Sên stumbled home.
Mrs. Sên looked up with a sunny smile as he came into her room. The
effort and strain it cost her to show a complacence she did not feel
were so sharp and hard that they blinded her to the change in him--a
gait that shambled a little, pallor, hurt eyes, a mouth clenched and
drawn.
“Has Kow been?” Ruben asked abruptly.
“And gone. He should be back before long, unless they exchange
incredibly long Chinese speeches. I told them to send him up here--and
told him to come up as soon as he did get back. Rue, he was a picture!
I never saw such a sight in my life. If Mr. C’hi is not vastly
impressed by the sumptuous get-up of my _mei jên_, all I can say is, he
ought to be!”
Ruben nodded--as nearly brightly as he could, and sat down wearily.
“Oh--well, it doesn’t matter,” he murmured listlessly. “It doesn’t
matter.”
“Doesn’t matter? What doesn’t matter? Why, Rue, what is wrong?” Her
son’s distress had reached her. “Cousin Charles didn’t rag you?”
“No,” Sên answered with a weary smile.
“Of course not! And you would have snapped your fingers at it if he
had. But something has gone wrong since you left me. What?”
Ruben Sên looked full in his mother’s face. The misery in his eyes
knifed her; she saw his set face break, his clenched mouth waver and
twitch.
“Ruben!”
Before Sên could answer--if he could have answered just then--Kow Li
came through the door, closed it behind him, and bowed profoundly to
them both.
There was no Chinese impassivity on that old yellow face. It blazed
with joy and pride as unmistakably as his bedecked person blazed and
crackled with embroidered satins and fur-lined, coral-buttoned silks.
The slant old eyes twinkled like glow-worms, his thin lips were pursed
in triumph, and he waved his tiny ridiculous unfurled fan with all
the pomp with which a peacock spreads his tail. Kow Li radiated
congratulation, joy and self-complacency.
Ruben Sên smothered a groan; the woman choked back a sigh; she had
had scant hope that C’hi would send back an unfavorable reply. She
had tried not to hope it but her first glance at Kow Li assured her
that Kow had not failed, scarcely had needed to ask, and that C’hi Ng
Yelü had not even pretended to be less than pleased and willing, but
had scorned to assume towards the suit of a Sên the strong parental
reluctance that would have been the better Chinese etiquette. C’hi Ng
Yelü had welcomed the proposal, would make no difficulties at all of
any sort, was fully prepared to cut out all the preliminary bargainings
and cross-negotiations that even an easy-going C’hi Ng Yelü who had
a shred of family self-respect must have insisted upon in China. The
match was made! Ruby Sên’s breast quivered once in spite of her. But
her smile was cordial and serene.
And Ruben saw what she saw. C’hi had given him Yamei!
And he must slaughter the gift--leave it untouched--thrust it back!
He had heard his father’s voice in Snow’s study. It was not Sir Charles
who had convinced him; it was Sên King-lo who had convinced and
sentenced him; sentenced him to lifelong soul-ache, everlasting longing
and loneliness; sentenced him to put slight upon the maid he worshiped
heart and body; sentenced him too, perhaps, to hurt her!
It did not occur to Sên Ruben to evade the sentence. A Chinese son must
pay his father’s debts to the last fraction of a _cash_, to the last
husk of one millet seed.
Sên King-lo had sinned against his blood--had defiled the blood of
China and defiled his Clan. Reparation must be made; the mixed blood
must not continue to be dispersed through Sên veins. The debt must be
paid. Sên King-lo’s son must make the bitter sacrificial payment.
So Sên Ruben saw it.
What he might suffer--or C’hi Yamei--was nothing to the cleansing of a
father’s crime, less than nothing to the rehabilitation of the honor,
the family purity, of the Sêns.
Ruben Sên did not flinch; he knew that he should not flinch again. But
his soul was sick, his heart was blistered, and his flesh ached.
