one hurt?"

He stepped into the room again, followed by all the rest. From a dark corner came broken ejaculations, mingled with the names of the deity:

"Oh, God! Oh, God! ... Lord! ... Lord! ... Oh, God, have mercy on my soul!"

Peering through the semi-darkness after the glare of the bright sunshine outside, they discovered Clark on his hands and knees under a heavy teak table.

"Hallo, Clark!" exclaimed Sinclair. "What are you doing there? Are you hurt?"

"Oh, God! ... No! ... We'll all be killed.... Lord! ... Lord! ... The shell! ... Oh, God! Have mercy on my soul!"

"Lord bless my soul!" exclaimed De Vaux in his high-pitched voice. "Is the man a coward?"

"Lord have mercy on my soul!" prayed Clark, under the table.

"My God! ... This is disgraceful," stuttered De Vaux. "I never heard of the like.... Bless my soul!"

"Oh, God! ... Have mercy on my soul!" echoed Clark.

"Sounds like a Free Methodist prayer-meeting!" remarked Sinclair, with a laugh, in which the rest joined.

"Mother, doesn't Mr. Clark get under the table and whine just like Carlo when father whipped him for keeping company with those nasty Chinese dogs?"

"Hush, Constance! Don't you say another word."

Sinclair reached under the table and began to pull Clark out:

"Come along, Clark! The Lord's going to give you another chance with that soul of yours. Perhaps you will have it in better shape by the time you get the next call."

When a few minutes later a boat from the Locust arrived to take all to the gunboat for greater safety, Clark found his legs with amazing expedition. Indeed, he would have been the first person in the boat if it had not been that Lieutenant Lanyon, who was in command, caught him by the collar and jerked him back on the jetty with the warning:

"Ladies first, sir, or by my faith you don't go at all."

Meanwhile on the exposed hill-top MacKay, his wife and children, and his Chinese converts, who had no souls, remained calm and unmoved amidst the ceaseless whirr and whine of the flying projectiles and the crash of bursting shells.

XXVI

A GAME OF BALL

During the afternoon the French fire slackened. By four o'clock it had died away to scattering shots. The party of refugees had spent most of the forenoon on board the Locust, had lunched at Peeatow, and now were back at their morning rendezvous. Some of the men had remained at Peeatow. Clark, the hero of the teak table incident, was not one of them. Evidently believing that a special divinity had been assigned to watch over the ladies, he kept very close to them, so that he might share in that divinity's protection.

Sinclair had spent the day at the hospital, though there was not much to do there. The all-day bombardment had wounded less than a score of Chinamen. But when he visited the rendezvous in the morning he noticed that Miss MacAllister seemed to avoid him. He was not the man to push himself in where he was not wanted, and so stayed away. But they met in the late afternoon. It was she who contrived it.

"Where is Miss MacAllister?" said Mrs. Beauchamp to that young lady's mother. "I have not seen her for some time."

"I really do not know. I had not missed her. But now that you mention it, I have not seen her since we came back. She may be in her room."

"Constance, would you go to Miss MacAllister's room and see if she is there?"

"Oh, no, mother, she is not in her room! I know. I heard her dare Mr. Carteret to have a game of tennis. She said that she would get Dr. Sinclair, too. She has gone away up to our place to play tennis."

"To play tennis!" both ladies exclaimed in horror.

"Yes," replied Constance. "Mr. Carteret did not want to go one bit. He was scared. I know. He tried to make all sorts of excuses. It was because he was so scared. I know. He looked just as frightened as he could look. But Miss MacAllister made him go. Isn't she dandy?"

"Constance, quick, run and ask your father to come here!"

When the consul heard what his wife had to tell, he uttered one brief, emphatic word, not loud but deep, grabbed his hat, and ran down the stairs. Breathlessly climbing the steep hill behind, he had just turned the corner of the customs compound when he heard the moan of a shell coming from the direction of the Vipère, which had moved from her former position and was lying well within the mouth of the river. It exploded in the air between the two mission bungalows. A fragment cut its way clean through the cottage roof of Thomson's bungalow, going in at one side and coming out at the other, leaving a great gaping hole in the tiles.

"By Jove!" said the consul to himself, "if that had been a percussion, or if the Frenchman had given it one second longer, Thomson would have been minus a house."

He caught a glimpse of swiftly-moving white figures on his lawn and quickened his pace. He called a cheery greeting to MacKay as he passed and ran down into the little hollow between the missionary's house and his own. Just then he heard Sinclair's strong voice calling:

"Fifteen—love! ... Thirty—love! ... Forty—love! ... Game!"

"What an expert! Just look at the cool, confident way he serves those balls. And we might as well try to stop a French shell with our rackets as return his service. Mr. Carteret, it's your service. Now play up or he'll win this set."

