"Sergeant Melnotte," he said in a low, kind tone, "you need be afraid of nothing from me. Are you not Allister MacAllister?"

The wounded man's hand gripped Sinclair's. A spasm of pain crossed his face. He closed his eyes and lay for a few moments very still. Then, without opening his eyes, he said in English:

“What do you know about Allister MacAllister?" "I know his father, his mother, and his sister. I know that they are searching the world for him. I know that he disappeared and left no trace behind him, because he thought he had killed a man." The great, dark eyes were open now and looking in unbelieving wonder into Sinclair's frank, kindly blue ones. "But he didn't kill him."

"Dr. Sinclair, do you mean to say that Captain Philip Standish did not die? "

"Yes, that is what I mean. He is alive and well, and has been helping your father to search for you.' "Thank God! Oh, thank God!"

He covered his face with his hands. His lips moved as if in prayer. Sinclair did not stir, nor utter a word to disturb his thoughts and thankfulness. length he uncovered his face and looked up.

At

"Dr. Sinclair," he said in a voice scarcely above a whisper, "where did you meet my people?" No," he continued, in

"Here in Tamsui. . . .

answer to the eager, startled look, "they are not here now. But they are not far away. They are in HongKong."

Four days later the Hailoong was again seen standing in towards the harbour. After a very brief delay the French allowed her to proceed.

The whole foreign population except Sergeant Gorman and the patient, whom he remained to care for, were down at the dock. The native Christians were there in a body in the hopes that Dr. MacKay might be on board.

As the first boat with the first news from abroad for exactly six months zigzagged through the field of mines and obstructions with which the mouth of the harbour was blocked, every glass was focussed upon her.

"It's McLeod who is bringing her in," said Boville, who was using the long customs telescope. "Whiteley is not on the bridge. He is on deck with two passengers."

That's MacKay next to him," said the consul. "I can tell him by his size and the long black whiskers against his white clothes."

"Who's the big man on MacKay's left?" asked Sinclair, who wanted some one to confirm his own impressions.

"It looks like MacAllister," replied Boville. "Yes, it is MacAllister. I can see him plainly now that she has swung to starboard. I wonder what is bringing him back to Formosa."

"Lord, what shall I do to entertain him? ... I haven't a thing to eat fit to offer a white man. 'Pon my soul, I haven't!" spluttered De Vaux.

Sinclair and the consul glanced at each other understandingly, and the latter said:

"Make your mind easy about that, De Vaux. With your permission I shall be glad to entertain Mr. MacAllister. I have a little foreign chow left. My wife will probably have sent some more by this boat."

With tears of joy, shrill cries of welcome, and ex

clamations of thankfulness the natives received their pastor.

No less gladly, but hiding their feelings under jest and laughter, the Britons welcomed their countrymen. In the midst of the handshaking Beauchamp said:

"Mr. MacAllister, you will be my guest this time. Come away up to the consulate."

With a brief word or two in an undertone to Sinclair, the consul led his guest away. After a cheery laugh and an exchange of banter with McLeod, the doctor climbed the steep hill with MacKay and his converts to the former's house.

Twenty minutes later he looked from the verandah and saw the consul and Mr. MacAllister coming. The latter's face was pale as death. He was stooping forward and trembling as if with palsy. But he was covering the ground with such strides that the consul, in spite of his agility, was almost running to keep pace with him. As he drew near the verandah the father broke into a run, and his trembling hands caught Sinclair's:

"May I see him, doctor? May I see him?" "Yes. He's expecting you.'

"God bless you, Dr. Sinclair! God bless you!"

As the door of the room swung open the man on the bed raised himself on his elbow and uttered one word in Gaelic:

"Athair!" (Father).

The

"My son! My son, Allister! My son! My son!" The father was on his knees beside the bed, holding the great worn frame of his boy in his arms. son's arms were around the father's neck. They were kissing each other, were crooning to each other in the Gaelic. All the passion and the tenderness of the

Celtic nature was being poured forth, unrestrained. The love of this man of business and his soldier son was like the love of a man for a woman, and of a woman for a man.

Half an hour later Sinclair and MacKay gently opened the door. They were anxious about the strength of the wounded man. The father was still on his knees by the bed. The son's arms were still around his neck. The father's voice was being lifted up to God in prayer, still in the language of his native hills. It was not a prayer of petition, but of thankfulness. And the words they heard were these:

66 6

'For this my son was dead, and is alive again. He was lost and is found." "

M

XXXVIII

REJECTED

ACKAY and Sinclair were sitting in the former's study. It was the first moment they had found in which to discuss their own plans and prospects.

"Dr. Sinclair," said MacKay, "you remember my prophecy about the way the Church at home would treat me, because I ordained those two native preachers."

"Yes, I remember."

"Read that."

He handed Sinclair a letter. It was from an old official of the Church. In dry, formal words he recounted the misdemeanours and errors of which MacKay was guilty in that "you did arrogate unto yourself and usurp the functions of a Presbytery, and did, by the laying on of your hands, without the presence and without the authority of a Presbytery, ordain or pretend to ordain to the office of the holy ministry two native preachers: to wit, one A Hoa and one Tan He."

After having recounted the pains and penalties which the heinous offence might incur, the letter closed with the consolation that, in view of his past services and his zeal which had outrun his discretion, the General Assembly would be petitioned to condone his offence, and it might be pleased to grant the prayer of the petition, on condition that he would