SO Annabel was engaged. And then, almost before they knew it, Annabel was married, and her place was removed from the dining-table, and the circle about the table closed in a little, and Eleanor looked at it with regretful eyes.
But the young people were not far off. And two extra plates had often to be laid for dinner or luncheon, or even for breakfast; so that the whole number of plates for the year was perhaps not much reduced.
William Archer was paying attention to his neckties and socks, and growing fussy about the cut of his hair. And the younger children were coming up with demands for a sensible education that the school system of the country did not supply. And Richard and Eleanor More still found life a rich and satisfying adventure.
Richard sometimes wondered as he watched her face and the little new wrinkles coming to it—what life would have been if he had married some one else—some one besides Eleanor—the Rumley, girl, for instance.... He was almost engaged to the Rumley girl, at one time, he remembered.... He had blundered along—and heaven knows, he might have married the Rumley girl!... The thought always gave him a little fleeting shiver down his back. And then a sense of strength and well-being swept over him—of the inevitableness of life. It could not have been any other way—or any one but Eleanor!... She had said that Annabel’s engagement was “decided in heaven.”... That was it!
People might laugh—and, of course, it was a kind of fatalism—but things like that had to be.... The sunhadto rise in the East to-morrow morning—that was not fatalism!
There was one regret that followed him—though he never mentioned it, and he seldom thought of it, consciously.... Sometimes a look in Eleanor’s face would bring it back—and he would wonder why he should mind so much—that he had not been able to get the coat for her—the Chinese coat they had seen at Stewart’s that day.... It was not such a wonderful garment, after all—was it?... He had given her more expensive things than that—more beautiful things—had he?... And then he would see her face as she stood for a moment wrapped in its folds and looking down.
The day Annabel mentioned the coat she had seen at the tea he had been deeply startled. And he wanted to speak to Eleanor about it afterward. But something held him. Perhaps she had forgotten... perhaps she did not care—so much as he fancied.
Once, when they were going to the opera, he turned in the limousine and caught a flitting smile on her lips as they flashed by a light and he asked her what she was thinking about. She laughed out.
“The Chinese coat, dear.... I could have worn it to-night.”
He could not have told whether there were tears in her voice. He only thought as she stepped from the car and walked beside him into the lobby that he had never seen her so beautiful; and he had had the happy sense of people turning their heads to look at her—stare a little....
There was a kind of radiance about Eleanor sometimes.... He had given her everything in the world—except the Chinese coat.
And the little regret never left him.
Later it came to him that Stewart might, after all, have got the coat for him—and simply be waiting for him to call.
He went to Stewart’s that afternoon. The store had been enlarged and greatly changed. He had not seen it for years—hardly since the day when he arranged, or thought he arranged, that they were to “send him word.”... Perhaps he had misunderstood. How foolish he had been not to inquire before.... Regretting it all these years—and never asking—when perhaps he had only to walk in and say casually: “You don’t happen to have a coat—a Chinese coat—that I left an order for—blue and gold, I think it was—with dragons on it?”
But when he asked the casual question, the girl at the counter only shook her head. She was indifferent.
“Was it this week?” she asked. “I’ve only been here a week.”
“No—it was... some time ago,” said Richard More.
“Perhaps they will know in the buying department. I will ask.”
She was gone a long time. And Richard More looked about him. He would not have known it for the same place—a great skylight had been put in and the floors cut out from roof to basement, letting down a flood of light. And the stairs and elevators were changed—they used to be over there to the left.... It must have been just about here that she stood when she tried on the coat. He half-closed his eyes and saw her there—and all the hope and freshness came back to him—and the look in her face.
The girl returned, efficient and indifferent. “They have not had an order. I can take it again.” She reached for her pad.
Richard More looked at it distrustfully.
“I think I will see Mr. Stewart himself,” he said slowly. He half-started to take a card from his pocket. Then he changed the gesture. He was suddenly thinking of the gold coins he had carried there....
“Tell Mr. Stewart, please, that the gentleman who left an order for a Chinese coat—several years ago—would like to speak with him about it.”
There was another long wait—then a boy with buttons and a little proud air escorted him to the top of the building.
“Mr. Stewart don’t see many folks,” he volunteered, as they approached a door.
“Doesn’t he? Then I am fortunate.”
The boy nodded gravely and rapped.
THE gray-haired man at the desk looked up with a sharp line between the bushy eyebrows. He stared a moment and got up.
“Is ityou!” He held out a cordial hand.
He served on a dozen boards with Robert More—and was proud of it.
“I never supposed you were interested in the Chinese coat!” He touched a paper on the desk.
“Sit down. They said the man who left the order was here—and I happened to have kept the name, ’Richard More.’ But it never occurred to me it wasyou!” He was still standing and staring at him as if he could not quite believe his eyes.
“I did not expect you to remember the order,” said Richard. “I merely sent up word—on the chance.”
The other nodded. “Oh, yes. I remember it quite well.... You see I took personal interest in the coat. I never really meant to sell it.... It was a curious garment....”
The two men of business sat silent—as if seeing it before them.
It was Stewart who roused himself first. “I came on it in a town—a little back in the interior. I was there on other business, semi-confidential business for the government—and I saw this coat and liked it, and bought it.... I think I had a half-idea of giving it to my wife.” He smiled a little absently.
“I did not know you were married,” said Richard More politely. He really knew very little about the man. It did not interest him—except for politeness.
Stewart looked at him keenly a minute. “I am not married,” he said. “I never have been.... If I had married I should not have let the Chinese coat go.” He spoke with a certain curious emphasis and Richard glanced at him.
He nodded. “I should have kept it—for her,” he said. “I knew enough for that!... It gives me a queer kind of feeling to know that you were interested in it too. I somehow should not have suspected it of you.” He looked at him thoughtfully.
“My wife liked it,” said Richard stiffly. “I wanted it for her.”
“Yes—a woman would like it.... I remember the woman that had charge of the department—she’s been dead a number of years, now—I remember she always liked it. She would keep it in a box—half the time. Wouldn’t have it out where people could see it—seemed to be afraid somebody would buy it!” He chuckled. “If I’d really wanted to sell that coat I should have been pretty sharp with her.”... He roused himself. “Well, she’s dead!”
“You didn’t find another one, I suppose?” said Richard politely.
“No—not exactly.” He seemed to be trying to recall something.
“Therewasone—I got word of one.... But it was far in the interior—farther in than I’d ever gone, or had time to go. I left word in a general way for them to negotiate for it.... But they’re slow—the Chinese.... Ever been there?”
Richard shook his head—a sudden intention came to him.
“Well, it’s a wonderful country!” said Stewart. “And they’re a wonderful people. But different—different from us.... That’s where folks have always made a mistake. They think because the Chinese have heads and legs, and wear clothes, they are like us.... But they are no more like us than—than trees are like—lions.... They’re both of ’em alive, and that’s about all you can say—” He broke off with a laugh.
Richard smiled. “You know them pretty well, do you?”
“I’ve spent a good deal of time there.... But I don’t know them. Nobody knows ’em!” He spoke with quiet conviction and something that arrested Richard’s attention.
“I’ve sometimes thought I should like to go there.”... He had thought it not two minutes ago for the first time—but it seemed to him now that he had always intended to go—that it was something he had been moving toward all his life.
The other nodded. “You won’t regret it. I mean to go back myself, some time.”
They parted with a kind of friendliness they would not have expected from their previous knowledge of each other. Richard had in his pocket such directions as the man could give him.
“I can’t tell you precisely where the place is, nor how to get to it. I never knew, myself.... And it’s a country you have to find your own way in. Go slow and trust ’em. Don’t hurry them too much.... I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d find the coat—if there really was one, like the one we knew—I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d find it just where it was twenty years ago when they told me about it. They’re a slow-moving people! But they’ve found out some things... some things we don’t know yet.... In a sense they’ve forgotten more than we ever knew,” he added with a smile.
“Here, wait a minute!” He went to a cabinet across the room and took from a pigeonhole a yellow and discolored map. He brought it to the table and spread it out.
“Here is the region I spoke of—up here.... And these red lines show where I have been myself; and the little blue crosses are places where I got information—the right sort—where people are friendly and intelligent... they will not have changed much—” He looked at the map thoughtfully and took it up and folded it in slow fingers.
“I am going to give you this. It may be useful to you, and I may not go myself—I am an old man now.”
So Richard More took the map and went out. He had come expecting to make a business inquiry, in a businesslike way; and he had encountered something that was not business—something that the piece of worn and discolored paper seemed vaguely to whisper as it rustled in his pocket.
THE next day he brought the runabout to the door and honked once—and waited.
Eleanor coming down the path stopped—and glanced at the car. She quickened her steps, a look of happy surprise in her face.
“You are going to drive yourself!”
“Trust me—can’t you?” said Richard.
She got in with a sigh of content. “There are always people!” she said, “and people and people!—till you can’t think!” She threw out her hands in a whimsical gesture.
“Well—you can think now!... No one to hinder!”
They took the road to the open country. And she rested back beside him. He could feel her quiet contentment—though she did not speak—not even when they left the open highway and travelled a rougher road that skirted the hills and came at last to the end of a grass-grown cart-path half-way up the hill. He turned the nose of the car a little one side.
“As far as we go,” he said quietly.
She got out with a smile. “Farther than last time—isn’t it?” She looked about her happily.
“You remember then?” he said. He came and stood beside her.
“Did you think I could forget?”
“It has been a long time——”
“Only a minute,” she replied gayly. “Come—are we going up?”
“I wonder—?” He looked a little doubtfully at the hill before them—and there was a hill beyond that, he knew, and another beyond that.
“It’s more of a climb than I remembered,” he said thoughtfully.
But she was already going on ahead of him, pushing aside the underbrush and walking with light step.... The birch stems came between them and he saw her hazily, always a little ahead, ascending the hill.... Then her pace slowed and he hurried and overtook her.
He looked at her sternly. “Sit down!” he said.
He spread his coat and she sat down on it almost meekly. She was breathing fast. There was a little flush of color in her face.
She looked about her with happy eyes. “Oh—I am glad you thought of it!”
“You have no sense!” said Richard shortly.
“Sense—?... Oh!”
“To hurry like that!—We have the day before us!”
“Have we?” She looked about with a little puzzled vagueness. “I think I must have been hurrying—to get back to set the table for dinner!” She was laughing at him. “It felt like being a girl!” she said.
“I shall go ahead after this,” responded Richard. “I’m not going to have you fainting away or twisting an ankle, or any other silly thing!”
