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Then casting a last look into the silent waste of waters, in the centre of which the junk was sailing, he shrugged his shoulders, and returned to the cabin, without having spoken a word to Fry-Craig.

      The two agents, however, were there, leaning on the railing, and, according to their habit, sympathetically talking to each other without speaking. They heard Kin-Fo’s questions and the captain’s answers, without taking part in the conversation. Of what use would it have been for them to engage in it? and, above all, why should they complain about a delay which put their charge in a bad humor?

      Indeed, what they lost in time they gained in security. Since Kin-Fo ran no danger on board, and since Lao-Shen’s hand could not reach him, what more could they ask?

      Besides, the time when their responsibility would end was approaching. Forty hours later, and the whole army of the Tai-ping might attack the ex-patron of the Centenary before they would risk a hair to defend him. Very practical were these Americans,—devoted to Kin-Fo as long as he was worth two hundred thousand dollars to the Centenary, but absolutely indifferent to whatever might happen to him when he was only worth a sapeque.

      Craig and Fry, reasoning thus, ate very heartily an excellent breakfast. They used the same dish and the same plate, and ate the same number of mouthfuls of bread and pieces of cold meat. They drank the health of the Honorable William J. Bidulph in an equal number of glasses of excellent Chao-Chigne wine. Each smoked half a dozen cigars, and again proved that they could be “Siamese twins” in tastes and habits, if not by birth.

      Brave Yankees! they thought their troubles were nearly over.

      The day passed without incidents or accidents. The calm continued; and there was the same quiet, cloudless sky, and nothing to indicate a change in the meteorological conditions. The sea, too, was as motionless as a lake.

      About four o’clock Soun appeared on deck, staggering and stumbling like a drunken man, although he had never drunk so little in all his life as in the last few days.

      After having been first violet, then indigo, then pale blue, then green, his face was now beginning to turn yellow again. When once on land, where it would assume its natural orange hue, if it should become red through anger, it would have passed successively and in natural order through all the colors of the solar spectrum.

      Soun dragged himself along to the two agents, keeping his eyes partly closed, and not daring to look over the railing of the “Sam-Yep.”

      “Arrived yet?” he gasped.

      “No” answered Fry.

      “Shall we arrive?”

      “No,” answered Craig.

      “Ai, ai, ya!” moaned Soun.

      And in despair, without strength to say another word, he went and lay down at the foot of the main-mast, his frame being shaken by convulsive starts, which made his clipped braid wag like the little tail of a dog.

      Capt. Yin, like an intelligent man, ordered the scuttles to be opened, that the hold might have an airing: and it was a wise precaution; for the sun would quickly absorb the dampness which two or three waves, coming on board during the typhoon, had made inside of the junk.

      Craig-Fry, while walking on deck, stopped several times in front of the main-scuttle. A feeling of curiosity moved them to visit the funereal hold, and they descended through the hatchway which led to it. The sun made a large trapezium of light in a perpendicular line with the main-trap; but the fore and rear part of the hold remained in deep darkness. However, Craig-Fry’s eyes soon became accustomed to it; and they could observe the stowage of the particular cargo of the “Sam-Yep.”

      The hold was not divided, as it is in the majority of junks of commerce, by partitions running crosswise, and therefore gave one free passage from one end to the other, and was entirely reserved for the cargo, whatever it might be; for the cabins on deck sufficed for the quarters of the crew.

      On each side of this hold, which was as clean as the antechamber of a cenotaph, the seventy-five coffins which were being conveyed to Fou-Ning were piled. Being firmly stowed, they could neither be displaced by sudden jolts or pitching, nor in any way endanger the safety of the junk.

      A passage that was left between the double row of biers allowed one to go—now guided by the broad light from the opening in the two traps, and then coming into comparative darkness—from one end of the hold to the other.

      Craig and Fry, silent as if they were in a mausoleum, went along through this passage, looking around them with considerable curiosity.

      There were coffins of every shape and dimension, some of them large and some small. Of these emigrants whom the necessities of life had driven beyond the Pacific, some had made a fortune in California diggings, and in the mines of Colorado and Nevada; but they were few in number, alas! Others, who reached there poor, returned poor. But all were coming back to their native country equal in death. A dozen coffins of rare wood, ornamented in the most fanciful and expensive Chinese fashion, and others simply made of four boards rudely put together and painted yellow, made up the ship’s cargo.

      Whether rich or poor, each coffin bore a name, which Fry-Craig could read as they passed,—Lien-Fou of Yun-Ping-Fou, Nan-Loou of Fou-Ning, Shen-Kin of Lin-Kia, Luang of Ku-Li-Koa, etc.

      It was not possible to confuse them; for each corpse, being carefully labelled, would be sent to its address, and would wait in orchards, fields, and plains for the final hour of burial.

      “How nicely arranged!” said Fry.

      “Nicely packed,” answered Craig.

      They spoke as they would of the goods of a merchant from the docks of a consignor in New York or San Francisco.

      Craig and Fry, having reached the farther end of the hold, in the darkest part towards the prow, stopped, and looked down the passage-way, which was as distinctly defined as the path in a cemetery.

      Having finished their exploration, they were preparing to return to the deck, when a slight sound was heard, which attracted their attention.

      “A rat!” said Craig.

      “A rat!” repeated Fry.

      It was a poor cargo for these rodents. One of millet, rice, or maize would have suited them much better.

      However, the sound continued. It was heard about as high as a man’s head, and somewhere to starboard, and consequently must come from the upper row of coffins. It was not a grating of teeth, but surely a grating of claws or nails.

      “F-r-r-r! F-r-r-r!” said Craig and Fry.

      The sound did not cease.

      And the two agents, moving nearer, listened, and held their breath. It was certain that this scratching came from one of the coffins.

      “Can they have put a Chinaman in one of these coffins while in a state of lethargy?”—said Craig.

      “And who would wake up after a passage of five weeks?” concluded Fry.

      The two agents placed their hands on the suspicious-looking coffin, to assure themselves that there was a movement inside.

      “The devil!” said Craig.

      “The devil!” said Fry.

      The same idea that some near danger threatened their charge had naturally come to both; and, withdrawing their hands very slowly, they felt the lid being cautiously raised.

      Craig and Fry, being men whom nothing can surprise, stood motionless, and, as they could see nothing in the profound darkness, listened with some anxiety.

      “Is it you, Couo?” said a voice that was repressed through excessive prudence.

      Almost at the same moment, from another coffin that was opened a crack, another voice whispered,—

      “Is it you, Fa-Kien?”

      And the following words were rapidly exchanged:—

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