Malcolm, you look better than I expected after all the rumors that flooded the Colony."

Jamie said, "I'd best leave you two together." He put a pile of letters on the bedside table. "Here's your personal mail, I'll bring your books and newspapers later."

"Thanks." Malcolm watched him. "Anything important?"

"Two from your mother. They're on top."

Dr. Hoag reached into his voluminous pockets and brought out a crumpled envelope.

"Here's another from her, Malcolm, later than the others. Best read it then I'll have a look at you, if I may. Jamie, don't forget about Babcott."

Jamie had already told him that Babcott was in Kanagawa for a clinic this morning and that he would send the cutter for him the moment they had seen Malcolm. "See you later, Tai-pan."

"No, best wait a moment, Jamie."

Struan opened the letter Hoag had given him and began to read.

When Jamie had reached the main deck of the mail ship, Dr. Hoag had met him, told him that he had all Struan mail ready so they could leave at once, and in answer to his immediate question, and relief: "No, Jamie, Mrs.Struan's not aboard but here, here's a letter from her."

It read simply: Jamie, do whatever Dr. Hoag asks and send me detailed, confidential reports by every mail.

"You know what it says, Doc?"' "Yes, hardly necessary but then you know the lady."

"How is she?"' Hoag thought a moment. "As usual: imperturbable outwardly, inwardly a volcano.

One day it has to explode--no one can keep such sadness contained, so many tragedies, no one.

Even her." He had followed Jamie down the gangway, eyes everywhere. "Must say I'm pleased to have the chance to visit Japan--you're looking very fit, Jamie. This posting certainly agrees with you. Let's see, it's almost a year, isn't it, since your last leave? Now tell me everything, first about the murderous attack... then about Miss Richaud."

By the time they reached shore, Dr. Hoag knew all that Jamie knew: "But, please," he added uneasily, "please don't mention to Malcolm what I've told you about Angelique. She's a wonderful person, she's had a terrible time too, I really don't think they've bedded, the secret betrothal is hearsay but he's smitten--not that I blame him, or anyone in Asia for that matter. I hate the idea of sending Mrs. Struan secret reports, for obvious reasons. Anyway, I've written one, a watered-down version, and it's ready to go when this ship turns around. My loyalties must be to Malcolm first and foremost, he's tai-pan."

Now watching Malcolm Struan lying there, reading the letter Hoag had given him, seeing the wan face and listless body, he began to wonder. And to pray.

Struan looked up. His eyes narrowed.

"Yes Jamie?"

"You wanted me to do something?"

After a pause Malcolm said, "Yes.

Leave a message at the French Legation--Angelique's there, she said she was going to wait for her mail--say an old friend has arrived from Hong Kong that I'd like her to meet."

McFay nodded and smiled. "Done. Send for me when you want anything." He left them.

Uneasily Struan watched the door.

Jamie's face had been too open. Trying to regain his calm he went back to the letter: Malcolm, my poor dear son, Just a short note in haste as Ronald Hoag leaves at once for the mail ship I held up so he could catch it, and you can have the best care. I was aghast to hear about those swine and that they had attacked you.

Jamie reports that this Dr. Babcott has had to operate--please write by any express mail you can and come home quickly so we can care for you properly. I send my love and prayers, as do Emma, Rose and Duncan. P.s. I love you.

He looked up. "So?"

"So? Tell me the truth, Malcolm. How are you?"

"I feel dreadful and I'm afraid I'm going to die."

Hoag sat in the armchair and steepled his fingers. "The first is understandable, the second not necessarily accurate though very easy, very very easy and very very dangerous to believe. Chinese can "makee die," can think themselves into death even though healthy--I've seen it happen."

"Christ, I don't want to die, I have everything to live for. I want to live and get well so much I can't tell you. But every night and every day at some time the thought hits me... it hits like a physical blow."

"What medicine are you taking?"

"Just some stuff--laudanum's in it--to help me sleep. The pain's rotten and I'm so uncomfortable."

"Every night?"

"Yes." Struan added, half apologetically, "He wants me to stop taking it, says I've... I should stop."

"Have you tried?"

"Yes."

"But haven't stopped?"

"No, not yet. My, my will seems to forsake me."

"That's one of its problems--however valuable and beautiful it is." He smiled. "Laudanum was the name first given by Paracelsus to this panacea.

Do you know Paracelsus?"

"No."

"Neither do I," Hoag said with a laugh.

"Anyway we passed the name on to this tincture of opium. Pity that all derivatives are habit forming. But then you know that."

"Yes."

"We can wean you off it, that's no problem."

"It's a problem, I know that too, and that you still don't approve of our opium trade."

Hoag smiled. "I'm glad you made that a statement, not a question. But then you don't approve of it either, no China trader does but you're all trapped. Now, no economics, no politics, Malcolm. Next, Miss Richaud?"

Struan felt the rush of blood in his face.

"Now you bloody listen once and for all time: whatever Mother says I'm old enough to know my own mind and can do what I want! Clear?"

Hoag smiled benignly. "I'm your doctor, Malcolm, not your mother. I'm also your friend. Have I ever failed you, or any one of your family?"

With a visible effort Struan shoved away his anger but could not still his racing heart. "Sorry, sorry, but I..." He shrugged helplessly.

"Sorry."

"That's not necessary. I'm not trying to interfere in your private life. Your health depends on many factors. It seems she's a major one.

Hence my question. I ask for medical reasons--not family reasons. So, Miss Angelique Richaud?"

Struan wanted to sound manly and calm but could not contain his frustration and burst out, "I want to marry her and it's driving me mad lying here like a ... lying here helpless. For Christ's sake I can't even get out of bed yet, can't pee or... can't do a God-cursed thing, can't hardly drink or eat or anything without it hurting like hell.

I'm going mad and much as I try I don't seem to be getting better..." He continued ranting until he weakened. Hoag just listened.

Eventually Struan stopped. He mumbled another apology.

"May I take a look at you?"

"Yes... yes of course."

With great care Hoag examined him, put his ear to his chest to listen to his heart, looked in his mouth, took his pulse, peered at the wound and smelt it. His fingers probed the stomach walls, searching for the organs beneath, the extent of the damage: "Does that hurt... This... Is it easier here?" Every little push caused Malcolm to groan.

At length, Hoag stopped.

Struan broke the silence. "Well?"

"Babcott has done a very good job with what would have by this time killed a normal man."

Hoag's words were measured and full of confidence.

"Now we will try an experiment." Gently he took Struan's legs and helped him to sit on the side of the bed. Then, his arm around Malcolm's shoulders, taking most of the weight with his surprising strength, he helped him stand. "Careful!"

Struan could not stay upright by himself, but he had the impression of standing and this encouraged him. After a moment or two Hoag settled him in the bed again.

Struan's heart was thumping from the pain but he was greatly satisfied. "Thanks."

The doctor sat back in the armchair and gathered his own strength. Then he said, "I'm going to leave you now, got to get myself organized. I would like you to rest. After I've seen Babcott I'll come back again. We'll probably come back together. Then we'll talk. All right?"