At that moment the consul ran through the gate in the hedge into the midst of the players:

"What the deuce is the meaning of this? Miss MacAllister? Dr. Sinclair?"

"Oh, Mr. Beauchamp, I'm so glad you have come! We needed another player to complete a doubles. Dr. Sinclair has been playing singles against Mr. Carteret and me. Won't you join in? There's a gentleman's racket on the settee right before you."

"Miss MacAllister, this is no time for fooling. I want to know what is the meaning of this. Carteret, you are a resident of the East and know what it means to disobey the orders of a consul. Why are you here and not at the rendezvous?"

"Ask the young lady," replied Carteret, with a shrug of his shoulders and a curl of his lip.

"Thanks, Adam! Since the blame is to be thrown back on Eve, she'll reply. I got tired of being stewed up in the house with men who crawled under the table whenever there was a hint of danger. So I came up here. Besides, I do not believe that it is nearly so dangerous here as there. Not a shell has come near us since we came, and I have not seen where one has fallen about here all day. And, if they did start to shoot at us, Dr. Sinclair keeps us jumping about so lively after his balls that the Frenchmen could never hit us."

It took all Beauchamp's self-control to maintain the gravity of his countenance. But he managed it somehow, and answered as sternly as he could:

"This foolishness must stop. I'm responsible for your lives and I'm not going to have you stuck up here for targets."

"But, Mr. Beauchamp," was the nonchalant reply, "we have won the first set from Dr. Sinclair. He has very nearly won the second from us. It would be cowardly of us to run away now without giving him a chance to finish it. I'm sure Mr. Carteret would never consent to that. Mr. Carteret, it's your service. We must get moving or we all may be killed."

"I think, Mr. Beauchamp," said Sinclair, "that what Miss MacAllister says is about right. There really appears to be less danger here than down in the town. Whether or not the French gunners have respected the consulate, their shells have done little damage just here."

But the consul was not to be put off so easily:

"Miss MacAllister, Mr. Carteret, Dr. Sinclair, I command you to stop this game and to go down to the rendezvous."

"Mr. Beauchamp, may I ask you one question?" Her voice was almost infantile in its innocence.

"Certainly, Miss MacAllister. If it be a short one."

"You remember the Canadian Indian song Dr. Sinclair sang at the consulate the evening after we arrived? Was that really Indian?"

"How do you think I know? I never lived among the Indians. It was all Greek to me."

"That's exactly what I thought. It was Greek to me. Mr. Carteret, it's your service. Please play ball."

The consul gave a long, low whistle, shrugged his shoulders, and said to himself:

"So that's where the wind lies. I fancy I might as well let them fight it out."

Sinclair's face crimsoned at her words; then paled a little. His jaw set hard and he returned Carteret's service with such a volley that neither of his opponents, though ordinarily better players than he, had any chance. In a few minutes he announced abruptly:

"Game! Set!"

"Set—all! We must play the rubber. I suppose you are willing to have a deciding set, Dr. Sinclair?"

"Certainly, Miss MacAllister."

There was something in his face and voice she had never seen or heard there before. She looked at him curiously—a little anxiously.

They exchanged courts, Sinclair taking the north or exposed end of the lawn, while his opponents had the south end and were sheltered behind the fort.

The consul looked at them for a moment, then seized a racket and joined Sinclair:

"If you young people are bound to be fools, I suppose I might as well jump into it and be a fool, too. It may finish the set so much the quicker."

It was not a long one. Miss MacAllister played well. But her partner, Carteret, usually an expert at tennis, was nervous and playing wretchedly. On the other hand, Sinclair, who ordinarily served well but was weak on the return, completely excelled himself. He drove his balls over the net with a savage strength which made his opponents' efforts to return them entirely hopeless. And on the return, where he was as a rule only moderately skilful, he let nothing pass him. Beauchamp played his usual swift, tricky, cheerful game.

The last game of the set had come. It was Sinclair's service.

"Play ball! ... Fifteen—love!"

He crossed to his left-hand court and lifted his racket. There was a long whine, a rush of wind, and a terrific crash. A slanting black groove was scored across the green almost at Sinclair's feet, and the earth thrown high in the air.

"Down! Down! Everybody down!" yelled the consul.

"Play ball!" shouted Sinclair, and drove a vicious service at Carteret. "Thirty—love!" he continued, and strode back to his right-hand court to serve again.

But there was no use continuing the game. Carteret, who had flung himself on the ground, arose with a hanging jaw and ghastly face, and a nerve too shaken to play any more that day. Miss MacAllister had thrown herself on a settee at the end of the lawn, her face covered with her hands to shut out the sight. The consul, though he had shouted to the others to down, had remained standing himself. He was staring fixedly at Sinclair: