We now know that the order for the execution of the Christians had been given long before by that same Prayā Tēpasing—in such fear of the Prince was the highest officer in the realm! Not only had our servants vanished—there was a sudden cessation of our visitors as well. Few even dared to come for medicine for fear of being suspected of becoming Christians. There were, however, a few notable exceptions, the abbot of the Ūmōng monastery being the most conspicuous. During the following week Mr. Wilson waded out across the flooded country to the home of Nān Chai, his teacher. But his family did not dare to give any information concerning him. To tell what they knew would cost their lives also—so they had been told. He then went on another mile to Noi Sunya’s home, with the same result. The wives of both these men pretended to believe that their husbands had gone to the city to visit us. Mr. Wilson noticed that one of the women had tears in her eyes as she spoke. Puzzled rather than satisfied by the result of the visit, Mr. Wilson returned with the hope that, after all, the men were still alive, and that we yet should see them in the land of the living. It was two weeks before our suspense was broken by the certainty of their death. On Sunday morning, September 26th, a Ngīo friend and neighbour of the martyrs called at my house. After looking all about him, he asked where the Christians were. I told him there seemed to be a mystery about them that we could not unravel, but we hoped they were secreting themselves in safety somewhere. Seeing that I was really ignorant of their fate, he came close up to me, and looking around again to assure himself that no one was near, he asked, “If I tell you, will you promise never to betray me?” Having demanded and received an emphatic promise equivalent to an oath, he drew his hand significantly across his neck, and whispered, “That is the way.” His gesture was too well understood in that reign to leave any doubt as to what was meant. The man had really come on a sad and dangerous errand of kindness. As soon as it was accomplished, he hurried away, evidently fearing that the birds of the air might hear it, or that some breeze might waft it to the palace. On Monday morning Mr. Wilson and I went again to the Prayā. He could now no longer lie for his master as to the fact of the execution of the men, but he offered the flimsy excuse that it was because they had not brought in their slabs on time. We were then obliged to charge him with patent falsehood. He knew that they were executed for no crime whatever, but only for being Christians. Poor man! He seemed somewhat ashamed; but what could he do? He was not at heart a bad man, as his letter of protection for the cook showed. The lives of two peasants were no great matter in those days. He had been so trained to execute every behest of his master, that it scarcely occurred to him that he ought to hesitate at this.