dull eyes. The sight of a
Bishop in a low class opium den was unusual, and the dimmed brains of
the smokers dimly recognised the distraction. Then, as he moved on,
they sank down again upon their wooden pillows, and with slow,
infinite pains, set themselves to roll their bits of opium, to cook it
over the dim lamps that dotted the murky atmosphere with glints of
light, and to resume their occupations.

At the back of the room, the proprietor paused before a part of the
bench where the pen was occupied by one smoker only, a foreigner. The
foreigner lay stretched out in an awkward attitude, knees drawn up,
his head sliding off the wooden block, most uncomfortable. A candle
was thrust into the Bishop's unsteady hand.

"Looksee," whispered a voice. The Bishop looked. "All lite?"
questioned the anxious voice of the proprietor, "Die lil' while ago.
No can smoke like China boys. No can do."

The Bishop continued to look at the beautiful, disdainful head of the
young foreigner, sliding limply off its wooden pillow.

"All lite?" continued the whining voice insistently. "My got money.
Have got watch. No steal." A skinny hand with filthy fingernails crept
forth and thrust itself into the pockets of the limp waistcoat,
crumpled so pitifully upon the thin, young figure, and presently a
gold watch was drawn forth. The watch was slowly waved before the
Bishop's eyes, and the case snapped open, so that he could read the
name engraved within. After which the Bishop continued to gaze fixedly
upon the dead youth, lying disgraced upon a bench in one of the lowest
opium dives in the Colony.

"Smoke here week," went on the insistent voice of the proprietor, "all
time smoke. No go out. No eat. Smoke all same China-boy. No same
China-boy. No can do."

There was a slight movement at the back of the room, and an object was
passed from hand to hand and finally held for inspection under the
Bishop's nose. In a grimy frame, protected by a square of fly-brown
glass, was a square, official-looking bit of paper. Of value
evidently, since much care had been taken to preserve it.

"License," went on the explanatory voice. "Gov'ment license. All samee
Gov'ment license. Pay heap money. No can help if man die. Plenty
China-boy die too. This velly lespectable place."

The Bishop recalled himself as from a dream. During the few moments he
had spent looking down upon the huddled figure, he seemed to have
grown older, to have shrunken down, to have l