“Nonsense!”
But when they started again he led the way; and they stopped at judicious intervals—to look at the view and talk of scenery—and Richard kept a careful eye on the face with its flitting color, and on her quickened breath. She leaned a little against him the last part of the way. Then they came out on the open bluff, with the country lying before them.
She stood gazing down at it with shining eyes. “Nothing has changed!” she cried after a minute.
“Not from up here,” said Richard. “Sit down.”
He made a place for her by a birch-tree and she leaned back against it and they looked out in silence over the wide country.
Presently he turned and looked at her. She had fallen asleep. Her head rested against the birch-tree and her face wore a soft flush in sleep.... Now that it was quiet and the smile was gone, he could see that it was very tired. A quick desire seized him—to keep the face—to stay the change in it. A woman should not grow old!... And then as he looked at her, he saw that she was more beautiful than she had ever been.
She opened her eyes and smiled to him hazily. “Twenty-five years!” she murmured sleepily, and the eyes closed. He moved a little nearer to her till her head rested against him and she slept on.
When she opened her eyes, the light had changed. She sat up with a swift look.
“How stupid in me—to go to sleep!... But how wonderful it is!” She was gazing at the darkened light that spread like a veil over the country below. The grass and trees were misty in it—only a winding river caught a touch of glamour from an unseen source and glowed through the dusk. The darkness grew and deepened on the plain, and the sides of the hill were blurred in it—shadowy shapes crept up.
“We must go,” said Richard. “The days are short.”
“Yes”—she breathed a little sigh—“yes—we must go.” She got up.
But he stayed her and she stood arrested, looking down at him.
“There—was something—I wanted to tell you,” he said.
She glanced at the plain—with the little gleaming river shining in it. “It is late!” she said.
“I brought my bug-light.” He touched his pocket. “Sit down.”
So she sat down beside him and he told her of the map in his pocket. He took it out and spread it before her. And she leaned toward it in the dim light—studying the discolored lines as he explained them to her.
“Do you want—to go—so much?” she asked, looking up at last.
“Ifyouwant to—Yes.”
She was silent a minute.
“Martin thinks he is going to be an engineer,” she said irrelevantly.
He spurned it. “Martin has sense—he doesn’t need his mother—to have sense for him!”
“But an engineer!” she said.
“They will lead the world to-morrow,” he responded.
“Oh—!” It was a little sigh of surprise and relief.
“I didn’t know engineers were anything important!” she added after a minute. Then she laughed out.
The darkness gathered closer—coming up from the plain—and the little river was only a gleam through its veil of haze.
She looked down on it.
“Very well,” she said. “We will go. I am ready to go.... Perhaps it will rest me to go.”
The whole family was at the station to see them off. Annabel had provided luncheon and a tea-basket and little pillows and waxed paper and drinking-cups, and she flitted about her mother with watchful eyes. There was a kind of jealous loyalty in her, as if she would hold her mother by main force from this foolish thing she had entered upon.... She went with them into the car and settled the little pillow in place and stood with her hand on her mother’s shoulder.... Outside, through the window, she could see the others laughing and talking.
Her mother lifted her face quickly. “You will be carried off!” she said hurriedly.
The younger woman smiled down at her—and her face broke in little, helpless lines. She bent and kissed her almost fiercely. “You take care of yourself!... If anything happened to you—!” And she was gone.
Outside, the group moved and laughed and waved inane farewells. Annabel joined it wiping her eyes. She waved her handkerchief at the receding window and dabbed it swiftly across her eyes.
The red light at the end of the rear car receded into a dark tunnel.
Annabel caught her breath. “I don’t see why we let her do it!” she said helplessly.
“You couldn’t stop mother!” It was William Archer. He tucked her hand protectingly in his arm. “She’ll be all right!” he said reassuringly.
Annabel shook her head. They had turned away from the blackness of the tunnel and were walking toward the station. The others had scattered a little, and gone on ahead. Annabel’s eyes followed them.
“She isn’t fit to do it!” she said.... “She’s like a child. I feel as if I couldn’t—!” Her lip trembled, and she broke off.
William Archer smiled down at her. “Mother’s all right! She brought us up—five of us. And she’s pretty near brought father up—and I guess a few Chinamen won’t frighten her!”
Annabel looked at him absently.
“I didn’t tell her where I put the extra flannels—for the steamer. They say it’s cold—sometimes!”
“Telegraph!” replied William Archer promptly. “Want me to go home with you?”
They stood at the corner of the street. Annabel shook her head. “Of course not! Don’t be silly!... I shall telegraph to-night—a night-letter.”
“Whereto?”
She looked at him helplessly. “I don’t know.... And she’s always been so fixed before! Wherever I went, I seemed always just kind of circling around mother and coming back to her. And now she’s off like that—whirling into space!” She made a sweeping gesture of her hands and looked up to him appealingly.
The little laugh left William Archer’s face. “There’s no one in the world, of course, like mother.... Never has been—for me.... I suppose all men feel that way—about their mothers.” He said it slowly and looked at her inquiringly. “But it seems somehow as if she were somebody in particular—and nobody else could know—how we feel about her.”
“They can’t—and they don’t!” said Annabel grimly.
They stood looking at each other with quiet understanding. They had not felt so near together in years, not since they played in the branches of the oak-tree, and William Archer had called down to her from the topmost branch: “Come on up!”
