dagger that hung from the wall. Then a mild brightness filtered
through the curtains and irradiated the bed. Felix distinctly saw
the grotesque figure of Mandarin Li standing a few steps away.
The shadow of death darkened his face, and without seeming
movement of his lips, Felix heard these words, uttered by that
shrill ringing voice so hated, now mellowed into divine music.

"Felix d'Aubremel, God does not will that you should die, and I,
his servant, am sent to tell you his decree. You have been cruel
and covetous--you have wished an innocent man's death, and his
death caused that of a multitude of victims to the barbarous
passions of a great western nation. Man's life must be sacred
for every man. God only can take what he gave. Live, then, if you
would not add a great crime to a great error. And if forgiveness
from one dead can restore in part your strength and courage to
endure, Felix, I forgive you."

The vision vanished.

Felix religiously obeyed the instructions of Li, and consecrated
his life by a vow to the relief of human misery wherever he
found it. He devoted Richard Malden's vast fortune to founding
charitable establishments. Ernestine Montmorot would never
consent to see him again.

Two years ago, yielding to an impulse easy to understand, he
requested the English consul at Chiusang to make inquiries as
to the family of Li, who might perhaps be suffering in poverty.
Nothing more could be discovered than that the gracious sovereign
of the Middle Kingdom had confiscated the property of Li's