with a grave inclination of his head, he led the way to the little bell-shaped edifice in which the precious Shay-le was deposited. Conway remained where he stood, not altogether at his ease. Without having the good nature that belongs to high spirits, his friend had a turn for mischief, which in his younger days had led him into some serious scrapes, and which even now occasionally exhibited itself. His remark about the "surprise cigar" showed the way his thoughts had been tending, and it was just possible that he designed to play some absurd trick upon the high-priest to recompense himself for having let the hermit slip so easily through his fingers. Above all, it puzzled Conway to account for his friend giving so large a sum to see a relic-things for which he always expressed the utmost contempt-unless he had some whim of his own to serve at the same time.

It was, therefore, with no slight sense of relief that after a few minutes he saw Pennicuick emerge from the shrine, and part company with the priest, apparently on the best of terms.

"Well, Penn, and what was it? Or are you bound to secrecy upon a subject so tremendous?" inquired Conway, laughing.

"My dear fellow, there are a dozen of them, and all rubbish," was his friend's reply. "Let us get home, for I am downright sick of Buddha and all his works."

There was something strange in the speaker's manner that convinced his hearer that something had happened within the last few minutes of an unexpected or surprising kind. If the other had If the other had had the least grain of superstition in him, Conway might have even supposed that he had been impressed by some seemingly supernatural incident, so grave and serious was his air. However, after a

few minutes Pennicuick proceeded to tell what had happened without further importunity; and as it certainly appeared that he had got very little for his five pounds, perhaps, thought Conway, it was that which made him look so serious.

"But you surely saw the Shay-le, the relic of Buddha?" observed Conway.

"Well, I don't know whether I did or not," answered the other drily. "The thing was in a small wooden pagoda, almost dropping to pieces with age, which the priest unlocked for me with every sign of reverence. I looked in and understood him to say that the thing lay at the bottom. I saw nothing for some time, and then-whether it was fancy or not, I will not swear-I did seem to see something sparkling. It may have been a bit of glass, or even the sparks from one's own eyes that are struck out from too much staring into darkness."

"I am afraid you are still a sceptic, Penn. The received opinion of the sacred Shay-le is that it emits coloured light, and that no fire will burn nor diamond-headed hammer bruise it. It is also sometimes surrounded by a halo 'as big as a cartwheel.'"

"The last was not the case to-day, I will positively swear," said Pennicuick; "and as for the rest of the Shay-le's attributes, I will take your word for them."

"It seems to me that you are still sore at having spent those five pounds upon the representative of Ay-tum-foo," said Conway slily. “I don't think you got much for your money."

"That's true," said Pennicuick, with a grim smile.

"Yet, upon my life, I believe you got more than you bargained for, Penn, up yonder." And Conway pointed to the distant hill crowned by the temple. "Did they make you a real Buddhist after some unpleasant form of initiation such as is said to prevail among Freemasons?"

"Perhaps," said Pennicuick, indifferently; "also perhaps not."

"Shall we stay where we are for the night, or move along, Penn ?" inquired his companion presently. "The Mandarin to whom I have got the letter of introduction lives about six miles up stream, and it is too late-except for official visits to make our call upon him. It would be better, therefore, to stay here, and go on in the morning, especially as all the fun is to come over again at sunrise to-morrow--"

"What fun?" interrupted Pennicuick.

Why, the pilgrimage to the temple, and your Barred Stay-le

-Why, the od priest in yellow said it would not be shown till the next feast-day!" exclaimed Fennimisk

Yes, but when he said that, his reverence had not given way to your solicitations; moreover, tomorrow is a feast-day, though one of less importanse than today. But you seem to be tired of it all and rather in a hurry to get away. Of course we can go on to-night if you please.

- Ida't care twopence whether we do or not," answered Pennicnick. There was a look of doggodness, almost of defiance, in his tone, that annoyed Conway, and not the less because it was wholly unaccountable. He was not a man to put up with another's caprices or sullenness.

I care as little as you do. We will stay here then," he answered, curtly.

The reply seemed of small consequence enough; but the value of words, like that of pictures, is sometimes nonght at first, and afterwards turns out to be priceless. In this case that, "We will -tay here, then, of Arthur Conway's proved a sentence of death.

Nothing, however, could be more peaceful, or less indicative of evil, than the scene wherein it was spoken. The very birds of the air were silent. Conway got out his desk and began to write at the little table.

Nothing more was said Conway went on with Eis letter, which occupied him for a long time: when he had finished-or rather, when he had written it up to the latest date, for it was never destined to be finished-he looked up, and saw by the dull light of the cabin lamp that his friend had fallen asleep. Then he turned in himself, and was soon sunk in slumber.

