leave, having arrived by the P. and O. liner the day before. The other had been in the city with his regi

ment.

"By Jove, Powell," said the former, "I got the biggest fright of my life yesterday."

66

How's that?" said the other. "Didn't know that you ever got frightened."

"Well, I'll acknowledge that I'm not strong on getting scared, unless there's a woman in the case. Then I run every time."

Perhaps! But that has not enlightened me as to what gave you the fright yesterday."

"It was this way. When we came to anchor we found ourselves right alongside of the French transport Canton, with troops for Formosa. She had a battalion of the Légion Étrangère. I had heard of them at Singapore, and knew that there was an old schoolmate of mine on board-Du Marais, captain commanding the first company. We chummed together when I was studying French and drill at Saint Cyr. So before coming ashore I went aboard the Canton to look him up. Du Marais was there all right, brown, black rather, but fit as a fiddle after campaigns in Algiers. But it wasn't Du Marais who gave me the scare."

"What was it?"

"You remember MacAllister of the -th Dragoon Guards?"

"Who shot Standish after Tel-el-Kebir?" "Yes."

Of course I do. His father and mother and sister are in Hong-Kong now."

66

Well, I could swear that he was on board the Canton in Hong-Kong Harbour yesterday."

"But he was reported killed by Arabs on his way to Alexandria."

"I know. And that is what gave me the fright. As I was talking to Du Marais a big sergeant passed and, by the Lord, if Allister MacAllister is living that sergeant was he! If he's dead that was his ghost. Du Marais noticed me start and asked what was the matter. I told him. He said that the sergeant was not of his company and he did not know him, but that he would inquire. He came back in a little and said: 'You must be mistaken. That was Sergeant Melnotte of Lebigot's company. He is a Frenchman from Besançon.' But I was convinced that it was MacAllister or his ghost."

The two young officers strolled away. They did not notice a man sitting under a spreading tropical plant and hidden still more by the home newspaper he was reading. If they had noticed, they would have seen that the newspaper trembled like an aspen leaf in the palsied hands which held it. When they were gone, Mr. MacAllister rose from behind the plant. His face was pale as ashes, but his movements were quick and decided. He hurried to the harbour-master's office to ask about the Canton. She had sailed for Formosa the evening before.

He returned to the hotel to write letters to Consul Beauchamp, to Commander Gardenier, to Dr. Sinclair. Under the stringent rules of the blockade, those letters did not reach their destinations till their usefulness was past. He set himself to devise means to effect his own return to Formosa. It was not until April that it could be accomplished. Meanwhile he told neither his wife nor his daughter, lest their hopes

should be disappointed, and the disappointment should be more than they could bear.

On the fourth of April the protocol was signed by the representatives of France and China. As soon as the news reached Hong-Kong the Hailoong sailed for Tamsui. She had on board two white passengers for that port, Dr. MacKay and Mr. MacAllister.

The forces of nature and of man seemed determined to prevent her reaching there. When near her destination a terrific storm forced her to run back to the coast of China for shelter, as she had been compelled to do the previous August. When she again appeared off Tamsui a shot across her bows brought her to. The French commander had not heard that the blockade had been raised. Once more she had to put about and steam for the Pescadores to get authority from Admiral Courbet himself. From the Pescadores to Amoy, and again to Tamsui, she carried her impatient passengers before they were allowed to land.

T

XXXVII

"MY SON! MY SON!"

HE day the Hailoong first appeared off the harbour of Tamsui was one of deep anxiety to Sinclair. While the other foreign residents were almost delirious with joy at the prospect of the removal of the blockade, he was disturbed and anxious. He did not know who might be on board that boat. He had a presentiment so fixed that he could not shake himself free from it, that Mr. MacAllister was coming back again.

He dreaded the effect on his patient of the meeting between father and son. The wounded man was still weak. The doctor had not even hinted to him that he was known. Indeed, he had no absolute proof that this was Allister MacAllister. Yet he was convinced that this was he. He felt that he ought to tell him that he was known, and that his father was coming. Deep as was his own disappointment at the still further delay of word from Hong-Kong, it was nevertheless with a feeling akin to relief that he saw the Hailoong forced to steam away without entering port. He resolved that his patient must be prepared for her

return.

The two young men had grown deeply attached to each other. It was not strange. Sinclair had good reason to like the man he believed to be Jessie MacAllister's brother. Sergeant Melnotte had good reason to be grateful to the man who had saved his life.

But there was a deeper reason. It was the instinctive attraction of mutually complementary characters. Sinclair's invincible good-humour and cheerfulness were as life-giving sunshine to the wounded soldier, worn by hardship and suffering. Melnotte's patient, uncomplaining endurance of intense pain, his quiet but profound gratitude, appealed to Sinclair's admiration for all that was heroic and manly. The large, dark eyes followed his every movement with a look of devotion and thankfulness which was pathetic. It was the expression of dependence of one who had been strong, but was now brought down to the weakness of a child. In this gratitude Sinclair found his opportunity.

66

Sergeant Melnotte," he said, "you are not French."

The invalid's face flushed a little, but he answered quietly:

What makes you think so, doctor? Do I not speak French correctly?"

"Oh, yes! So far as I can see, you speak it perfectly; much better than I do. But you are not French."

"How do you come to that conclusion?"

"When you were delirious you spoke Gaelic." "Did I?" he asked quietly, as if holding himself in hand.

"Yes."

"Did you understand what I said?"

"No; but Sergeant Gorman did.”

The man on the bed did not reply. His face assumed a strained, hunted look. Sinclair sat on the edge of the bed and laid his hand gently on his patient's.