All warnings about the dangers and wickedness of Chinatown apparently fell on deaf ears. "I am a married woman, my husband can take care of me. I do not need your protection!" was the rather indignant response. So we presented some bright flowers as a token of good will and friendship, and with them slipped into the small, soft hand a talisman that might help her out of future trouble. Just a slip of paper, but the magic of the name and number written there many an escaped slave girl can bear witness to. Some weeks passed by after our visit to Kum Ping on the steamer. She had landed, and, like hundreds of others, had simply disappeared from view in that place of many mysteries, old Chinatown. One night perhaps a month later, I was called to the reception room to see a strange visitor (Chinese) who refused to divulge either name or business to any one else. On meeting this messenger I noticed his great excitement and nervousness. Only after the door was tightly shut did he tell his errand. We listened with interest to his story of a young girl sold to a very cruel master, who beat her daily and never allowed her to leave the place in which she was closely guarded. Unless relief came soon she must end her life. Would the Mission try to save this poor girl? We gladly promised what help we could give, and our visitor left as quickly and mysteriously as he came, only leaving for our guidance a roughly sketched diagram of alley and house where the little captive could be found. There followed much planning and plotting. Our staunch friend, Sergeant Ross of the Chinatown squad, was summoned and consulted. The place was a difficult one to reach, but at last satisfactory plans were made, the day and hour set. There were three officers and three Chinese girls from the Mission. It was a good-sized rescue party and divided into three companies, we guarded well the three exits from the low-roofed house on Spofford alley. With Sergeant Ross leading and our courageous young interpreter at our side, we stealthily ascended the dark, narrow stairs to the second floor, where a heavy door barred the way, but for such obstacles our good officer was prepared. A few blows of his strong hammer made bolts and bars yield. We passed through into a small dark passage. From there could be heard on all sides sounds of excitement; light feet running hither and thither to places of escape, only to be turned back by the sight of our guards, who stood on watch. As we cautiously felt our way further in we were met by the baffled and angry keeper of the den--a woman, but not worthy the name. She fiercely demanded our business--there was no need to tell it, for she knew as well as we; but she wished to find some means of hindering our search for her newest and most valuable slave. A