"Poor little thing—my curse on the brute who did it. How could any one with a heart do such a cruel deed?" he observed in his own language. Then added in Chinese, "Fear not, A-tae, you will soon be well."
The girl opened her eyes upon hearing his voice, and thrilling faintly, begged him not to sorrow for her, she was so happy resting in his arms.
Thompson gazed upon the loving face, but in spite of vain endeavours to restrain his emotion, his lips quivered, and big tears coursed down his cheeks.
"Don't weep, Yung-Yung-Sho."
"God—help—me. I deserve to lose you, as a punishment for my sins."
"Speak my own language."
"A-tae, my heart is broken, and would I were in your place. I have not loved you as I should. I am not worthy of such love as yours, you pure lily."
Upon hearing this the poor girl lifted her head, laid her cheek upon his, and kissing him gently, said, "Yung-Yung-Sho, I'm—so—happy!" then dropped upon his shoulder, and giving him a look of ineffable love, closed her eyes, and in a short time all her earthly troubles were over.
When he found that she was dead he clasped her to his heart, and lavished the most endearing epithets upon her—"Open your eyes once more! O darling A-tae! Look at me again! Your heart still beats." But the light of the beautiful eyes was dimmed for ever, and the loving little heart would never beat for him again. All day he held her in his arms, and when evening came he lit a lamp—which had been her present—and watched her body through the long winter night. At times, fancying she smiled at him, he would bend over her and listen—but to hear the beating of his own heart,—then he would gently kiss her lips, and resume his lonely watch.