peared, he received him with open arms.
Lai was as undemonstrative and self-possessed as Ts'èng was effusive and flurried; and a glance at that unfortunate young gentleman was enough to convince his visitor that he had the game in his hands.
"Well, Mr Ts'èng," he began, as he seated himself uninvited, "I have come according to arrangement to settle about last night's job."
"Yes, yes; don't say anything more about that," said Ts'èng, shuddering. "I have here two hundred taels of silver, which I hope you will accept from me."
"That is not enough," answered Lai; "do you think I would have buried a murdered man —"
"Oh don't, don't. Well, come, I will give you another fifty taels; surely that will satisfy you," said Ts'èng, who, though anxious to quiet Lai, had an intense dislike to parting with his money.
"Now, look here, Mr Ts'èng," said Lai deliberately, and with a threatening countenance, "if you don't give me down three hundred taels, good weight, I shall go on at once to the magistrate's to —"
"Say no more, you shall have the three hundred. And now, I have something to ask of you – I want you to row me up to the graveyard and show me where it is."
"Very well," replied Lai; "there will not be any one wanting to cross the lake to-night, so we can start now if you like."
"Is it dark enough?" asked Ts'èng.
"It is so dark that you might run into your best friend's arms without his knowing you; and unless you have the eyes of a cat or an owl, you won't see much when you get there."
With much caution the expedition was made, and Ts'eng satisfied himself, as far as the darkness would allow, that every care had been taken to make the newly made grave as much like the surrounding soil as possible. He returned, therefore, with his mind now at rest, and as days went by and nothing serious occurred to arouse his fears, he gradually recovered much of his ordinary placidity. Not that he altogether escaped annoyance; for Lai, luxuriating in his suddenly acquired wealth, showed a tendency to break out into riot, and in his cups he allowed himself to talk of his friendship with "young Ts'èng" in a way which, coupled with his sudden wealth, made his neighbours wonder and gossip. From some of these Ts'èng learnt what was going on. The bare idea of his alliance with Lai becoming a subject of tittle-tattle was torture to him, and he took an opportunity of begging the ferryman to be more cautious. Being not unwilling to worry poor Ts'èng, Lai affected to be indifferent to anything people might say, and adopted altogether so defiant a tone, that he brought Ts'èng once again to his knees.
To add to Ts'èng's anxieties, little Primrose was seized one evening with a violent headache and every symptom of high fever. For three days the child lay tossing to and fro with burning skin, parched mouth, and throbbing head; and when, at the end of that time, these symptoms abated, their origin was made plain by an eruption which was unmistakably that of smallpox. The doctor who was summoned felt the pulse of the sufferer and prescribed ginseng, and broth made of Cassia shoots, in accordance with the dictum of the highest authorities. But to this orthodox treatment the disease declined to submit. The virulence
