"You are not. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. It is a true saying that in the mountains there is peace. "Nothing!" echoed the other, scornfully.
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