It was quite a relief to be underground. The long, dark, narrow passage infused a sense of safety and protection which they could not feel so long as there were doors, save the one by which they had entered, which it was almost impossible for anyone but the most experienced expert to discover, and there were no windows at all; no fear of seeing the cruel yellow faces pressed against the window panes, of hearing the savage, beast-like cries. Mr. Li walked on ahead, cool, calm, erect; a dignified figure, moving along in the darkness, inspiring confidence and trust. Wang was slouching away but, without appearing to do so, Mr. Li kept him close by his side, and he now carried the torch which lighted them through the darkness. Mrs. Ross followed with Mr. St. John; Nina and Mr. Crawford bringing up the rear. Although the danger had been hidden from the former, yet there are some things which it is quite impossible to disguise. Without being told we guess at them, and in her weakness she turned intuitively to the strong man who had braved so much for her sake. She had clung at first to Uncle Paul, but Uncle Paul—she had always felt it—she felt it at the present moment, to her regret and shame—was a being too far above her ever to claim her entire sympathy. She loved him with all her heart and soul, she adored him, but she was sadly conscious of inferiority. She knew that she had given herself to Christ, that the whole bent and aim of her life would be different from what it had been in the old, careless past, and yet she did not think she could stand on the same plateau as Uncle Paul and Cicely, who seemed to be almost in heaven already, She had heard Mr. St. John’s words; she knew that death would be nothing to him, the gate to glory, to Christ; his face shone now with ineffable loveliness as he walked by Lilian Ross’s side, helped her over the broken places, and discoursed to her of the things of God. But Nina wanted to live—the colour had crept back into her pale cheeks, her witching eyes were bright with suppressed excitement. She did not wish for death, but life. "I cannot say yet," she said to herself, "to die is gain, but I can say," she added softly, "for me to live is Christ." Young Crawford did not talk to her much, he saw that her thoughts were occupied, and he had much to occupy his own; he had replied to that one look of her dark eyes, a look which supplicated help and protection, and implied perfect trust, by a few whispered words of reassurance, and his expression was so ardent, so brave, so fixed in its high and steadfast resolve, that it was impossible to feel fear when walking by his side. His blue eyes blazed in the darkness. If an army had been lead against him, he felt that he could face it, and yet be victorious.