all my friends during these sad weeks. Do not move toward me or you will be killed. I will not look up, dare not look up. On that Sunday, which now seems so long ago, when I bid you good-night at the library door, when you and he went to the fan-tan house, I followed you with his valet and my maid, for I had been fearful of his intentions toward you, and when his valet told me that he had seen him secrete a dagger in his coat that morning, and when I found one missing from the case, I had my fears confirmed. We followed and sat in the floor above you and tried to call your attention. When I won at the table at last I put in a warning note and then overturned the basket. You did not see the paper but he did, and read it. For the rest, you were followed at once by him, and we as quickly as possible followed both, but only in time to see you fall and to be seized and carried away in a closed chair to the yellow house in the Marcos square where, till yesterday, I have been confined to the court and inner rooms, with only my maid as company and a daily visit from him at which I learned the news of your progress toward recovery. Last night we were removed to this vessel, and I have expected your arrival with hope and fear. His idea is to force a marriage with me by threats against your life, or to sail for Hainan or Formosa and accomplish his designs where law and justice for us are unknown."

Hurried cries from the deck and a call at the door in Chinese were heard and the guide sheathing his sword rushed from the cabin. In a moment the lovers were together. The bonds which held Adams' arm were cut and Priscilla pointing to the little window cried, "Robert, God is with us!" With his one arm encircling Priscilla they looked from the window. Apparently a strong gale had suddenly sprung up from the south east and rain was falling in torrents; the wind continued to increase though the rain passed by, but in the distance appeared a dark tower of water slowly moving toward Macao, rushing with bending, changing outline from water to sky. The gale became fiercer and the tumult on deck increased. Immediately from Taipa came the sound of cannon and it was answered by Macao with her heaviest ordnance as if a battle were raging, and, indeed it was a terrible battle, one between man and the elements, but man was victor and the water spout was broken. The force of the tornado however had yet to reach its climax and for fully five minutes swept over the terrified city and bay with fearful power. Sampans and junks were hurled like egg-shells upon the shore, where but for the low tide, thousands instead of hundreds of lives would have been sacrificed. The men-of-war and the river steamboats did good service, for the course of the tornado, was so restricted that though but a hundred yards from its limit of violence they were untouched. Dom Pedro's junk with others was torn from its moorings and overturned, but not before Adams and Priscilla had jumped from the deck. Even in the awful confusion and the terror of the first plunge which carried them below the surface of the angry waves, she kept her hand clasped upon the empty sleeve of her recovered protector. Being both good swimmers they assisted each other with that knowledge of the water and the trust which all coast born people have in the mother sea. A boat from one of the war vessels picked them up and in a short time they were both beneath the roof of good Dom d'Amaral, and rumor with unusual tread, but suited to Macao, slowly announced the fact of Priscilla's return.

Dom Pedro weak, and with a broken arm, was also carried to the house of his father and none but the principal actors in the tragedy understood the mystery.

Priscilla had returned in the midst of the tornado, and that was all. The unfortunate young woman was completely prostrated by the terrible experiences through which she had lately passed and lay as if lifeless. The physicians dreaded an attack of fever would follow, and their worst fears were realized. Several weeks went by in anxious watching by the sick woman's bedside when at last the fever turned and she gradually grew better. Nothing was said of the occurrences which had brought the illness about, and Priscilla remembered nothing of them apparently, for she asked for no one and seemed happy and content to be left with her Chinese ama. When she had recovered strength enough to be carried into the court-yard it was with joyful expectancy that Adams went to greet her, yet his heart sank with sorrow when he saw the marks of the great suffering in her face and a terrible desire for revenge seized him, which became the dominant passion of his life.

The saddest part of this tale may be given in a few words. Priscilla Harvey never regained her reason, though she found pleasure in all the beauties of nature and her life was happy during the two years before her death. Dom Pedro went to Hong Kong and soon disappeared. Robert Adams remained in Macao taking charge of the d'Amaral foreign business. He was the daily companion of the unfortunate Priscilla in all her walks and it was but a year after her death, when I visited my uncle Robert in Macao, when the tragic event occurred which is narrated at the beginning of this history.

My uncle is near my own age and we are more like brothers and have been together, since the death of Dom Pedro at Camoen's Grotto. The Courts of Macao exonerated Adams and though the good Dom d'Amaral would willingly have had him remain in the house at Macao it was not pleasant to think, that, even justified as he was, he had killed the only son of his host.

It was early in the morning when we left the drowsy city; the sun had just touched the windows of Sam Januarius, and as the river boat dropped into the stream, the church of Our Lady of Guia received its morning salutation. The period had come to this story of love and loss, and the book closed.

Perhaps it is just as well not to work, or play, or read except in "the library of the grasshoppers" as do my own good, sleeping friends in Macao.

My Sapphire Ring.

The Hen That Could Lay and Lie.

I had the following story from the bill of an old Spanish hen, an inveterate cackler, who used to fly over the neighbouring fence and wander, with happy, self-communing clucks about my vegetable garden.

"Yes