leaves its nest, the nest grows cold." And then she broke quite down and threw herself sobbing on the steps of the bridge.
"Oh, Celeste!" Basil Gregory said wretchedly, humbly—he was humbled, for the hour at least, and wretchedly uncomfortable—"I—I didn't know your love could mean so much, but—but—oh! well, don't you see?—won't you see?—even if I didn't go it could not last forever, this." That was bad and crude enough; but he went on and made it worse (such men usually do). "I—I am not a mandarin in my own country, not even the son of one; and you know you are to marry a mandarin here in your—your own country." (He had heard that more than once in Hong Kong; and really he had supposed she knew he knew. It was commonly known. And many wondered why Wu Li Chang had let it wait so long.)
Nang Ping looked up at him, her narrow eyes wide with horror. "Not now!" she said tensely. "And when I tell my august father why, he will kill me," she added as quietly.
"You—tell him why?" the man cried in consternation.
"Yes, because now I do not wish to live."
"You must not tell him!" he said roughly.
"Only when you are gone, or he would kill you too!" Nang said, simply and without bitterness. The Englishman winced. "He will ask me why I disobey him, and I shall tell him."
"Don't do that—not that! I couldn't have it on my conscience!" And indeed he tried to believe that he said it for her sake. "Keep our secret, Celeste," he begged. "Think of the perils we have run whilst he was here"—the Chinese girl smiled a little at that
