sake of the change of scene and air. The remedy was exactly what he required; and after a fortnight's absence, he wrote to say that he was so much better that he should follow his letter at the interval of a day.
By this time Tan was able to walk, and so soon as he was assured of the date of his master's return, he absented himself from the house for the rest of the day. Towards evening he returned, and though his mood was exultant, he was strictly reticent as to his doings while abroad. His fellow-servants were too busy to be inquisitive; and as his enfeebled condition still prevented him from serving, he was left to himself.
The next day, towards evening, as Ts'èng's chair turned into the road in which his house stood, two police-runners, who had been sitting on a door-step opposite, rose and crossed over to Ts'èng's gateway. At the familiar shout of the chair-coolies, Tung-chia lai-lo ("The master has come"), the big folding-doors were thrown open, and the bearers were on the point of crossing the threshold, when one of the policemen advanced, and producing a warrant, ordered the coolies to stop and Ts'èng to dismount. Instinctively Ts'èng obeyed, and was for the first moment or two so dazed that he hardly seemed to be aware what was going on. By degrees the dress of the policeman, with his red-tasselled official cap and long robe, helped him to realise the situation, and he gasped out, "What is the warrant for?" "Murder," answered the man, as he laid his hand on Ts'èng's arm. It was fortunate for Ts'èng that he did so, for without some support he would have fallen prone to the ground. As it was, it was as much as the two men could do to support his tottering steps for a few yards, and then his legs refused to move, and his head fell forward on his chest as he dropped off into a dead faint. Seeing the condition of their master, the coolies brought forward his sedan, and the policemen accepting their aid, put the inanimate form of their prisoner into the chair, and directed the coolies to carry it to the prison at the district magistrate's yamun. The distance was not great, and the coolies, anxious to save their master from additional shame, hurried fast through the streets. On arriving at the yamun, they entered the front gates, and were then directed by the policemen to turn off to the left through a door, the insignia of which, a painted tiger's head, with huge staring eyes and widely opened jaws, marked it as the entrance to the prison. Passing through this they entered a narrow passage, at the end of which was a courtyard, where the coolies were ordered to put down their load. It had never been the fate of either of these two men to find themselves within a prison before; and the sights which met their eyes made them shudder to think what their master's feelings would be when he awoke to consciousness and found himself in such a place.
In the courtyard itself, groups of prisoners, bound with heavy chains, were huddled together, whose appearance was enough to carry horror and compassion to the minds of all but those case-hardened by habit. Their faces were thin and worn, and bore the cadaverous hue which is commonly begotten by want and foul air; while the listless expression of their eyes and the languid movements of their limbs furnished additional testimony to the state of weakness to which they had been reduced. The condition of their
