Then the figure wept and said, "Brother, send your armies to avenge me."

As Kuan Yü aid that, a chilly blast went through the room, and the figure disappeared. Just then Yüan-tê awoke and knew that he had dreamed.

The drums were beating the third watch as he awoke. He felt greatly worried and disturbed. So he went into the front portion of the palace and sent for K'ung-ming. Soon he came, and Yüan-tê told him of the vision.

"You have been thinking too deeply of Kuan Yü lately, my lord," said K'ung-ining. "There is no need to be distressed." But Yüan-tê could not find comfort, and K'ung-ming was long in calming his feelings and arguing away his fancies. As K'ung-ming left the palace he met Hsü Ching, who said, "I have a very secret piece of news to tell you, so I came on here."

"What is your secret?"

"There is a report about that Wu has got possession of Chingchou; Lü Mêng has taken it. And more than that, Kuan Yü is dead. I had to come to tell you."

"I saw it in the sky. A large star fell over against Chingchou, and I knew some evil had befallen Kuan Yü. But I feared the effect upon our master and I forbore to say anything."

They did not know that Yüan-tê was standing just within the door. Suddenly he rushed out, seized K'ung-ming by the sleeve and said, "Why did you deceive me? Why, when you had such terrible news?"

"Because it is only a rumour," replied they. "It is too improbable for belief. We pray you not to be distressed." "By our oath we live or die together; how can I go on living if he is lost?"

The two men soothed their lord as best they could, but even as they spoke to him one of the private attendants said that Ma Liang and I Chi had arrived. Yüan-tê called them in and questioned them eagerly. They said Chingchou was indeed lost, and Kuan Yü begged for instant help.

The letters they brought had not been read before Liao Hua was ushered in. He prostrated himself and, weeping, told the story of the refusal of help on the part of Liu Fêng and Mêng Ta.

"Then is my brother lost!" cried Yüan-tê.

"If those two have really behaved so badly, the offence is even too great for death," said K'ung-ming. "But calm yourself, O Prince. I will see about an army and lead it to the rescue.' "If Yün-ch'ang is gone, I cannot live," moaned Yüan-tê. "To-morrow I will set out with an army to rescue him."

Yüan-tê sent off a messenger to Chang Fei and gave orders to muster horse and foot for instant departure.

Before day dawned other messengers arrived, giving step by step the sequence of the tragedy, the last relating Kuan Yü's capture, haughty refusal to bend, and his death.

When he heard of the final catastrophe, Yüan-tê uttered a great cry and fell swooning.

His mind went back to the pledge of days gone by;
Could he live still and let his brother die?

What happened will be told in the next chapter.

CHAPTER LXXVIII.

HUA T'O, TREATING TS'AO TS'AO, HIMSELF DIES;
TS'AO TS'AO'S LAST WORDS AND DEATH.

As has been said, the Prince of Hanchung swooned on

hearing the terrible news of the death of the two Kuans, father and son. His officers went to his help, and when he had recovered sufficiently they led him to his private apartments. "My lord, control your grief," said K'ung-ming. "Life and death are fixed by fate. Kuan Yü brought the evil upon himself by his harshness and haughtiness. You must now take care of your health and mature your vengeance."

"When we swore brotherhood in the Peach Garden we pledged ourselves to live or die together. What enjoyment of riches and honours is there for me now that my brother is gone?"

Just then he saw Kuan Yü's son, Hsing, coming in in deep distress. At sight of the youth, Liu Pei uttered a great cry and again sank to the earth. By and by he came to, and spent the whole day weeping and swooning at intervals. For three days he refused all nourishment, and he wept so bitterly that his garments were wetted, and there were spots of blood. K'ung-ming and the others tried every means to soothe him, but he was inconsolable.

"I swear I will not live under the same heaven as Sun Ch'üan," cried he.

"It is said that the head of your brother has been sent to Ts'ao Ts'ao, but Ts'ao has buried the remains with the rites of a princely noble," said K'ung-ming.

"Why did he do that?" asked Yuan-tê.

"Because he thought thereby to bring evil upon Ts'ao. But Ts'ao saw through the subterfuge and has buried your brother with great honour so that your anger may burn against Wu." "I want to send my armies to punish Wu and appease my wrath," said Yüan-tê.

"No; you may not do that. Wu wishes to move you to smite Wei, and Wei wishes you to attack Wu, each harbouring the malevolent design of taking advantage of the quarrel. You would do well, my lord, to keep your armies at home. Put on mourning for Kuan Yü, and wait till Wei and Wu are at war. That will be your time."

