Page:Mr. Wu (IA mrwumilnlouisejo00milniala).pdf/272

 think, if anything, my ancestors erred on the side of leniency." Wu Li Chang paused. Less light was coming through the one high window now. Florence Gregory was well-nigh strangled by the beating of her tortured, frightened heart. And almost Wu could hear its beat.

"He was robbed of honor," he said sternly; "he took merely life in exchange, whilst he might have taken—from the sister or the mother—that which they would have held dearer than life. Are you listening to me, Mrs. Gregory?" for she had buried her face in her hands on the table where the sword had laid.

She lifted her head heavily—her face was ashen and lifeless—and looked at him with stricken, agonized eyes.

"I have wearied you," Wu said contritely. "Your husband would reproach me—or your honorable son. My story was too long, and unpleasant in an English lady's ears. Yet I have said no word that does not bring me nearer to my point. I, too, had a daughter"

"Had!" the woman's lips just breathed it.

"And family history has repeated itself—so far."

For some moments there was silence in the room—a silence far more poignant than any words—a silence chill and kindless as the voicelessness of death. Then Florence Gregory started up at the sounds of bolts withdrawn and of panels sliding in their grooves.

Wu rose too, carried the sword, and put it beside the gong. "It is growing dark," he said.