from me you would be taken and crucified beside the pagoda, and left there until the carrion birds came and plucked your vitals out, and your eyes, and no one would suspect, or, if they suspected, dare make a move. Your people at your Government House! They could do nothing. My Government would dare do nothing, even if they wished to, for in an hour I could pull half China tumbling down about their ears. By the way, your father is a ruined man to-day. His ships are sinking, his credit gone. In China we punish parents for their children's sin—and our gods have punished Robert Gregory for yours and for his own: his own sin in having begotten such a thing as you, and his daily sin of impertinence to my countrymen. Well, my virtuous young English gentleman, our interview is drawing to its close. What is it that you wish to say—if your quivering nerves will let you speak?"
"If"—Basil Gregory spoke humbly enough now—"if you would grant me one favor."
Wu Li Chang laughed aloud. "Optimist!" he sneered. "Well?"
"That—that before anything"—his voice shook, and the words were not very clear—"anything happens to me, you will let me write a letter to my mother."
"To your mother?" Wu said softly. But his triumph leapt in his veins.
"To my mother! I—I beg you that one thing. It would not mention this place or your name, of course"—Wu laughed—"but," the tortured man went on, "but if you would see that it reached her" There was a sob in his voice.
"And—so you would like to write to your mother?"
"Oh!" Basil Gregory cried, "double the torture you have planned, but let me write to my mother."
