d all that, till he thought the merchant and the Jesus
religion were the cause of all. So bang he goes down the
pole,--gloriously drunk,--marches into his enemy's shop, and uses that
knife. The joke is now on the merchant, eh?"

"Just a moment," begged the padre. "One thread I don't follow--the
religion. Who was Christian? The merchant?"

"Well, rather! Thought I told you," said Heywood. "One of yours--big,
mild chap--Chok Chung."

The elder man sat musing.

"Yes," the deep bass rumbled in the empty chapel, "he's one of us.
Extremely honest. I'm--I'm very sorry. There may be trouble."

"Must be, sir," prompted the younger. "The mob, meanwhile, just stood
there, dumb,--mutes and audience, you know. All at once, the hindmost
began squalling 'Foreign Dog,' 'Goat Man.' We stepped outside, and
there, passing, if you like, was that gentle bookworm, Mr. Fang."

"Fang?" echoed the padre, as in doubt. "I've heard the name."

"Heard? Why, doctor," cried Heywood, "that long, pale chap,--lives over
toward the Dragon Spring. Confucian, very strict; keen reader; might be
a mandarin, but prefers the country gentleman sort; bally
mischief-maker, he's done more people in the eye than all the Yamen
hacks and all their false witnesses together! Hence his nickname--the
Sword-Pen."

Dr. Earle sharpened his heavy brows, and studied the floor.

"Fang, the Sword-Pen," he growled; "yes, there will be trouble. He hates
us. Given this chance--Humph! Saul of Tarsus.--We're not the Roman
Church," he added, with his first trace of irritation. "Always
occurring, this thing."

Once more he meditated; then heaved his big shoulders to let slip the
whole burden.

"One day at a time," he laughed. "Thank you for telling us.--You see,
Mr. Hackh, they're not devils. The only fault is, they're just human
beings. You don't speak the language? I'll send you my old teacher."

They talked of things indifferent; and when the young men were stumbling
along the streets, he called after them a resounding "Good-night!
Thanks!"--and stood a resolute, gigantic silhouette, filling, as a right
Doone filled their doorframe, the entrance to his deserted chapel.

At his gate, felt Rudolph, they had unloaded some weight of
responsibility. He had not only accepted it, but lightened them further,
girt them, by a word and a look. Somehow, for the first time since
landing, Rudolph perceived that through this difficult, troubled,
ignorant present, a man might burro