The other officers supported K'ung-ming, and Yüan-tê listened. Presently his grief spent itself, and he began to take

food again. An edict was promulgated enjoining mourning dress upon all officials. The prince went outside the south gate to summon the spirit home, and sacrificed and wailed a whole day for the dead warrior, his brother.

Although Ts'ao Ts'ao had given honourable burial to the remains of Kuan Yü, yet he was continually haunted by the dead man's spirit. Every night when he closed his eyes he saw Kuan the Noble as he knew him so well in the flesh. These visions made him nervous, and he sought the advice of his officers. Some ggested the building of new rooms for

his own use.

"There is much witchcraft and malign influence in this old palace at Loyang; build new rooms for your own occupation," said they.

"I would, and it should be called 'Chienshih,' or "The Firm Foundation,'" said he. "But where is the architect?"

They told him there was one Su Yüeh, a very cunning artificer. He was called and set to work on the plans for a nine chien pavilion for Ts'ao Ts'ao's own use. It had verandahs and upper rooms as well. His plans pleased Ts'ao greatly.

"You have planned just such a place as I wished, only where will you find the main beam for such a building?"

"I know a certain tree that will serve," said the architect. "About thirty li from the city there is the Pool of the Leaping Dragon. Near it is a shrine, and beside that grows a fine pear tree. It is over a hundred feet high, and that will serve

for the roof tree.

Ts'ao Ts'ao at once sent men to fell the tree. But after one whole day's labour the men came back to say they could make no impression on it neither with saw nor axe. Ts'ao, doubting their word, went to see. When he had dismounted and stood by the tree he could not but admire its size and proportions, as it rose above him tall, straight and unbranched till the wide-spreading and symmetrical top reached into the clouds. But he bade the men attack it again. Then a few aged men of the village came and said, "The tree has stood here some centuries and is the haunt of a spirit. We think it should not be cut down.”

Ts'ao grew annoyed. "I have gone to and fro in the world now some forty years, and there is no one, from the Emperor to the commoner, who does not fear me. What spirit is there who dares oppose my wish?"

Drawing the sword he was wearing, he went up to the tree and slashed at the trunk. The tree groaned as he struck, and blood stains spattered his dress. Terror-stricken, he threw down the sword, mounted his horse and galloped off.

But that evening when he retired to rest he could not sleep. He rose, went into the outer room and sat there leaning on a

low table. Suddenly a man appeared with his hair unbound, dressed in black and carrying a naked sword. The visitor came straight toward Ts'ao stopped in front of him and, pointing, cried out, "Behold the Spirit of the pear tree. You may desire to build your chien-shih pavilion and you may contemplate rebellion, but when you began to attack my sacred tree the number of your days was accomplished. I am come now to slay you."

"Where are the guards?" shouted Ts'ao in terror.

The figure struck at him with the sword. Ts'ao cried out and then awoke. His head was aching unbearably.

They sought the best physicians for him, but they failed to relieve the terrible pain.

Sympathy for their lord was universal among Ts'ao's subordinates. Hua Hsin one day said to his master, "My lord, have you heard of Hua T'o?"

"Do you mean him of Chiangtung who cured Chou T'ai?" "Yes; that is he," replied Hua Hsin.

"I have heard something of his fame, but I know nothing of his capabilities in his art."

"He is very clever; there are few so skilful. If one is ill and calls him in he knows immediately whether to use drugs, or the needle, or the cautery, and the patient finds relief at once. Let one suffer from an internal complaint and drugs are ineffectual, with a dose of hashish he throws the patient into a state of perfect insensibility and then opens the abdomen and washes the affected organs with a medicament. The patient feels no pain. When the cleansing is complete, he sews up the wound with thread, dresses it, and in a month or less the patient is well. This shows you how skilful he is. "One day Hua was travelling, when he heard a man by the wayside groaning with pain.

""That is dyspepsia,' said he. And further questions confirmed the diagnosis. He prescribed long draughts of the juice of garlic as an emetic, and the man vomited a worm; after this he was quite well. One Ch'ên Têng, the Prefect of Kuangling, suffered from a heavy feeling at the heart. His face was red and congested, and he had no appetite. Hua gave him a drug, and he threw up many internal wriggling parasites with red heads. The Prefect asked what had caused the trouble, and Hua told him that he ate too much strongsmelling fish. He could cure him this once, but in three years the disease would recur, and then nothing could save him. Three years later Ch'en died. Another man had a tumour between the eyes, and it itched intolerably. Hua examined it and said there was a bird in it. The tumour was opened, and, surely enough, a canary flew out. The patient was relieved. A dog bit a man's toe, and two tumourous growths ensued, one of which itched intolerably and the other pained