In itself the hideous payment was terrible; but there was more! He must
give no sign. While they lived never must his mother know; never must
she suspect why he did what irrevocably was his to do.
That, perhaps, was the hardest of all and doubly hard; for not only
must he hide that he was hurt, and that he had made a sacrifice,
but--for his mother’s sake--he must brand himself poltroon, turn-coat,
jilt.
He must do a noble thing as if it were a foulness; he must make his
sacrifice look a treachery.
Sir Charles would know. But Sir Charles Snow would not speak. No one
else must even suspect, least of all his mother.
No one--but C’hi Ng Yelü. Even the gods would grant him that--that he
might explain--show his soul--to Yamei’s father. And C’hi Ng Yelü would
tell Yamei what he would.
He must leave C’hi Yamei to her father now, C’hi Yamei whose life he
had thought to keep and cherish in his own.
He should not see Yamei again.
He would not see Yamei again.
Kow Li was bursting to speak. But Kow Li far sooner would have died
than have smirched this great occasion by such foul breach of Chinese
etiquette.
Kow Li’s lips twitched, his petticoat rattled with the agitation of
his knees; but he might not speak until they questioned or bade him
say--the lady Sên Ruby who had sent him on her perfumed errand or the
lord Sên Ruben who was his worm-and-servant’s master.
Ruben rose, and stood facing them both. His face was grave but it was
calm; and his voice was clear and steady.
“The lord C’hi Ng Yelü did not repulse our offer.”
“Oh, great and worshiped master”--Kow Li _had_ to speak.
But Sên checked him with an upheld hand. “I regret that he did not, for
there will be no such marriage.”
“Ruben!”
“I have changed my mind, Mother,” Sên told her quietly.
“I do not believe it! Changed your mind! You, Ruben!”
Nor did Kow Li believe it for an instant. The old Sên servant did not
attempt to speak; he could not have spoken, had Sên Ruben bade him. But
a long angry hiss lashed out from between his grinning lips--a hiss
that was Kow Li’s oath to rip out the life of the only Englishman he
ever had entirely liked and respected, the one Western that he had ever
trusted.
Kow Li knew who had done this. Mrs. Sên had told him that Ruben had
gone to Snow in courtesy to tell him what was afoot. And Snow had found
some hellish way to prevent Sên Ruben’s purpose.
Presently--when he found leisure and convenience--he would take the
life of Sir Charles Snow. But that was nothing at this moment; one
did not turn from the jungle path to crush a flea when one hunted a
tiger. There was more importance than that small thing to do now; the
Englishman’s dastard necromancy was to undo now. It should not stand
or prevail. Sir Charles Snow who had pretended friendship and loyalty
for Sên King-lo and for Sên Ruben, who had pretended that he liked and
revered China, should not spoil the life of Sên Ruben and dishonor and
balk the best hope of the Sêns. Kow was bitterly disappointed in Sên
Ruben--humiliated that a Sên had so proved weakling, cheap wax to be
melted by a mere Englishman’s treacherous breath.
There is not much that is bitterer than to despise what we most love.
Kow Li was despising Sên Ruben now. Kow Li never had despised a Sên
before, he who had served them man and boy for all his lifetime, and in
the service of his fathers had served them faithfully for thousands of
years.
Why had the vile Englishman wrought this thing? Gods! because he had
some other wife of his own selection whom he intended Sên Ruben to
wed--an English wife!
And again a long sound of a scorpion that hissed its rage thrashed
across the room.
“Ruben,” Mrs. Sên asked, “what did Cousin Charles say to you? You have
_not_ changed your mind. It is useless for you to tell me that; I know
you too well. It is absurd! You have not and, if you had, your mother
would tell you that you must not. You told me yourself that you had as
good as told Miss C’hi and probably her father _has_ told her now. You
are Sên King-lo’s son; I shall not forget that, even if you do!”
Kow Li’s being ko’towed to a white woman! It had not happened before.
