At the water gate, Rudolph, Heywood, and the padre, with a few forlorn Christians,--driven in like sheep, at the last moment,--were building a rough screen against the arrows that had flown in darkness, and that now lay scattered along the path.

One of these a workman suddenly caught at, and with a grunt, held up before the padre.
The head was blunt.

About the shaft, wound tightly with silk thread, ran a thin roll of Chinese paper.
Dr.Earle nodded, took the arrow, and slitting with a pocket-knife, freed and flattened out a painted scroll of complex characters.

His keen old eyes ran down the columns.

His face, always cloudy now, grew darker with perplexity.
"A message," he declared slowly.