“Dear me!” he said. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. I don’t wish to marry you at all. The nuns wore their habit, and said all their offices, and went about their tasks unobtrusively, relieving the poor and needy and tending the sick. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone.
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