‘God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform.’”

Thus, by a romantic episode, the crisis was tided over—­for a time.  Alas! only for a time.  A second set-back, more serious even than the first, interrupted matters again just when they seemed to be going on most smoothly.  It occurred on a Saturday night.  On Monday morning, without saying a word to Hart—­or indeed to any one—­Wade started off posthaste to Shanghai to “await orders from his Government.”  This bad news greatly upset and alarmed the Yamen.  “You must follow him at once,” was the order they sent the I.G., so within twelve hours he too was on his way to Shanghai, determined on making one more effort to avert the war which, like a sword of Damocles, was hanging over China’s head.

He was again successful, in so far as he obtained the British Minister’s consent to reopen negotiations with the Chinese.  But where?—­that was the question.  Should they be held at Shanghai, with the Viceroy from Nanking to assist, or should they be held at Chefoo, with the Viceroy of Chihli (who happened to be the great Li Hung Chang) to help?  Wade decided for Chefoo, which, as a cool seaside resort, was especially suited for the broiling months of August and September; and Robert Hart immediately wired to Peking to arrange that Li should come to Chefoo.  The Tientsin people protested vigorously against their Viceroy’s going.  They even went so far as to throw petitions in hundreds over the walls of his yamen—­petitions all reminding him of the fate of Yeh Ming Shen, the Governor-General of Canton in 1858, whom the British seized and sent to Calcutta, where he died.

Yet, in spite of their warnings, Li showed sufficient absence of superstition and sufficient patriotism to go, which was certainly rather noble of him, more especially as his personal inclination was against touching the affair at all.  This he told the I.G. frankly when they met, and even upbraided Robert Hart rather sharply for, as he said, “dragging him into the business.  If they fail—­and there has been no luck about these negotiations before—­I shall be blamed, whereas if they succeed, it is most unlikely that I shall get any credit.”

But the I.G. reassured him in answer to his complaints.  “There will be no trouble,” said he, “no trouble at all if you work with me.  Say nothing, arrange nothing, promise nothing that we do not both agree upon beforehand.”  Every evening at ten o’clock, therefore, the I.G. would go to Li’s house, and the two would remain talking, often far into the night, of what had been done during the day and what was to be done on the morrow.