Mother had put on the Chinese dress, and all the others were dressed in the same way; and appeared ready to start at a moment's notice. Mother's face was very pale, but she had that patient, enduring expression with which the martyr saints are always drawn; it was only her eyes that were full of pain. I do not know why I wished her to come, save that I had always been accustomed to think she could do anything, and to save father.
When we got down to the portico he was nowhere to be seen. We stood on the steps and looked out over a vast sea of cruel, wicked faces. At first I felt no fear, partly because I was with mother, and then it was such a relief to me to see that they had left off beating Daig Ong, and that father was not there. I kept on wondering where he was, and felt sure he had escaped with Daig Ong.
Now the great danger seemed to lie in the possibility of their rushing the house. Mother had whispered to Nurse to take the others on the way that had been arranged: through the Mission-house and huts, out of the village, and we were to follow afterwards.
As we stood there a grave Chinese gentleman came up and took his place at our side. I had seen him sometimes when he came to study with father, but had never spoken to him. He came quietly up and stood beside us, but he never once turned to look at us, though mother looked up at him.
"Are you Mr. Li?" I heard her say.
"Yes," he replied, simply. I saw a great wave of relief sweep over her face.
"Do stay with us, do not leave us," she said.
"I intend to remain here," he replied, quietly, but he did not even then turn and look at us.
"And you will do what you can?—My husband?"
He did not reply to the last, but only said very simply—