it more fully
afterwards, since it had some bearing and influence on various
incidents which happened later and led in the end to unforeseen
events.

Fifteen years ago there was great uneasiness among the white residents
of the city of Tsien-Lou, in a certain inland province of China. There
had been rumours of serious riots and outrages against foreigners
farther up the country; terrible tales were whispered of houses burnt
and families murdered, and both the British Consul and the
Commissioner of Trade had warned the little colony of Europeans to
keep strictly within its own quarter, and not to trust to any fair
promises made by their yellow-skinned, almond-eyed neighbours, who
resented their presence in the land with such fierce intolerance.
Business for a while was suspended; it was not considered safe for a
white face to be seen in the streets, and even the Chinese servants
who did their daily duties in the houses were regarded with suspicion.
Only the Ingledew Medical Missionary Station, at the outskirts of the
town near the old Kia-yu gate, went on with its work as usual, nursing
the sick in the hospital, attending to the numerous outpatients who
came every day for medicine and treatment, teaching the children in
the school, and holding the daily Bible readings which all were still
invited to attend. It was an anxious time for both doctors and nurses;
they knew that they carried their lives in their hands, and that at
some given signal the flame of fanaticism might burst out, and hordes
of shrieking, murderous, pigtailed natives might sweep over the
mission, leaving nothing but smoking ruins and desolation behind them.

It was with a troubled mind, therefore, that Sister Grace, the head of
the nursing staff, went out one evening into the patch of enclosed
garden which surrounded the hospital buildings, and, shading her eyes
with her hand, looked far along the road that led to the hill country.
There was a fierce, fiery sunset; it seemed as if the very sky were
stained with blood, and the cross on the top of the little chapel
stood out dark and startling against the lurid background. She passed
slowly down the walk to shut the great gate, which, though open by day
to every comer, was always safely barred at night, and she was in the
act of sliding the bolt and securing the chain, when she paused
suddenly and listened. She had heard a moan outside, a distinct,
long-drawn, suffering sigh, that quivered a moment and