“Mother,” Sên answered gently, “it was not Cousin Charles. I cannot
explain now--it would take too long--and there is a thing I must do at
once. The credit or discredit is not Sir Charles’--it is my own, you
may believe me. And we must leave it at that--for to-day.”
“If you say so, you think so, I know. But I am sure that it was,” Mrs.
Sên persisted. “He tried to prevent our marriage, your father’s and
mine.” Kow Li’s old eyes widened before they narrowed to a line; he
had not known that before. “I forgave him--a long time afterwards. But
I ought to have remembered, and not have encouraged you to go to him
to-day. He did all he could to spoil my life once; he shall not spoil
yours!”
“Nothing shall,” Sên promised gravely. “I give you my word of
honor, Mother,” he added, “that not an iota of the responsibility is
his--Cousin Charles’.”
“Whoever--whatever is responsible, you simply cannot do it, my son.
What would your father say if he knew? Over and over I have heard him
say that a Chinese promise cannot be broken. Your father would be
ashamed of you, Ruben.”
She did not see Ruben wince at that, but Kow Li saw, and a glimmer of
the truth flickered towards his mind--and Kow Li was sorely troubled.
“I am ashamed of you, Ruben. I never thought to be that! But you cannot
do it; you cannot break your word to the woman you have wooed--a
Chinese girl, Ruben! Your Sên blood--Chinese blood--has been your great
pride. You have seemed English because you look it, and because you
have lived here all your life. But you have been Chinese always. I have
been glad that you were, and I have wished that he might have known it.
Perhaps he does know it, Ruben; know that I bore him a Chinese son. I
hope he does. You must be Chinese in this, Ruben. There is divorce in
China--not frequently, but there is; but a Chinese betrothal _never_ is
broken; even death cannot break it.”
Kow Li gestured confirmation gravely.
“There is no betrothal,” Sên reminded them. “Nothing makes one or binds
either family until the first gifts have been exchanged. No one is
pledged--thank God! Kow has sounded C’hi--that is all.”
“Rubbish!”
“I am sorry to seem in the wrong--in this--to you, Mother,” Sên
pleaded, “but I must take my way in it.”
“Think of that poor girl!”
“I shall think of C’hi Yamei while I live--as I have since that first
time at Burlington House. Kow--old friend--we are sorry to have sent
you on a bootless errand. Go now.”
Kow Li never had disobeyed a Sên. He backed towards the door. He looked
to have shriveled; all his splendid raiment hung about him limply. Kow
Li went without a word; at the door he bowed to them both profoundly.
He did not look again at Sên Ruben his master, but he gave Sên Ruby a
deep look of supplication.
She might succeed when they two were alone! And, if she did, Kow Li
would worship her as he worshiped the Spirit of Sên Ya Tin.
“Rue”--she held out her hand, and Sên went to her, and sat down beside
her on the arm of her chair, and touched her hair with his hand--“it
was rather curt dismissal for poor old Kow that! But we’ll make it up
to him! Now, dear, that we are alone--just you and I--you’ll explain?”
“Not to-day, Mother. I can’t stand much more now--and I have something
to do that is not easy.”
“Is it something about the C’his?--tell me that much,” the mother
whispered.
“No!”
The puzzled woman knew that Ruben had answered her truthfully.
She left it then--for the present. She would see Charles before she
probed or fretted Ruben again.
They stayed so while her little jeweled clock ticked several minutes
into the past.
Then Ruben bent down and kissed his mother.
“I am going out again, dear. But I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
“Not--” she began.
“Yes--to C’hi Ng Yelü. I must explain to him as far as I can; and
I must not put it off. Miss C’hi was going to the Mortons’ this
afternoon. If she did, C’hi has said nothing to her yet. And I
would rather speak with him when she is not at home. We might meet
accidentally--and I’d rather not. I’ll be back for dinner, dear.”
Mrs. Sên made no attempt to dissuade or to delay him; she did not dare.