Finally, in front of the motionless figure was a tiny brazier in which was a small fire.
Before the spectators had taken in the whole picture, the Chinaman who had entered with them came and stood on the right of the space occupied by the mat, near to the banners and the screens, and under a yellow light which hung from the vaulted roof.
The figure on the fine bamboo mat was Li Choo, but not the Li Choo which Tralee and Askatoon had known.

He was seated with legs crossed in Oriental fashion and with head slightly bowed.

His face was calm and dignified.

It had an impassiveness which made an interminable distance between him and those who had till now looked upon him as a poor Chinky, doing a roustabout's work on a ranch, the handy-man, the Jack-of-all-trades.

Yet in spite of the menial work which he had done, it was now to be seen that the despised Li Choo had still lived his own life, removed by centuries and innumerable leagues from his daily slavery.
As they looked at him, brooding, immobile, strange, he lifted his head, and the excessive brightness of his black eyes struck with a sense of awe all who saw.