It was the afternoon after the feast.
The Viceroy sipped his tea meditatively in his favorite court, and
occasionally fanned himself in a mechanical way, but his thoughts were
evidently elsewhere. The goldfinch above his head hopped about and
chirped loudly to him, begging for some rice, but he heeded it not, and
a little lizard crept across the walk, eyeing him furtively, and then
scampered away among the grasses on the bank of the lake, but it need
not have feared him to-day. Drip, drip, drip, fell the drops from the
fountain in a minor monotone, and in the calm water of the lake the fish
darted like flames of fire, and poppy petals dropped silently to the
ground. Behind the Viceroy's chair a slave stood dozing.
"Tell my daughter to come here," his master said suddenly; and the slave
eyed him stupidly for a moment, and then hastened off to do his bidding.
But when Tuen came he did not speak for some time, and seemed casting
about in his mind for the best way to begin. Then he cleared his throat
importantly.
"I have something to say to you," he remarked, watching her closely from
the corners of his eyes.
She waited but did not answer, and he went on:
"I have a new honor in store for you." Having delivered himself of this
announcement he examined his long, pointed nails critically, and
satisfied that they were scrupulous in appearance, he commenced to drum
idly on the table. All this time Tuen was standing breathless before
him, fearing something, yet she knew not what.
"You see His Most Mighty and Gracious Majesty, the Ever Wise and Ever
Perfect Son of Heaven has lately condescended to honor my unworthy
self," he volunteered affably, and all the capitals were expressed in
his voice as he spoke of his sovereign. "I have sought everywhere in the
province for a gift to send in return that would be worthy of his
acceptance, and last night I gave a feast that I might ask of others,
perhaps wiser than I am. Then it was that the learned Wo Ting suggested
that I should give _you_ to him--an admirable idea, Tuen."
Poor Tuen had been listening in wondering horror, and she now gave a
gasp, but he did not appear to notice this.
"You will get ready to go to Peking to be a handmaid to our mighty
king." With wild cries Tuen knelt before the Viceroy, the tears
streaming down her face. "Oh do not send me away," she pleaded. "I will
be so good--I will work for you as a slave all my life--only let me stay
here."
The Viceroy arched his brows.
"What a fuss to make about nothing!" he commented. "You ought to be
proud to be sent. I fear after all you are more foolish than other
women."
But Tuen did not care how silly he thought her, if she could only beg
him out of this awful plan. Just when she was so happy must it all come
to an end? Was she again to be sent forth, alone and friendless, among
strangers? Oh, it was too horrible! And it seemed so useless! She was
satisfied, why not let her stay where she was? Some of this she managed
to tell the Viceroy between her sobs, but he listened impatiently.
"There is no cause for such sorrow, I tell you," he repeated. "Great is
the Emperor, and his riches like the ever-flowing waters. There is no
end to them. His palace, I have heard, is of gold and gems; there is
nothing like it in all the world."
But this picture brought no consolation to Tuen. She only moaned and
cried and begged to stay where she was.
"Is it that you are angry with me?" she asked. "Do I no longer please
you, that you want to get rid of me?"
"No, Tuen," he answered, "it is only that I do not know what else to
send my Emperor, and I dare not risk his displeasure. But neither will
he thank me to send him an unwilling girl, so dry your eyes."
"Then it would be a great favor to you if I went and looked happy?" she
inquired in a curiously strained voice.
"So I have told you," he said wearily, for he detested scenes most
cordially, and was anxious to bring this one to a close.
Then it was that the little slave girl showed the greatness of her
nature, for she wiped away her tears and rose to her feet. Standing
before him she said slowly:
"You have been very good to me. I have not forgotten that. If I can now
do you a kindness, and thus repay you for all you have done for me--I
will go, but I go with a heavy heart."
"Well, it is settled, and you have acted as a dutiful daughter should,"
he said, drawing a long breath of relief. "I will at once make ready for
your departure."
"Must I go so soon?" she said pleadingly.
"At once," he answered decisively.
Again the tears welled up in the eyes of Tuen, and try as she would she
could not keep them back:
"Oh, it is so hard to leave all my dear friends!" she moaned. "And Wang,
who has been so good to me--" She could go no further.
"Wang can go with you," he said. "You must have servants, as befits
your rank, for you are now the daughter of the Viceroy of Kiang-si."
"Oh, I am so glad I can have Wang!" she cried, and this was the only
gleam of joy in the blackness of her despair.