Nancy would not think of drinking more tea beneath this hostile roof, but Edward, quite at ease again, poured several cupfuls down his thirsty throat. The two monks were bland and smiling and did their amiable share in a disjointed, bilingual conversation with the two strangers. The children they ignored, but Nancy stiffened each time they passed her stool and waited anxiously for her rescuers to finish. At last, after one of the Englishmen had done the rounds of the temple, examined the eighteen Lo-han, photographed Kuan-yin on her dolphin, and tried various expedients, all useless, to photograph the mummy in his glass case, they got up to go. With effusive bowing they passed out of the monastery from which, an hour ago, she had nearly lost hope of escaping. Her happiness to be away from its walls made her forget for a moment how low the sun had fallen.
"We haven't introduced ourselves," said the man who had been taking the lead. "My name is Beresford and my silent friend here does honor to the good old name of Nasmith. May we presume to ask what you are called?"
"Edward," answered the boy; "Edward and Nancy."
"Good names, too, good old-country names; but have you not a surname, a last name?"
It took Edward a minute to realize that the man meant what would be, in the Chinese order, his first name.
"Yes, it is Hai."
"Hai?" repeated the man. "But that's Chinese. What is it in English?"
Edward did not know. "Hai" always had sufficed.
"We can't call you Miss Hai and Master Hai," laughed Beresford; "that would be absurd. If you will forgive the impertinence, we must content ourselves with Nancy and Edward. What is your father? Why does he dress you like this? Is he a missionary?"
"I don't know," said Edward. "He is an official of the Emperor, that is, he was an official of the Emperor—"