in, Cicely, gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER III.

THE RISING IN THE VILLAGE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh father, do—do let me stay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. St. John moved quickly forward to the front of the house. He was beloved in the village and widely known, and hoped that his influence might prevent further bloodshed; and then he could not leave the native Christians. If