She nodded to him with a little smile of remembrance and affection, and they turned and went their separate ways.
From the window of the train Eleanor More looked out on green fields. They had emerged from the dark mouth of the tunnel into a spring day. The evening light was on the fields, and they stretched away to distant woods. The shadows along the ground caught a glow from the sky.
“Looks like a clear day to-morrow,” said Richard.
She nodded quietly. Her eyes were on the level green fields that moved past them, mile after mile.
He put out his hand and covered hers where it lay on the seat between them.
“Tired?” he asked.
She shook her head. Then she drew a long breath and looked at him with a smile.
“How good it seems!” she said slowly. “How good it seems—to get away from them all!”
“We are beginning all over,” he responded.
“Yes.... I can’t seem to worry about what’s happening to them.... Just a little worry—because I don’t worry—that’s all!”
“You’ll get over that in a mile or so,” he replied confidently.
It would seem she did get over it—or at least if she did not, she concealed it skilfully. The little lines in her face smoothed, one by one, and a tranquil look came to it.
She sat for hours as the train moved over the level plain, the look of abstraction in her eyes and the gentleness and strength in her face revealing themselves—as the lines of a landscape are sometimes revealed by a change of light or by the passing of a storm—all the surface life slipped from it.
And Richard More, watching, had a sudden sense of the mysterious force of very familiar things.... This was Eleanor’s face—that he had known and loved for years; and it was the face of a strange woman, an unknown majestic presence who moved beside him always.
And then the mask of greatness would slip from her, and she would chatter for days about nothing, trivial things—delighting like a child in the discoveries he brought and laid in her lap when he alighted at some lonely station—a flower or a bit of mineral; and the train would plunge on again, dipping around the curve of a hill, climbing along a dizzy cliff, while she sat beside him, her hand a little reached out to him, her breath half stayed by a glance of delight.
“It is a voyage of discovery,” he said in her ear.
“How foolish—to want to stay in one place—always!” Her hand swept up to the piling masses of snow, glacial vastnesses that gleamed high above them. “How foolish!” she said softly.
And the strange look of dignity and strength came swiftly into her face.
“A voyage of discovery,” he repeated.... “Do you think we shall find it?”
She looked at him with puzzled eyes.
“Find—?” she said vaguely.
“The Chinese coat?”
“Oh—!” she laughed out. “Perhaps so. It doesn’t matter—does it?” She nodded toward the distant peaks of snow—a faint tinge of pink was beginning to rest on them.... “It does not matter!” she said softly.
“No—it does not matter.... But I should like to find it—for you.”
When she looked at him her eyes were full of tears.
“Foolish boy!” she said, “to care—for that!”
“We will go back—if you say so,” he responded. He was watching her closely.
She reached out a quick hand.
“No—Oh, no! We must go on!” she cried under her breath.
He laughed out. “I thought so! You care for it—as much as I do.... Only
“I want to go on,” she said swiftly. “What would the children say—if we should come back now?”
“They would be a little surprised—to see us walk in,” he admitted.
“Very well, madam—to please you, we will go on.”
They talked in any foolish way that pleased them, and they did not hurry on the journey.
He had a time-table of the dates of sailing of the Japanese line they were to travel by, and a stateroom engaged on each boat sailing for the next month.
One after one he relinquished them, by telegraph, as the days slipped by.
They stopped off for two weeks at a high mountain inn that they liked; and several times they rested for days in some spot that pleased her fancy.
He watched her face. When it grew fatigued, he gave directions to the Japanese courier who had joined them at a point on the journey, and they left the train at the next station.
The courier came and went like a shadow along the route—sometimes ahead of them and sometimes following, but always at hand when he was needed.
Eleanor grew to watch for his face as if he were a kind of meteor that played a game with them.
“There he is!” she would exclaim at some station as she looked out and caught a glimpse of him. “There he is, Richard!” And if the train went on without him, she would press her face to the glass and lean forward to watch till he was out of sight.
“What a wonderful people!” she said. “When I see him I seem to understand—almost! And then he is gone! Is he going with us—all the way?”
“Perhaps so,” said Richard. “I had arranged with him only to San Francisco. But we can keep him on if you like.... There will be plenty like him on the boat. They are all Japs on the boat.”
On the steamer they were, as Richard had predicted, all Japanese. Not only the crew and attendants, but many of the passengers showed the dark skin and straight hair of the race to the west. There were Chinese, too, and strange foreign faces that Richard More did not know. A few Americans were on board—bound on business or pleasure to China and Japan—but the majority of the passengers were of alien race.
Richard More and his wife sat day after day in their steamer-chairs, looking out to sea and watching the strange faces drift between them and the horizon line.... They came and went, dreamlike and vague.... Now a face would silhouette itself on the sky, turbaned and dark and motionless against the approaching west; and now gesticulating hands moved swiftly, and sharp staccatoed words flitted by them along the deck. They were in a foreign world, a cosmopolite world—a restless, moving strangeness of life.... It was not possible not to feel, deep underneath, the common tie of race or nation that made them one.... Only a boat moving to the west—and the faces moving with it.
The courier left them at the dock at San Francisco. Eleanor caught a glimpse of his face among the crowd as the boat moved out.
