er
these dragged on at Darjeeling.

Needless to say it was a slow and often wearisome business, with the
interest, to my mind, unfairly divided. On one side, the Thibetan
side, there was picturesqueness enough, though not without discomfort
too, for many a time the envoys must needs cross mountain-passes so
deep in snow that a hundred Thibetans marched ahead treading it down,
and not less often they must sleep in the rudest camps and eat the
unsavoury cuisine of the country. But on the other, the Peking side,
there was nothing but hard and dreary work, since every word that the
Chinese Commissioners said was telegraphed back to the I.G., and then
carefully discussed with the Yamen.

No sooner was quiet restored in Thibet than anxiety about war with
Japan began to agitate the Chinese capital. The air was as full of
rumours as a woman of whims. One day, happening to find himself beside
Baron Komura, the Japanese Charge d'Affaires in Peking, the I.G. half
laughingly remarked, "So you are going to fight China after all?
I suppose you will win." "Oh, one never knows," was the Minister's
diplomatic reply. Strange to say the general opinion among men less
practical and less well-informed than the Inspector-General, was that
China would easily win a war against Japan--if it came to war--just as
later the unanimous opinion in the Far East was that if Russia fought
Japan, Russia must conquer.

But subsequent events proved Robert Hart right. China, after a brief
struggle, was severely beaten, and peace came as a relief. Then
immediately the question of loans to pay off the indemnity arose.
Two small war loans of Tls. 10,000,000 each were floated, it is true,
during the actual hostilities, but the first big loan of L16,000,000
was not arranged till so late as 1896.

The I.G. had the matter in hand; but unfortunately, just as he was
about to complete it, French and Russian banks offered to lend the sum
at a cheaper rate of interest, and so it was given to them. They also
agreed to float a second loan for L16,000,000. But at the last moment,
either because of some hitch in the minor arrangements, or because the
Chinese suddenly thought it might be unwise to put all their eggs in
one basket, they turned again to Robert Hart.

Late one night a Yamen messenger came clattering down the silent
streets, the sound of his pony's hoof-beats echoing from the compound
walls and arousing the whole quarter, there was a prodigious thumping