"Only Chi," she replied, "and I am quite sure he is an idolater at heart. Besides," she added, with a droll look in her eyes, "Chi is a gambler and is always drinking samshu. He had been drinking it this morning. I have often spoken to uncle about it, but he has not got the heart to send him away."
The boy laughed.
"I have a certain amount of sympathy with Chi," said he. "If I lived here I should be as bad as he is. I should think you would die of the heat and the smells, and never seeing anybody."
"Oh, it's not so bad," she said spiritlessly. "You see, I have to work pretty hard. There are nearly twenty families now where there is sickness, and in case of anything contagious I go there and nurse. Sometimes I get very tired, but it keeps me occupied and so I suppose I don't think about—other things."
"It's terrible to think of leaving you here," he said. "Can't you persuade your uncle and aunt that their duty does not require them to lay down their lives needlessly?"
"No," she answered, "nothing would persuade them that it was not their duty to remain; nothing could persuade me of that."
"And you would not leave them?" he urged, almost tenderly.
"Oh, how could I? I must stay with them! Don't you see?" She took hold of his hand and held it. It was quite natural and totally unconscious. "That is what missionaries are for."
A thrill traveled up the nerves of his arm and accelerated the motion of his heart.
"That is not what you are for," he said quietly.