“There he is!” she cried to Richard, her hand on his arm and her eyes searching the dock. Then the crowd jostled—and the face was gone. There were many dark faces along the dock’s edge, watching the boat recede, and she could not see that one was more familiar than another.
She had come to fancy on the journey that she knew the courier a little; but now she saw that she had known only his strangeness; there were dozens like him, and he was merged in the deeper alienism of his race.
He was replaced by a Chinese interpreter who was to act as guide for the rest of the journey. Richard More, searching for a courier who was familiar with the languages and dialects of the different provinces of China, had come upon Kou Ying, who was contemplating a journey home. For a consideration, he was willing to go with them into the interior and to remain with them as long as they wished.
Eleanor had seen him only at a distance, leaning against the rail and looking out to sea, or rolling a cigarette with slow lingering touch in his yellow hands extending from the wide, silken sleeves.
She fancied, once or twice, that a glance from the oblique eyes rested on her with slow intentness. But when she looked again she saw that the glance was vacant of meaning and that it slipped past her and gazed out along the pathless sea to the west.
“I cannot make him out!” she said to Richard.
“Don’t you like him?” he demanded. “We will exchange him at Shanghai. There are always plenty to be had, I understand. But I thought the man seemed intelligent—and the boat gives us a little chance to get acquainted.”
He looked at her keenly. “We don’t need to keep him, you know.”
She wrinkled her eyes in a little perplexity, gazing at the figure that stood well to the front of the boat.... His back was turned to them and the wind blowing against the boat filled the blue coat and trousers like little balloons. One could fancy the thin yellow legs inside the balloons, holding like grim little steel pipes to the deck. There was a wiry strength in the man and a kind of gripping forcefulness that went oddly with the placid face and slow figure.
“I don’t know what it is,” she said slowly. “I do not dislike him. But he makes me feel as if the world were queer—a little topsy-turvy, I think—almost as if I saw a pine-tree lift its roots out of the ground and go skipping along the grass!” Her husband laughed out. “Kou Ying doesn’t skip much!”
“No.... His soul skips!”
“All the better for us, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps—” Her eyes brooded on the ballooning little figure, anchored to the deck.
“No—Don’t send him away!” She shook her head with decision.
“Well, I’m glad you like him. I fancy he’s going to be pretty useful to us later on.”
He got up and strolled over to the man, and Eleanor More watched the two figures side by side—the tall, well-built American and the thin little figure of steel in its swelling, puffed-out garments.
Presently they moved along the deck and passed out of sight. When they reappeared, at the other end of the boat, Eleanor was lying half-asleep, her eyes closed and her face very quiet.
She opened her eyes, as they came up.
The oblique gaze was looking down on her out of an impassive face. She smiled dreamily.... Now she understood. The man was journeying too.
“This is Kou Ying,” said Richard casually.
The Oriental made a gesture of service... and the pine-tree danced hazily before Eleanor’s eyes. She smiled a little.
“You are going with us?” she asked.
The stolid face had not changed. But something, far back in the eyes, responded to the smile.
“As long as you need me, madam,” said the man courteously.
“We are looking for a coat,” said Richard.
“Hadn’t you told him?” asked Eleanor, a little astonished. She sat up in her chair.
“No. I waited—to be sure.”
The Chinese eyes regarded him, incurious and quiet.
“We saw a coat, several years ago,” said Richard, addressing them. “A coat that we should like to find—or one like it.”
“A mandarin coat?” asked the man quietly.
“No-o—I don’t think so. It was longer——”
“Blue, with gold things on it—Dragons,” said Eleanor eagerly, “and marks down the front like this—” She drew a few lines on the paper beside her.
“Ah—!” The man’s breath gave a little whistling sound....
“That is a very old coat,” he said softly. “Hundreds of years—very, very old.”
His face took on a strange, removed look. “It will be difficult to find—I am afraid.”
He spoke the words with a clear, clipping sound, and looked out to the west, steadying himself to the motion of the boat.
“There are not many chances of finding it,” he said at last with grave accent. “But I will help you—if I can.”
“We are depending on you,” said Richard More.
The man bowed and walked away.
After that Eleanor saw him often, mingling with the different groups of Chinamen on the deck and talking and laughing with easy familiarity.
“He is making inquiries,” said Richard. “He tells me there are people on board from nearly every province in China. He may find a clew before we leave the boat.”
It might have been only imagination on Eleanor’s part that the groups of Chinamen began to regard her with interest. As they passed her chair, she would fancy for a moment she caught a gleam in the opaque black eyes.... Then, as she looked, it was gone.... A group of them, by the ship’s rail, talking in clear staccato tones, would give her a sudden sense that she was closely concerned in what they were saying. But when she looked, the stolid faces were as impassive as the long black queues depending from each round hat almost to the ship’s deck and responding in oblique black lines to the attraction of gravity—as the boat moved up and down.... After a time she ceased to think of them. She sat in her chair, day after day, with half-closed eyes, watching the faces drift past and the water beyond the ship’s rail rise and fall.
THEY made no friends on the boat as they had made none in the train. It had rested her to leave all social relations behind as the train moved west, and she showed a strange reluctance to forming new ties. She seemed to have swung free from the past.... Richard, as he watched her, had a sense that she gathered herself for something she was journeying to meet.... Her face against the steamer-chair seemed to absorb light. It held a still look—as if it waited some signal.
