We do not get the news here very fast, as we are quite in the country, but Nina wrote me a long letter yesterday from Pekin, where they are now, and told me what dreadfully cruel things the Chinese had done. She overheard a conversation between Uncle Lawrence and Colonel Taylor. Uncle Lawrence was talking of the risk of being captured, and of the awful peril which so many unprotected Europeans were in—it is far worse than death, for they torture people for days before they kill them. "They should never capture anyone who belonged to me," said the Colonel, sternly, and he just touched his pistol with a meaning look. Nina said her father went as white as death; she guessed what was passing through his mind. How could he kill Nina? Would it be right if it came to the worst, and to save her from a lingering death of agony? I told father, and asked him what he thought; for all the Europeans, so it seems, have resolved to kill their dearest and die, rather than fall into the hands of the Chinese. But father—well, father has such a strong, beautiful faith, he does not blame those who would do this, but for himself and for us—I know how he loves us—there were tears in his eyes as he spoke; still, he said he would not feel justified in doing this—he must leave it all with God, and He will take care of His own. I know what it cost father to say this, because I know what we are to him; but I also know that nothing, nothing would ever make him do what he would not think quite right: he does not blame others, but for himself it is different. He and mother walked up and down for hours last evening, and part of the time I was with them, for they often take me into their confidence, and that is why I am so old for my years, I expect—the eldest in a large family generally is, they say; all father’s thoughts were for mother. "Oh, my dearest," he said—I think they had forgotten me—"I never loved you so well, and yet I am full of regret when I think of that quiet Rectory where you might have been now if it had not been for me. Do you remember it, the first time I saw you? I can see it all again: the Rectory garden, the old-fashioned grey stone house, shadows slanting over the lawn, and underneath the trees you were standing, the only young thing there, shading your eyes with your pretty hands; you were very much like our St. Cecilia, and I saw in a moment, beyond the mere beauty of your face, the Divine touch there, and I knew you were one of the Lord’s dear children, and my heart went out to you, and I claimed you in my spirit then and there as my helpmeet, the woman whom God, in His love, had chosen for me. But if I had known what a future I was preparing for you, my beloved, I would never have spoken." "A dear future," mother answered, gently clasping his arm with both her hands. "Would I have had it any different?"