It was the afternoon after the feast.

The Viceroy sipped his tea meditatively in his favorite court, and occasionally fanned himself in a mechanical way, but his thoughts were evidently elsewhere. The goldfinch above his head hopped about and chirped loudly to him, begging for some rice, but he heeded it not, and a little lizard crept across the walk, eyeing him furtively, and then scampered away among the grasses on the bank of the lake, but it need not have feared him to-day. Drip, drip, drip, fell the drops from the fountain in a minor monotone, and in the calm water of the lake the fish darted like flames of fire, and poppy petals dropped silently to the ground. Behind the Viceroy's chair a slave stood dozing.

"Tell my daughter to come here," his master said suddenly; and the slave eyed him stupidly for a moment, and then hastened off to do his bidding. But when Tuen came he did not speak for some time, and seemed casting about in his mind for the best way to begin. Then he cleared his throat importantly.

"I have something to say to you," he remarked, watching her closely from the corners of his eyes.

She waited but did not answer, and he went on:

"I have a new honor in store for you." Having delivered himself of this announcement he examined his long, pointed nails critically, and satisfied that they were scrupulous in appearance, he commenced to drum idly on the table. All this time Tuen was standing breathless before him, fearing something, yet she knew not what.

"You see His Most Mighty and Gracious Majesty, the Ever Wise and Ever Perfect Son of Heaven has lately condescended to honor my unworthy self," he volunteered affably, and all the capitals were expressed in his voice as he spoke of his sovereign. "I have sought everywhere in the province for a gift to send in return that would be worthy of his acceptance, and last night I gave a feast that I might ask of others, perhaps wiser than I am. Then it was that the learned Wo Ting suggested that I should give you to him—an admirable idea, Tuen."

Poor Tuen had been listening in wondering horror, and she now gave a gasp, but he did not appear to notice this.

"You will get ready to go to Peking to be a handmaid to our mighty king." With wild cries Tuen knelt before the Viceroy, the tears streaming down her face. "Oh do not send me away," she pleaded. "I will be so good—I will work for you as a slave all my life—only let me stay here."

The Viceroy arched his brows.

"What a fuss to make about nothing!" he commented. "You ought to be proud to be sent. I fear after all you are more foolish than other women."

But Tuen did not care how silly he thought her, if she could only beg him out of this awful plan. Just when she was so happy must it all come to an end? Was she again to be sent forth, alone and friendless, among strangers? Oh, it was too horrible! And it seemed so useless! She was satisfied, why not let her stay where she was? Some of this she managed to tell the Viceroy between her sobs, but he listened impatiently.

"There is no cause for such sorrow, I tell you," he repeated. "Great is the Emperor, and his riches like the ever-flowing waters. There is no end to them. His palace, I have heard, is of gold and gems; there is nothing like it in all the world."

But this picture brought no consolation to Tuen. She only moaned and cried and begged to stay where she was.

"Is it that you are angry with me?" she asked. "Do I no longer please you, that you want to get rid of me?"

"No, Tuen," he answered, "it is only that I do not know what else to send my Emperor, and I dare not risk his displeasure. But neither will he thank me to send him an unwilling girl, so dry your eyes."

"Then it would be a great favor to you if I went and looked happy?" she inquired in a curiously strained voice.

"So I have told you," he said wearily, for he detested scenes most cordially, and was anxious to bring this one to a close.

Then it was that the little slave girl showed the greatness of her nature, for she wiped away her tears and rose to her feet. Standing before him she said slowly:

"You have been very good to me. I have not forgotten that. If I can now do you a kindness, and thus repay you for all you have done for me—I will go, but I go with a heavy heart."

"Well, it is settled, and you have acted as a dutiful daughter should," he said, drawing a long breath of relief. "I will at once make ready for your departure."

"Must I go so soon?" she said pleadingly.

"At once," he answered decisively.

Again the tears welled up in the eyes of Tuen, and try as she would she could not keep them back:

"Oh, it is so hard to leave all my dear friends!" she moaned. "And Wang, who has been so good to me—" She could go no further.

"Wang can go with you," he said. "You must have servants, as befits your rank, for you are now the daughter of the Viceroy of Kiang-si."

"Oh, I am so glad I can have Wang!" she cried, and this was the only gleam of joy in the blackness of her despair.