“I leave it
in your hands,” was the message which he flashed. A stern set smile was
his answer. *       *       *       *       *

The afternoon wore away without the Boxers making their last attack. To
Colonel Dresler it was clear that the unwonted stillness meant only that
they were reassembling their forces from their fight with the relief
column, and were gathering themselves for the inevitable and final rush. To all the others it appeared that the siege was indeed over, and that
the assailants had been crippled by the losses which they had already
sustained. It was a joyous and noisy party, therefore, which met at the
supper-table, when the three bottles of Lachryma Christi were uncorked
and the famous port of caviare was finally opened. It was a large jar,
and, though each had a tablespoonful of the delicacy, it was by no means
exhausted. Ralston, who was an epicure, had a double allowance. He
pecked away at it like a hungry bird. Ainslie, too, had a second
helping. The Professor took a large spoonful himself, and Colonel
Dresler, watching him narrowly, did the same. The ladies ate freely,
save only pretty Miss Patterson, who disliked the salty, pungent taste. In spite of the hospitable entreaties of the Professor, her portion lay
hardly touched at the side of her plate. “You don’t like my little delicacy. It is a disappointment to me when I
had kept it for your pleasure,” said the old man. “I beg that you will
eat the caviare.”

“I have never tasted it before. No doubt I should like it in time.”

“Well, you must make a beginning. Why not start to educate your taste
now? Do, please!”

Pretty Jessie Patterson’s bright face shone with her sunny, boyish
smile. “Why, how earnest you are!” she laughed. “I had no idea you were so
polite, Professor Mercer. Even if I do not eat it I am just as
grateful.”

“You are foolish not to eat it,” said the Professor, with such intensity
that the smile died from her face and her eyes reflected the earnestness
of his own. “I tell you it is foolish not to eat caviare to-night.”

“But why—why?” she asked. “Because you have it on your plate. Because it is sinful to waste it.”

“There! there!” said stout Mrs. Patterson, leaning across. “Don’t
trouble her any more. I can see that she does not like it. But it shall
not be wasted.” She passed the blade of her knife under it, and scraped
it from Jessie’s plate on to her own. “Now it won’t be wasted. Your mind
will be at ease, Professor.”

But it did not seem at ease. On the contrary, his face was agitated like
that of a man who encounters an unexpected and formidable obstacle. He
was lost in thought. The conversation buzzed cheerily. Everyone was full of his future plans. “No, no, there is no holiday for me,” said Father Pierre. “We priests
don’t get holidays. Now that the mission and school are formed I am to
leave it to Father Amiel, and to push westwards to found another.”

“You are leaving?” said Mr. Patterson. “You don’t mean that you are
going away from Ichau?”

Father Pierre shook his venerable head in waggish reproof. “You must not
look so pleased, Mr. Patterson.”

“Well, well, our views are very different,” said the Presbyterian, “but
there is no personal feeling towards you, Father Pierre. At the same
time, how any reasonable educated man at this time of the world’s
history can teach these poor benighted heathen that——”

A general buzz of remonstrance silenced the theology. “What will you do yourself, Mr. Patterson?” asked someone. “Well, I’ll take three months in Edinburgh to attend the annual meeting. You’ll be glad to do some shopping in Princes Street, I’m thinking,
Mary. And you, Jessie, you’ll see some folk your own age. Then we can
come back in the fall, when your nerves have had a rest.”

“Indeed, we shall all need it,” said Miss Sinclair, the mission nurse. “You know, this long strain takes me in the strangest way. At the
present moment I can hear such a buzzing in my ears.”

“Well, that’s funny, for it’s just the same with me,” cried Ainslie. “An
absurd up-and-down buzzing, as if a drunken bluebottle were trying
experiments on his register. As you say, it must be due to nervous
strain. For my part I am going back to Peking, and I hope I may get some
promotion over this affair. I can get good polo here, and that’s as fine
a change of thought as I know. How about you, Ralston?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve hardly had time to think. I want to have a real
good sunny, bright holiday and forget it all. It was funny to see all
the letters in my room. It looked so black on Wednesday night that I had
settled up my affairs and written to all my friends. I don’t quite know
how they were to be delivered, but I trusted to luck. I think I will
keep those papers as a souvenir. They will always remind me of how close
a shave we have had.”

“Yes, I would keep them,” said Dresler. His voice was so deep and solemn that every eye was turned upon him. “What is it, Colonel? You seem in the blues to-night.” It was Ainslie
who spoke. “No, no; I am very contented.”

“Well, so you should be when you see success in sight. I am sure we are
all indebted to you for your science and skill. I don’t think we could
have held the place without you. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to
drink the health of Colonel Dresler, of the Imperial German army. Er
soll leben—hoch!”

They all stood up and raised their glasses to the soldier, with smiles
and bows. His pale face flushed with professional pride. “I have always kept my books with me. I have forgotten nothing,” said
he. “I do not think that more could be done. If things had gone wrong
with us and the place had fallen you would, I am sure, have freed me
from any blame or responsibility.” He looked wistfully round him. “I’m voicing the sentiments of this company, Colonel Dresler,” said the
Scotch minister, “when I say——but, Lord save us! what’s amiss with Mr.
Ralston?”

He had dropped his face upon his folded arms and was placidly sleeping. “Don’t mind him,” said the Professor, hurriedly. “We are all in the
stage of reaction now. I have no doubt that we are all liable to
collapse. It is only to-night that we shall feel what we have gone
through.”

“I’m sure I can fully sympathize with him,” said Mrs. Patterson. “I
don’t know when I have been more sleepy. I can hardly hold my own head
up.” She cuddled back in her chair and shut her eyes. “Well, I’ve never known Mary do that before,” cried her husband,
laughing heartily. “Gone to sleep over her supper! What ever will she
think when we tell her of it afterwards? But the air does seem hot and
heavy. I can certainly excuse any one who falls asleep to-night. I think
that I shall turn in early myself.”

Ainslie was in a talkative, excited mood. He was on his feet once more
with his glass in his hand. “I think that we ought to have one drink all together, and then sing
‘Auld Lang Syne,’” said he, smiling round at the company.