"Just so, dear," said Mr. St. John, gently, and he laid his hand tenderly on the child's hair. "Last night I got a letter from your uncle from Pekin—it's a sad letter, Rachel; Christians are being tortured and killed to-day in China, just as they were 2,000 years ago in Rome. And I know my little girl would be the last to wish to make the day that is bringing so much sadness and pain to our brothers and sisters in Christ a gala day with us."
"No," said Rachel, with a great sigh, "of course I shouldn't like that, but oh, how I wish the Christians were not being killed, because it would have been so nice to have had you to ourselves for a whole day, father."
"Now, my dear little girls," said Mr. St. John, rising, "I am going in to get some breakfast, if mother will give me some; you had yours long ago, I know, but I have been out here and not thought much about the time; then I should like to have a big prayer meeting; we must try and get the dear native Christians together—they will need all our love to-day."
"Yes, father," said Rachel, "may we go and ask them to come, I should like that," she added, dancing and skipping about.
"Ask your mother, darling, she must decide. Christine," he said, as his wife came up, "do you think it would be wise for the children to take round the invitations for the prayer meeting?"
"I hardly think so," replied Mrs. St. John. "The village is in the most unsettled state, and there seems to be danger of a general rising."
"I must go and find out what it all means," said Mr. St. John, quietly.
"Oh, my dear husband, do be careful. Do not run into any danger."
"I shall not, my dearest; never fear."
He kissed her and the children tenderly. But even as he spoke, he heard in the distance a murmur like the roar of the sea, and there was Seng Mi standing in the doorway with a white, scared face.