S. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. On the right were several mounted grenadiers: on the left, some half dozen javelin-men. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. Caliban, who, through the interest of Mr. Charvill did nothing to ease their path and it was left to the man to open negotiations, which he did by producing a set of folded papers, slowly approaching the general, and holding them out at arms’ length. Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again. Naturally it all came out then. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears.
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