But Pennichick was only feigning sleep. When he found himself no longer under the observation of his friend, he took something out of his breast, pocket, and, softly rising, held it beneath the rays of the lamp. It was a large and solid piece of glass or crystal cut into facets, and resembling a drop from a chandelier. It emitted a light so bright and sparkling that one almost expected it to be accompanied with sound. There was a sound,' though it did not come from this object; it was like the faint movement of a ring that slides upon a bar. Penniculeck's face darkened in an instant, then grew very "set" and hard; he dropped his right hand noiselessly into his shooting-jacket pocket, and moved towards the curtains that separated the cabin from the front compartment. He parted them softly with the finger that still held the piece of crystal, and looked forth with keen and steadfast eyes. Beneath him lay six sleeping men-the five soldiers and their commanier, Fa-chow. It was the same scene as that

which Conway had looked upon on the morning of that very day, and with the like suspicion; only there had not been such menace in his eyes as now gleamed from those of his friend.

They took in the whole six soldiers at a glance, but fixed themselves on Fu-chow. The roundfaced captain lay nearest to him; his pig-tail was towards him; his face, half averted, lay on its pillow-mat, to all appearance in sound sleep. The others were snoring, however, and this man was not. Pennicuick drew his hand up out of his pocket, and with it a six-barrelled revolver. The moonlight shone brightly on the steel, as he levelled it at the head of Fu-chow.

Then on the silence broke sharply a sudden click. No one moved, and therefore, reasoned Pennicuick, no one heard it.

If Fu-chow had heard, with the muzzle of that deadly weapon within two feet of him, he must surely have made some movement-which in that case would have been the last he would have ever made. But Fu-chow lay like a log, or an apple branch with one great round fruit upon it, the cheeks of which retained their red. Then Peunicuick replaced his weapon in his pocket dropped the curtain, and again fell to regarding the object in his left hand. He had now apparently new views respecting it, for he pushed aside the mat that at night filled the place of cabin window, and leant thoughtfully over the moonlit wave. Should he drop the crystal or should he not! It was heavy for its size-which was about that of one of the glass rests that are used at dinner tables to support the carver's knife and fork-and at the bottom of the canal, as had been shown that day by the fishermen, was a deep layer of mud, into which it would quickly sink. He held it between his fingers with that intent, but at that moment the moonbeams struck upon it and, like steel on flint, evoked a thousand sparkles; red, blue, and emerald green, they flashed on his admiring eyes.

"It is not an opal," he murmured, what is it! I will wear it, hidden, like an amulet, here in China; and when I get home to Pall Mall, I'll have it set for a scarf-pin. I wonder what the jeweller will say to it, and whether it is worth the five pounds.”

Though, as we have said, like a drop from a chandelier this crystal had no hole through it; but there was a little ridge sunk round the middle, and about this Pennicuick wound a thread of silk, and suspended it round his neck, and next his skin. "It is like a charm that fools wear," he muttered to himself; "I wonder whether it will bring me good luck or bad." And then he too lay down and fell asleep

The boat was pulled ashore and one of the soldiers despatched to his Excellency, bearing the Englishmen's credentials: the letter of introduc

tion from their Shanghae acquaintance, and a piece of cardboard of bright vermilion, eight inches long by four wide, which was Conway's visiting card. His name was on the centre, and in one corner, in Chinese, the words, "Your stupid younger brother bows his head in salutation."

"Well, I don't like children," observed Pennicuick frankly, "but to call these people children is to pay them far too high a compliment. Does the fool who lives in this gimcrack edifice-the

been handed in. He was attired in a blue dressing-gown, so full in its make as almost to give a suspicion of crinoline, and wore upon his head a sort of inverted butter-dish which wobbled as he moved. As he drew near the boat, he shook his own hands with cordiality, and then placed them reverently on his stomach.

"My master," said he, "is doubtful whether he shall presume to receive the trouble of your honourable footsteps."

proper place of which is at the top of a twelfth-cake -wear a peacock's feather, I wonder?"

66

Certainly not; that is reserved for even greater men. He boasts of the red button only." "Then he is not allowed to swallow gold-leaf when the Emperor grants his gracious permission to him to die?"

"I am not sure, but I think he can only strangle himself with a silken cord," answered Conway gravely. "Now, whatever you do, Penn, when we come into this gentleman's presence, don't you laugh-see, here is his master of the ceremonies." Down the steps of the gimcrack villa, like an actor out of a stage castle a trifle too small for him, was seen descending a solemn personage, with a wand in his hand, and a similar address card, only a trifle bigger, to that which had

"Confound him! then he won't give us any breakfast," observed Pennicuick, when this sentence had been translated to him.

"Hush! hush! that is only his form of invitation," explained Conway. "Tell the great Twanghi, whose reputation reaches beyond the seas, that we crave permission to look upon him."

