SIX WEEKS IX A TOWER. 89 



us to settle with the Tam-shui men as we best could 

 ourselves. I watched for some time, leaning against 

 the parapet, but the only sounds to be heard were the 

 Larking of village dogs, which seemed to indicate that 

 strangers were in the neighbourhood, and the faint 

 sound of the bamboo struck by the watchman at the 

 wed of Wong Kum Sau. Chill raw mists from the 

 craggy mountains of the Heavenly Head swept round, 

 obscuring all the stars, and the line of tall bamboos 

 beside the house rustled dolefully in the bleak wind. 

 Even my old dog appeared affected by the dreariness 

 of the situation, and pressed against my knee for com- 

 panionship. He was the only living thing there I 

 had to trust to ; but I knew that above the dark 

 clouds the stars were still shining with calm ineffable 

 beauty ; and though one-half of the earth was steeped 

 in darkness and the horror of night, the other smiled 

 gladly in day and sunshine. Shall we receive good 

 and not evil at the hand of God 1 Pain is the con- 

 dition of pleasure. There is a vast torture-chamber 

 into which any of us may at any moment be called to 

 enter, and with which most of us have had some 

 slight acquaintance. For some sin of our own, or 

 some fault of others, there in Kwei-shin, or here in 

 London streets, the grim familiar of that inquisition 

 may beckon us aside to undergo such mental or phys- 

 ical process as may be required. Men go in there 

 lusty and joyous, but we scarcely care to lift the red- 

 dened sheet and look on the ghastly face and racked 