But if Eleanor More, lying in her chair, made no acquaintances on the boat, and if the groups of Chinamen did not seem to observe her as they passed, there were others on the boat who showed open interest in the quiet figure that lay day after day looking under lowered lids to the west.
More than one woman slowed her pace as she came near the steamer-chair. Sometimes they lingered a moment ready to enter into conversation. But it was always Richard More who spoke to them, and after a minute’s courteous talk walked on with them, leaving the steamer-chair to its unbroken quiet.
His care for his wife, his almost reverent watchfulness for the figure in the chair, gave it a place apart, an aloofness that no one broke in upon.
Yet often they saw her, from a distance, laughing and talking with her husband like a child. There was something unwarranted in the sweetness and freshness of her laugh.... It seemed to have left care behind, and yet to be filled with sympathy that sprang from a deep place.
A woman with little fine lines in her face and a quick mobile mouth looked at her companion and smiled, as the laugh came to them.
They had been standing by the boat-rail, looking out to sea, silent for a long time.
He returned the smile. “Well?”
“I was only thinking—she knows!” She made a little gesture toward the steamer-chair.
“Knows what?” said the man vaguely.
“Everything!” replied the woman. “Things I would give my life for!” She turned her back on him. Her eyes followed the foam in the boat’s wake.
He watched her a minute in silence. Then he moved nearer to her and laid his hand on hers where it lay on the boat’s rail. “Why not?” he said.
She shook her head and smiled. “I cannot be sure!” She faced him. “If I were sure... I would marry you to-morrow—to-day—any time!” She threw the words at him. “How can one besure?” He regarded her gravely. “Isn’t that what it means?... Isn’t that a part of it—to take the risk?... Suppose there were no risk... would that be—love?”
“Oh—I don’t know!—I don’t know!” She spoke as if urged by something within.
Suddenly she turned to him. “It used to be so simple—to be a woman.... One loved and married—and there were children—and then one died. That was all! But now—!” She broke off.
“Yes. Now, you are free—and being free, you must choose—And that means knowledge.” He looked at her narrowly.
“Yes!” She moved a little from him. “And I shall know—when I have made the mistake—perhaps!”
“When you take the risk!” he responded cheerfully. “Shall we go for our walk? That issafe—ten times round the deck—six times a day!”
She smiled and placed her hand in his arm and they swung into the easy step of the ship’s constitutional.
Six times they passed the quiet figure in its chair. Then the woman slowed her pace a little.
“I cannot bear it any longer—not to know!” She lifted her hand to the figure wrapped in its steamer-rug and lying so still. “When I look at her—I cannot bear it!...She knows. She has foregathered with the great—! She knows the secret!” They had come to a stop, and she turned to him. “If I marry you I shall not be happy—” She seemed to throw out the words accusingly.
“Are you happy now?” he asked gently.
“I am free!” she flung back.... “There are things women must do—for the world!” She looked about her vaguely.
“This is one of them—perhaps. But—” He looked at her narrowly. “Not unless—you love me.”
She looked at him and smiled subtly.
“I want to do brave things. I want to vote and reform cities and states. I want to found kingdoms and rule them! But—I am—going to marry you.”
He moved a little toward her.
She held up her hand. “I am going to marry you—because you hold the secret—of the Past.... I cannot live without it.” She caught her breath and half reached out her hands—as if to a blind god who demanded sacrifice. There was a wistful look in her face.
He regarded it sharply. “You think you will fathom the Past—by marrying me?... That is why you do it?”
She nodded gravely.
He turned his back on her and looked over the rail, out to sea.
“No woman is going to march through my heart, slamming doors behind her!” he said under his breath.
She regarded the obstinate back a minute and her face grew tender.... She had become gentle—as if she saw something precious. She put out her hand and touched his arm.
“Don’t be afraid of me, Gordon! I will wait—at the threshold!”
He wheeled suddenly and held out his arms.
But she glanced over her shoulder. Only the empty decks—a Japanese sailor lounging by the rail—and the quiet figure of the woman asleep in her chair.
She put up her face with the breath of a kiss and drew near to him.... And in her half-slumber, beneath lowered lids, Eleanor More dreamed on.... And the boat moved to the west and to the new world—the old world of the Past—new with coming life in the cycles of the earth and the sun.
At Shanghai there were a few days of delay while Kou Ying arranged for accommodations on the river-steamer, and telegraphed ahead for runners and provisions and an escort to be waiting at the various points where they might wish to stop off.
Richard had instructed him to make arrangements that would leave them free to follow any clew that developed as they went. Strings of cash were provided and paid out by Kou Ying with judicious, watchful hand; and banks in the interior received word to hold sums subject to call. The news of the American who was to follow, penetrated far ahead.... If any help were to be had from tradition or rumor Kou Ying had set turning the wheels that would bring it to them as they ascended the long meandering river that stretches from east to west across the country and forms the waterway and news route of all upper China.
Even in Shanghai the little party became the subject of almost official interest. Courteous overtures were made to Richard More of information to be had—at a price.
The capacious suite of rooms Kou Ying engaged for them in Shanghai’s leading hotel became an emporium of silks and stuffs and woven garments of every shape and kind.... Colored brocades, rich embroideries stiff with gold and gorgeous designs lay about on chairs and tables; and yellow-skinned merchants from the native part of the city displayed their trays and rolls of precious coats and robes for the American lady’s choice.
