Yes, but when he said that, his reverence had not given way to your solicitations; moreover, to-morrow is a feast-day, though one of less importance than to-day. But you seem to be tired of it all, and rather in a hurry to get away. Of course we can go on to-night if you please.'

'I don't care twopence whether we do or not,' answered Pennicuick. There was a look of doggedness, almost of defiance, in his tone, that annoyed Conway, and not the less because it was wholly unaccountable. He was not a man to put up with another's caprices or sullenness.

'I care as little as you do. We will stay here then,' he answered curtly.

The reply seemed of small consequence enough; but the value of words, like that of pictures, is sometimes nought at first, and afterwards turns out to be priceless. In this case that 'We will stay here then' of Arthur Conway's proved a Sentence of Death.

Nothing, however, could be more peaceful, or less indicative of evil, than the scene wherein it was spoken. The pilgrims had all departed, leaving no tokens of their presence on land or water. The priests were at their solitary vespers, or perhaps counting the 'cash' that had been received during the day. The beggars had shrunk away into clifts and caves, to refresh themselves with sleep for the resumption of operations on the morrow. The soldiers and boatmen were either asleep or silently smoking: or perhaps both: for though there is a theory in Europe that people do not enjoy tobacco in the dark or with their eyes shut, it does not hold good in China. The very birds of the air were silent. Conway got out his desk and began to write at the little table.

'Hullo, Connie? You are not going to keep a journal surely?'

'No. I am writing home.'

'Oh dear! What an excellent husband!' remarked Pennicuick. There was a touch of satire in the tone that did not escape the other's ears. The colour came into his cheek, as he answered coldly, I am writing to Nelly.'

There can be no great hurry about it, my dear fellow, as we shall not be back at Shanghae for six weeks.'

"There may be some opportunity of sending a letter, and I make a point of writing by every mail.'

"You astonish me. What the deuce do you find to say?' 'To my daughter? Well; I tell her everything that I think will interest her which I hear or see.'

'Good Heavens! I think I see myself writing in the same

style to Raymond. "China is a large and populous country: it is governed by an Emperor called the Son of Heaven. The amount of tea drunk in Shanghae alone is estimated at a million pounds." He would not much care for that, I think. My own style is, "Dear Ray,-Shall be home in August or thereabouts. In the mean time, draw on me as usual." Why, you have not seen your Nelly for these ten years.'

'No; and it may be ten years more before I do see her. It is the more necessary therefore to do all I can to keep my memory green with her.'

'I see.'

Nothing more was said. Conway went on with his letter, which occupied him for a long time; when he had finished-or rather, when he had written it up to the latest date, for it was never destined to be finished-he looked up, and saw by the dull light of the cabin lamp that his friend had fallen asleep. Then he turned in himself, and was soon sunk in slumber.

But Pennicuick was only feigning sleep. When he found himself no longer under the observation of his friend, he took something out of his breast pocket, and, softly rising, held it beneath the rays of the lamp. It was a large and solid piece of glass or crystal cut into facets, and resembled a drop from a chandelier. It emitted a light so bright and sparkling that one almost expected it to be accompanied with sound. There was a sound, though it did not come from this object; it was like the faint movement of a ring that slides upon a bar. Pennicuick's face darkened in an instant, then grew very 'set' and hard; he dropped his right hand noiselessly into his shooting-jacket pocket, and moved towards the curtains that separated the cabin from the front compartment. He parted them softly with the finger that still held the piece of crystal, and looked forth with keen and steadfast eyes. Beneath him lay six sleeping men; the five soldiers, and their commander Fu-chow. It was the same scene as that which Conway had looked upon on the morning of that very day, and with the like suspicion. Only there had not been such menace in his eyes as now gleamed from those of his friend.

They took in the whole six soldiers at a glance, but fixed themselves on Fu-chow. The round-faced captain lay nearest to him; his pig-tail was towards him; his face, half averted, lay on its pillowmat, to all appearance in sound sleep. The others were snoring, however, and this man was not. Pennicuick drew his hand up out of his pocket and with it a six-barrelled revolver. The moonlight shone brightly on the steel, as he levelled it at the head of Fu-chow.

Then on the silence broke sharply a sudden click. No one moved, and therefore, reasoned Pennicuick, no one heard it.

If Fu-chow had heard, with the muzzle of that deadly weapon within two feet of him, he must surely have made some movement -which in that case would have been the last he would have ever made. But Fu-chow lay like a log, or an apple branch with one great round fruit upon it, the cheeks of which retained their red. Then Pennicuick replaced his weapon in his pocket, dropped the curtain, and again fell to regarding the object in his left hand. He had now apparently new views respecting it, for he pushed aside the mat that at night filled the place of cabin window, and leant thoughtfully over the moonlit wave. Should he drop the crystal or should he not? It was heavy for its size-which was about that of one of the glass rests that are used at dinner tables to support the carver's knife and fork--and at the bottom of the canal, as had been shown that day by the fishermen, was a deep layer of mud into which it would quickly sink. He held it between his fingers with that intent, but at that moment the moonbeams struck upon it, and like steel on flint evoked a thousand sparkles; red, blue, and emerald green, they flashed on his admiring eyes.

It is not an opal,' he murmured; what the deuce is it? I will wear it, hidden, like an amulet, here in China; and when I get home to Pall Mall, I'll have it set for a scarf-pin. I wonder what the jeweller will say to it, and whether it is worth the five pounds.'

Though, as we have said, like a drop from a chandelier, this crystal had no hole through it; but there was a little ridge sunk round the middle, and about this Pennicuick wound a thread of silk, and suspended it round his neck, and next his skin. It is like a charm that fools wear,' he muttered to himself; 'I wonder whether it will bring me good luck or bad.' And then he too lay down and fell asleep.

(To be continued.)