The boy was puzzled. Of missionaries he had a poor enough opinion in general, and this one looked like a great oaf and so did his fat wife, but in the most ordinary way and with the commonest of accents he was talking of "dying for the example." Then his eyes returned to the girl who had been watching him intently all the time.
"But," he exclaimed, "certainly you won't place your niece in such danger?"
"No," said Newbegin, "that would not be right."
"No," repeated the wife, "she had better go back."
"I will not go back," cried the girl, "unless you go, too! This is my home. Your work is my work. I cannot leave Om and Su and their babies."
"Good God!" muttered the boy hopelessly. "Don't you see you must come? You can't stay here to be murdered by the rioters! I can't let you! On the other hand, I can only stay here an hour or two at the most. The Dirigo is almost aground as it is and we shall have the dev—deuce of a time getting out of the lake."
"Well," said Newbegin calmly, "I have told you that we cannot accept your offer. We are very grateful, of course, but it's impossible. It would not do; no, it would not do. A missionary expects this kind of a thing. I wish Margaret would go, but what can I do, if she won't go? I can't make her go."
"I want to stay with you," said Margaret, taking his hand. "I will never leave you and Aunt Henrietta."
The boy swore roundly to himself. The crowd of Chinese had returned to the gate, and the air of the compound stank in his nostrils. He took out his watch.
"It's eleven o'clock," he said firmly. "At five I shall leave Chang-Yuan; till then you have to make up your minds. I will return in an hour or so."