CHAPTER XXVIII
THE SQUIRE'S STORY (CONTINUED)
"I left the barracks and made my way into the lowest and commonest quarter of the city. My own idea was to drown my thoughts, to forget myself, Edith, and the world, even if only for an hour or so. The sight of the familiar sign of the opium den over a low door stopped me in my mad ramble. Here was the chance of banishing my thoughts and misery. I entered. A hideous old Chinaman barred my way, but satisfying himself that I was not an objectionable person, he turned and led me down into the dark den itself. An unoccupied ottoman in a corner took my fancy. I flung myself down. Simultaneously a soft voice asked me in English what I required. At first I fancied I was a prey to my imagination. The voice was so soft, so gentle, that I thought it was hers—Edith's.
"Then I looked round full into the face of a maiden who leaned over me, so close that I felt her warm breath on my cheek as she repeated the words that had roused me from my drowsiness. She was in all respects the loveliest native girl I ever saw—so slim, so bright-eyed, and so charmingly clad, that for the moment I forgot my misery in contemplation of her exceptional beauty.
"'You speak English?' I remarked.
"'Yes, indeed,' she murmured, seating herself gracefully on the arm of the couch; 'it is so much prettier than my own language.'
"'And what are you doing in this—er—hell?' I could not refrain from asking. She formed such a striking contrast to her surroundings.
"'Hush!' she responded quietly, and raised her finger in warning, placing it almost upon my lips. 'Hush, they may not all be asleep.' And she waved her arm, bare to the elbow, in the direction of the motionless forms recumbent on the other couches in the cellar.
"'What is your name?' I whispered, as I perceived that she was not averse to conversation.