As he drew near the mission compound his stride shortened and slowed. Once he stopped, and for a brief bme stood motionless, not heeding the curious Chinese who passed (dim figures with soft-padded shoes), his lips drawn tightly together over nervous mutterings that nearly, once or twice, came out as sounds. He was not a man who talks out overwrought feelings on the public way. The tendency alarmed him.
He came deliberately into the gate house. Here, talking in some excitement with old Sun, were four or five of the servants.
He paused to ask what was the matter. To take hold again, to step so quickly into his position as head of the compound, brought a sense of relief. That would be habit functioning. A moment later, his confusion was deeper than before; in one of those quick flashes that can illuminate and occupy the inner mind while the outer is engaged with the brisk affairs of life, he was wondering how soon these men would know what he was, what pitiful sort he had overnight become; and what they would think of him, they who now obeyed and loved him.
'They told him the gossip of the streets. Those strange soldiers, Lookers, from beyond the western mountains, had been coming of late to the yamen of old Kang Hsu. Kang, so ran the local story, had reviewed these troops within the twelve hours, witnessing their incantations, giving them his approval.
Doane said what little he could to quiet their fears; he even managed a rather austere smile; then passed on into the courtyard.
Dr. Cassin came slowly down the steps from the dispensary, her keys jingling in her hand. She was a spare, competent woman, deeply consecrated to her work, but not lacking in kindliness.
“Oh, Mr. Doane!” she said. Then, “How did you find things at So T'ung?”
He stood a moment, looking at her.
“Very bad,” he said.
“Not—well—”