"The poor woman was free, and he was standing before her."
How little we in England, who speak of the reproach of Christ, know what it really means in a heathen country. Perhaps we are coldly treated, and we think it hard if we have to put up with a sneer or a few unkind words, and flatter ourselves with the conviction that we are bearing His reproach that we are suffering persecution; but when we look on the other picture our paltry woes dwindle into insignificance. Indeed, when we read, as we did last year, of the awful hardships and privations, the torturing deaths, which our missionaries and the native Christians underwent, then we would sink into the ground for shame. We feel that we can never thank God enough for His mercies to us, the while we look on our fellow Christians over the sea with an admiration a little, maybe, tinged with envy, in that they were accounted worthy to suffer for that beloved Name, dearer and sweeter by far to every Christian than any other on earth.
For a brief moment there was a respite; a mob ever recognizes power, and this was something they could not understand. What if the white man who stood there so fearlessly towering above them were an incarnation of one of the gods? But no, the pictures of their gods were far different from this: they had cruel, wicked faces, like their own. Still they hesitated. They had heard of this man, this great doctor, of his wonderful cures. Suppose, now, he used his magic upon them, inflicting some sore disaster, some awful punishment. Paul St. John noticed their indecision and took advantage of it to whisper to the poor woman behind him to slip back by degrees, and so make good her escape. They were standing together at the entrance of the courtyard; the crowd, for the most part—the mad, surging, bloodthirsty crowd—stood between them and the house. The eyes of the people seemed to be drawn to him as the one central figure; they watched him as a man on guard would watch every movement of his opponent in a deadly duel.
Daig Ong was permitted to pass out unperceived, and found refuge in a house belonging to one of the native Christians. When she was gone Paul St. John breathed more freely. He knew that unless God wrought a special miracle in his favour this could not last long; yet he felt no fear, Jesus had never been so near. It seemed to him that the Lord was actually standing there beside him, and something of the rapturous exaltation of his soul was visible in his countenance. He raised his hand to speak. The spell was broken. With one hideous cry, more dreadful, more cruel in its lust for blood than that of any wild beast, they sprang at him and threw him down and trod him underfoot. It was like a storm picture—you look out and see the gallant little vessel battling with the waves, borne up upon their crested billows, and the next moment they roll over it, and only a ripple, a few bubbles, show the place where it had been. A few minutes since, and Paul St. John had stood before them like a beautiful avenging angel; now he lay there silent and still, with his white face upturned to the pitiless sky.
CHAPTER IV.
CECILIA CONTINUES HER STORY.
So many dreadful things have happened since last I told my story, that if I had not promised Nina, I do not think I could have written any more; but since the troubles began in China, Nina and I agreed to write a little history of what is happening every day, and afterwards we shall compare notes, and then, as Mother says, it will interest our friends at home, and perhaps some of the Missionary papers may like the account for their magazines.
It seems years since last I put down anything, and yet it is only a few weeks ago since that day when we were all together at Cheng-si. How true it is we know not what an hour may bring forth. I remember the day of which I am speaking so well; it began so brightly, such a lovely morning. Rachel and I got up early and went into the garden with father. That hour seemed to me afterwards one of the most precious in my life; it made one understand a little of what the disciples must have felt when the dear Lord Jesus had been laid in the tomb, and they thought of the last time they were with Him. How tenderly they would recall His sweet, gracious words, and His loving looks.
I felt like this about father when he was parted from us. We had been sitting in the garden with him, Rachel and I, and he had been telling us stories, when all of a sudden we heard a noise, almost like the distant roar of the sea, and Seng Mi told us the rioters were coming, and then we had to say good-bye to father. I wished, oh, so much, to stay with him, but I could not disobey him, especially when I knew it would only have increased his pain and anxiety, but I crept out of the room where mother and the others were, and went on to the verandah which overlooks the court-yard. Oh, it was a dreadful sight! I had never seen such fiendish, cruel looking people before. They had got hold of poor Daig Ong and were going to beat her to death. Father did not know anything of what was going on when he first came out, the crowd being so dense between him and Daig Ong, but I was above them, and saw it all. They dragged her along, shrieking for mercy; it was dreadful! I can hear her screams now sometimes! and they tied her to one of the posts at the entrance of the court-yard. I pitied poor Daig Ong with all my heart; I would have done almost anything to save her, but when I saw father I seemed to forget everything else but him. Just then he looked round and saw me, and I cried out to him to come up to us. I could not help it, though all the time I knew it was useless. When I saw that my being there only made him miserable, I slipped back and ran to the room where mother was and begged her to leave the others and come with me, and all the time I cried to the dear Lord Jesus to help us, and protect poor Daig Ong, and to save father from the cruel people outside. Mother turned very white when I spoke to her. She did not know how to leave little baby Anna. It was one of baby's bad days. She did not seem in any pain, but she lay back in Nurse's arms very quiet and still, and looked up at her with intently solemn eyes.