During the meal, which was long and elaborate, Morse showed a side of
his nature I had never before seen. He was not jovial or in high
spirits--distinctly not that--but he was strangely tender and human. I
realized the immense love he had for Juanita, and wondered how he could
ever bear to see her love me. But he was kindness itself--like a father,
to the interloper who had stormed his fortress, and I always like to
think of him as he was on that afternoon, full of anecdotes about his
youth, of Juanita's mother, of the old days in Brazil. It was my formal
whole-hearted reception into his life. Henceforth I was to be--he said
it once in well and delicately-chosen words--a son to him, who had never
had a son.
In the afternoon I went back to my own quarters, which consisted of a
villa at the end of the Palace gardens, where I was lodged with Rolston,
and attended by various well-trained Chinamen. I had rarely seen a more
delightful bachelor dwelling. I took a cup of tea with Bill about four
o'clock. It was now quite dark, and the bitter wind was rising again,
but heavy curtains of tussore silk were pulled over the windows, a fire
of yew logs burned in the open hearth, and softly shaded electric lights
all combined to produce the coziest and most homelike effect it is
possible to imagine.
It was then that a man came in to say that Mr. Pu-Yi begged the honor of
an audience.
Bill vanished, and my thin, ascetic friend glided in, and at my
invitation sank into a chair by the fire. I don't think, in the whole
course of my life, I could recall a conversation which touched,
interested, and excited my admiration more than this, and I have met
every one "from Emperor to Clown." He apologized profoundly for his
seeming treachery. With a wealth of lucid self-analysis and the power
of presenting a clear statement which I have seldom heard equaled, he
showed how he was torn between his new-born debtorship to me, his
loyalty to Morse, for whom he professed a profound esteem, and--here he
hinted with extraordinary _finesse_--his mute adoration for Juanita.
"It was, Sir Thomas, touch and go, of course. I was in the position of a
surgeon who has to risk everything upon one heroic stroke of the knife.
I did so, and behold, all the conflicting elements are reconciled. The
pieces of the puzzle have come together."
"My friend," I said, "betray me twenty million times if you can bring me
such happiness as you have brought. Besides, it wasn't a betrayal, it
was a great brain leading a smaller one to its appointed goal."
We talked a little more, he drank tea, he smoked, and, to my growing
discomfort, I found in him the same note of pessimism and apprehension
that Morse could not conceal, and Rolston himself had partially
revealed.
"But I _won't_ believe that any harm can come to Miss Morse," I said,
almost angrily.
The thin lips smiled.
"That I never said, Sir Thomas. There are no indications of that. You
and your lady are in peril, but you will win through."
"Confound it, man, your liver must be out of order. It seems to me that
captivity in this magnificent bird-cage has the same effect on every
one. I shall get Morse to come and hunt with me in the Shires. I've got
a nice little box in Gloucestershire, close to Chipping Norton, and by
Jove, Pu-Yi, I'll mount you and give you a run with the Heythrope. You
talk as if you actually knew something. As if you had information of a
calamity."
"I hear it in the wind," he said strangely, and his voice was like a
withered leaf blown before the wind. Then he left me.
I dined with Juanita and her father. Bill was asked too, and he kept my
girl, and sometimes even Mr. Morse, in fits of laughter with stories of
his short but erratic career, and especially a racy account of his
illicit opium-selling down below.
"You see, sir," he said, "you brought it on yourself, by kidnaping me in
the first instance. I had to get my own back."
Morse's face clouded over for a moment.
"It was a disgraceful thing to do," he said. "I quite admit it, but had
the necessity arisen I'd have kidnaped George Robey or the Prince of
Wales," and from that moment always I seemed to see that a faint but
perceptible shadow was creeping over his spirits.
We had a little music, in a charming room built for the purpose. Juanita
played upon the guitar and sang little Spanish love songs. Bill
"obliged" with a ditty which he said was a favorite of the revered
Charles Lamb, which seemed to consist entirely of the following lines:
"Diddle-diddle-dumpling, my son John
Went to bed with his breeches on."
I think that when Juanita said good-night to us all--and to me privately
in the passage--she went to bed quite happy and cheerful.
About half-past ten Bill slipped off and I remained to smoke a final
cigar with Morse.
"I'm low, Thomas," he said, "I'm very low to-night."