This reply was evidently expected, as with a profound obeisance the master of the ceremonies moved his wand and marched before them.

As they drew near the house, they perceived a number of paper lanterns hanging from the eaves of the verandah, each inscribed with the name of the proprietor; and, on the triple door being set wide, Twang-hi himself seated at the end of the entrance-hall. He was a man barely of middle age, but endowed with great gravity of demeanour,

though, as Pennicuick thought, by no means with more than was needed to carry off his gown of office, with the tablets of the law worked on the breast, his necklace of huge beads that descended below his middle, and his mandarin's hat with the red button conspicuous on its summit, exactly like a dish-cover with its knob.

He rose on the approach of his guests, with a "Tsing-tsing!” (“Hail! hail !"), then addressed Conway, who, he seemed to divine at once, was the one endowed with talking powers.

"What is your honourable age?" "My worthless number is about five-and-forty." "Does the venerable man enjoy happiness?" "My father is happy, I trust; being in the abodes of the blessed."

For the moment Twang-hi showed some symptoms of embarrassment. He had concluded from his visitor's age that his father was alive, and by this mistake had perhaps awakened sorrowful memories. Conway therefore at once came to the rescue by asking in his turn: "Is your honourable wife living?"

"The mean person of the inner apartment is still in life," was the uncomplimentary but conventional reply.

"How many worthy young gentlemen have you?" "Fate has been unpropitious to me in that particular. I have but one bug."

"He is, however, doubtless doing credit to your Excellency in his education."

"I believe that the lazy little beggar has learned a few characters."

Thus they continued for several minutes, each underrating himself and his own possessions, while exaggerating the importance of everything pertaining to the other; and then pipes and coffee were brought in.

The mandarins in China, as Conway was aware, have no "business hours," as we term them, but are subject at any time to have the claims of justice urged upon them; therefore the sudden appearance of two police officials followed by their myrmidons did not occasion any alarm to him. Pennicuick, on the other hand grew, not alarmed, indeed-for to fear he might with truth be said to be a stranger-but suspicious of danger. He maintained an air of politeness, but his stern face grew dark, and he mechanically pushed his chair back to the wall.

With a wave of his hand, as if to bespeak his visitors' pardon for his momentary neglect of them, the mandarin turned slowly to the foremost police official, who addressed him with an excitement very unusual; for an inferior in China is to his superior always respectful, even to the very carriage of his pigtail. It was plain that something had happened to override even the national regard for ceremony.

So rapidly did the man speak, that Conway was unable to gather any sense from his words except that it was some sort of accusation, and his astonishment was great on seeing the mandarin suddenly turn round and point towards his friend. At the same moment, as if in obedience to the signal, he saw Fu-chow emerge from the crowd, with several soldiers, and make a rush at Pennicuick. Quick as thought, the latter leapt from his seat and drew a revolver from his pocket; the next instant Fu-chow, for certain, would have been sent to Hades, and in all probability the mandarin after him, had not Conway, with a warning cry of "Madman! what would you do?" struck the muzzle of the weapon upwards so that the bullet buried itself harmlessly in the roof of the apartment. Before Pennicuick could recover himself, a dozen men were on him, and he was disarmed and thrown upon the floor. A soldier on either side of Conway had also seized each an arm, though he made no sign of resistance.

"We are Englishmen, Twang-hi," he exclaimed in a loud voice, "and claim the protection of our flag."

"If what I have just heard is true," returned the mandarin, “the Son of Heaven himself could scarcely protect yonder wretch. He has committed sacrilege more impious than has yet entered into the brain of man to execute."

"This is some terrible mistake or lying charge, your Excellency."

"Mistake!" cried the mandarin in a tone of horror; "look yonder!"

Conway looked, and beheld the treacherous Fu-chow holding in his open palms, with a mixture of malignant joy and superstitious reverence, a shining something like the drop of a chandelier.

"It is the sacred Shay-le of Buddha, O barbarian devil!" continued Twang-hi, "that your comrade has stolen from its ten-thousand-yearold shrine."

"It is impossible!" cried Conway, in tones almost as horror-stricken as those of the other; for he well knew the heinous nature of such an outrage in Chinese eyes, and also its consequences.

"I saw him place it round his neck last night," put in Fu-chow, "and have just taken it from thence with my own hands."

"Oh, Penn, is this true?" cried Conway in a tone of agony, "that you took away the Shay-le?"

"Yes, it's true enough," returned Pennicuick, speaking with some difficulty from the number of Chinese upon his chest, but still with a certain characteristic scorn. "I was a fool to do it, of course, and I am sorry for it; but not half so sorry as that you made me miss that whey-faced scoundrel Fu-chow with my first barrel."