But she turned from them all with a little smile. “It was much simpler than any of these, and more beautiful—I think,” she said quietly.
And when Kou Ying interpreted her words, to them, they repacked the garments in their long trays, and saluted her gravely and retired.... Was it only fancy, or did swift looks cross between the impassive faces as they moved from her?
It was as if she were in a veiled world—tissues of filmy thinness.... She had only to put out her hand and brush them aside—to find what she sought—something beautiful and fine and eternal that waited.
Rumors from the old city were brought that Kou Ying sifted with cautious hand. Of some he made notes on the thin, yellow, rustling paper he always carried with him; and some he dismissed with a curt wave that swept the bearers in ignominious retreat from his presence.
They fled from the august wrath of this man who had learned American ways, but who had not forgotten, it would seem, the duplicity and crookedness of his native land!
Eleanor More saw very little of Kou Ying during these days of preparation. Except when he was acting as interpreter for her, he came and went with even, inscrutable countenance, arranging details, directing movements—preparing for the long and difficult journey that lay ahead.
Never by word or movement did he indicate other than the most casual interest in the object of their journey or in his employers. He gave the service agreed upon and he handled Richard More’s money with scrupulous exactness; but he showed no other sign of caring for the expedition or of interest in its success.
When the preliminary arrangements were concluded and they sat on the boat’s deck looking out across the Chinese landscape that the season of high water made visible on either bank, Kou Ying showed even less interest in their movements.
He sat, or stood, a little distance from them, his gaze resting stolidly on the level fields and low-lying crops, as they moved past. At a sign from Richard he would approach and explain some point of interest, or give information as to the average yield of the fertile soil or the price of crops.
Then, after a courteous moment of silence, he would return to his solitary watching, and the look of withdrawal would come over his face.
Mile after mile they saw the unvarying fields go by, and the multitudinous boats pass and repass on the great river.
For years, it seemed to them, they had been making their way through this fertile land, plying a steady course up the winding stream that led to the unknown country they sought.
Then one morning Kou Ying came to them.
“In a few hours we disembark,” he said courteously. “There is a shop in Ichang you may wish to visit.”
But the shop in Ichang proved only a duplicate of the shops of old Shanghai, and they returned to the river and moved on—this time in their own boat, a clumsy, roomy junk that went more slowly and was propelled by the wind or by stalwart rowers—up through great gorges, where the river made its tortuous way—up, steadily up, over rapids or along the smooth-flowing water between gigantic walls.
And as Eleanor More watched the muscles in the half-naked backs, bending to the oars or tugging and straining at the rope that hauled the boat through swift foaming rapids, she felt as if she ascended some great river of a dream world.... So Dante may have watched the shades appear and vanish, or a turn of the journey reveal new and mysterious regions of the unknown world.
Already they had fallen into the habit of saying little. They sat in the sedan chairs that had been provided for the upper reaches, motionless and silent.
Above them the great walls stretched dizzily or opened out around quiet waters where the light lay dazzling on distant peaks; or they watched the water as it broke and swirled about the bow and the boat groaned and bumped under the tugging strain that brought it at last one reach higher up.
Often the journey was halted for expeditions into the country on one side or the other as they made their way steadily toward the Thibetan ranges that stretched to the west. But no clew had been reached.... Always the courteous reception of Kou Ying’s inquiries—always the spreading before them of gorgeous robes and flower-embroidered garments—but no glimpse or hint of a blue coat and shining dragons.
“I begin to feel as if it were a dream,” said Eleanor, “we have been remembering all these years—only a dream-coat. It was so long ago!” she mused. “And this is another life.” She motioned to the strange fields about them—the low houses among the trees and the carved, fantastic temple rising from the grove near by. “Almost another world!” she murmured.
The sedan chairs halted for luncheon. A little distance away, the bearers sat or lolled at rest. In the distance Kou Ying consulted with a Taoist priest, who shook his head and turned away.
They saw Kou Ying move swiftly after him and press a coin in his hand. The priest stopped and regarded it with passing motion, and spoke a few words again, and shook his head and went on to his temple.
Kou Ying returned to them with the usual formula of failure. He motioned to the bearers to take up the chairs and continue the journey.
But Richard More stayed him. “Wait,” he said. He was searching in his pocket for something.
Kou Ying paused without interest.
And Richard More took from his pocket a yellow paper, and began to unfold it with slow, rustling fingers.
The Oriental’s face changed subtly. He moved toward it and reached out his hand.
“What is that?” he demanded.
Richard More looked up. “I had forgotten—that I had it,” he said absently.
Kou Ying reached to it. But Richard held it away. His finger traced a line along the paper and paused....
“This must be the place—here?” He looked about him, at the clustering houses and the Taoist temple on the right.
Kou Ying’s face bent eagerly above the paper.
“Where did you get this?” he asked huskily. There was a strange, quiet gleam in the yellow face.
“The man I told you of—Stewart—gave it to me.... I had forgotten—till now. Will it help, do you think?”
Kou Ying looked at him, almost with compassion, it seemed.
His finger touched the paper. But he made no further move to take it.
“Hold it to the light!” he said.
And when Richard More held it against the light they saw, gleaming high, an imperial dragon and beside it the four strange cabalistic marks.
