Canton at night is as much China as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. Something has happened to change her marvellously, either that, or she wilfully deceived me and every one else in those days as to her real self. Not content with this, the assailants set fire to the house in half-a-dozen other places; and the progress of the flames was rapid and destructive. Perhaps in the beginning the women made fools of themselves over him. I loathe this room. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. “Annabel;” he moaned.
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