“It is the royal seal,” said Kou Ying quietly—“the seal of a dynasty long since deposed. Only documents of rare value are inscribed on this paper.”
He waited a moment in silence. “It will tell us the way,” he said slowly—“Whoever sees that paper must speak true words—on penalty of death.”
He held out his hand. “Give it to me,” he said quietly.
And Richard More yielded it without demur.
The man’s whole bearing had changed. His face had lost its sullen look. He gazed down at the yellowed paper with quiet intentness.
Presently he looked up. The smile on his face was youthful and full of light. The antagonism was gone, and the repression and difference of race.
“I wish I had known before—that you carried this,” he said gently. He smoothed it in his yellow fingers.
“What would you have done—different?” asked Richard, a little curious.
“I should have served you in spirit,” said Kou Ying. “This is the map of the spirit country.” He touched it reverently and waited a moment.
“I cannot tell you more. My words would not have meaning—for you———”
But Eleanor More leaned forward a little, with parted lips.
“Tell us,” she said swiftly.
And Kou Ying looked at her a moment in grave silence. The paper in his hand seemed to radiate a kind of light and remove him mistily.
“You will know,” he said, “—all that the paper can tell. You will know—soon.... But I cannot tell you.”
He motioned to the bearers and they took up the chairs and moved forward.
And wherever the chairs halted and the paper was presented, there was swift hurrying and obedient response to Kou Ying’s questions and demands. The little procession became a kind of royal convoy. Each village that was entered received it with honor and hastened to serve it and to speed it on its way—almost as if eager to be rid of so fateful a mission.
There was no dallying in progress now, and no detours leading to fruitless results. Each halt found the route ahead prepared and directions ready for Kou Ying’s hand.... But the end that they sought was always a little farther on—a day’s journey on.
They left the travelled region and ascended into a hilly country where the road wound constantly up and the bearers were obliged to force their way through paths that were no longer wide enough for two abreast. At last only the empty chairs could be carried and they ascended by slow stages, halting often to rest.
“We are near the end now!” Kou Ying looked gravely at Eleanor More.
Her face had grown a little tired, but it held a light that scanned each break in the road with quiet happiness.
Richard More watched her uneasily. “You are not tired?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I am strangely rested.... I am getting acclimated, perhaps.”
He looked again at the quiet face. It was true that it seemed rested—more rested than he had ever seen it. But there was a pallor about it that touched him strangely.
He took her hand and held it in his as they ascended the hill, guiding her, almost carrying her over the rough places, till the path before them opened out into a little clearing and they stood on the summit of the mountain.
Below them the path wound downward to a valley of trees and little farms that stretched away to the plain; and in the centre of the valley stood a walled city.... They noted the circling walls and the gates and towers that thrust upward. In the midst of the city was a curious and rounded mountain, and on the summit of the mountain two thin, shining trees and a temple with little points and peaks glinted in the light.... Below the temple, shrined in the face of the mountain, something glowed. The light fell on it and shifted a little and the sun that had been struggling through gray clouds shone full on the face of the god—hewn from the ribs of the mountain and gilded till it shone like brass.... Colossal in dignity and repose, the great face gazed out over the roofs and towers of the walled city, to the plain beyond.
Eleanor More caught her breath and leaned forward, gazing with quiet eyes.
Kou Ying beside her gave a quick cry and flung himself prostrate on his face.... And all the bearers of the little retinue as they came straggling into the opening prostrated themselves, with half-uttered sounds of awe.
Richard More, standing among the kneeling figures, noted quietly the distance of the descending path that led to the city. And when Kou Ying rose and stood beside him, the American motioned with his hand to the mountain and the god that faced them, rising above the city walls.
“From here we go on alone,” he said.
Kou Ying gazed at him a moment in silence. He seemed weighing something in his mind.
“You will need an interpreter,” he said gravely.
Richard More laughed out. He touched the string of cash that hung beneath his coat.
“This will talk!”
But Kou Ying shook his head with a smile.
“You must go to the temple—not the one above, but below. Beside the Buddha—can you see it?”
Richard More shaded his eyes, and nodded assent. At the base of the mountain, rising barely to the knees of the great seated figure, he could see the other temple huddled among the trees.
“I can see it,” he said.
“Go there—and inquire. Here—take the map. I think we are very near now. But—” Kou Ying hesitated. “I should feel safer—” he murmured. Then his eyes fell on Eleanor More standing with relaxed hands, waiting, and his face lighted and glowed curiously. He drew aside with a gesture of abnegation.
“If you need me, signal from the gate—or from the wall. I shall wait here with the men—and come if you need me.” He bowed gravely and motioned to the men. They drew back and watched the two figures descend the winding path that led to the valley.
Sometimes a rock obscured them, and sometimes they passed under overhanging trees or disappeared beneath the arch of a bridge or fantastic tower that spanned the way.... Each time a little nearer to the city and to the great seated figure of the Buddha of the mountain.
And when the two figures halted a minute at the gate and disappeared within the wall Kou Ying made a significant gesture to the men; and the little retinue in the clearing on the mountain above the valley fell on their faces in silence....
Across the valley, the great Buddha brooded, and above it rose the temple and two thin trees, transparent in the gray morning light.
And on the high plateau that faced the god, the single figure of Kou Ying stood erect among the kneeling men and kept watch for a signal from the gate or the city wall.