“If I were sure... I would marry you to-morrow—to-day—any time!”
She threw the words at him. “How can one be sure?” 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 is safe—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.
XXIII
Through his barred window, the old priest looked out at them with
unseeing eyes.
There was an interval and he stood beside them, looking down at their
dusty clothes and travel-stained faces with quiet, understanding gaze.
Even before the interpreter came, with his high, sing-song words that
translated their wishes, even before Richard More took from his pocket
the yellow map and laid it in the old priest’s hand, they knew that
they were come to the end of their search.
The priest listened with bowed head. Once or twice he nodded assent, and
when the interpreter finished, he looked at Eleanor More with slow, kind
eyes.
He folded the map and handed it back and pointed to a little house among
the trees. Then he spoke to the interpreter in a low tone and motioned
to the figure of the god cut in the rock above, and entered the temple.
An old man, half-asleep before his door, roused himself. He listened to
the interpreter and shook his head. His face was as motionless as the
plank it leaned against.
The interpreter spoke again, sharply, and the old eyes turned to him
with slow, incurious look.
The interpreter flung one hand upward, toward the seated Buddha towering
above; and the old gaze followed it unsteadily—up—up to the great
gilded face.
For a long minute he gazed at the god in the face of the mountain. Then
he rose slowly and entered the darkened house.
They heard a sound of scraping within and a creaking, as if a door
opened, then silence.... The city was very quiet about them—a gentle
intoning from the temple and a rustling of leaves on the mountainside.
For a long time they waited in the silence before the half-swung door.
The old man appeared and beckoned to them and they passed into the cool
quiet.
They traversed a passage and crossed a court and entered a low room.
The room was empty except for two objects on the right as they
entered—a shrine to Buddha revealed through the half-open doors the
god within; and across the room on a raised platform facing the shrine
stood a red-and-black lacquered coffin.
At the sight of the coffin Eleanor More’s face changed subtly. She
turned to the interpreter.
“Why have you brought us to a house of mourning?” Her hand moved
toward the raised platform.
The old man at the interpreter’s side spoke a few words.... And the
interpreter translated in his sing-song voice.
“It is his son—who is dead. He has no other to do him honor,” he
chanted slowly, as if the words were full of presage.
And Eleanor More’s eyes turned to the old man with a quiet look. But
the stolid face gave no response.
With a courteous gesture and a low word to the interpreter, the old man
moved toward the shrine across the room and, squatting before it, opened
a drawer beneath the half-open doors and drew out an oblong box.
The three people standing by the red-and-black coffin waited quietly as
he lifted it and turned to them.
“What is it?” asked Richard More.
He had a curious thrill—as if at the end of a long quest he put out
his hand in the dark and touched a human hand like his own.
The old man crossed to them in silence, and laying the box on the
platform by the coffin lifted the lid.... A faint scent of spices
drifted out; it floated about them and enveloped them as he took out,
one by one, the soft thin papers that filled the box, and revealed lying
at the bottom something that glowed and shimmered a little.
Eleanor More leaned forward breathless. Her hands half-reached to the
shimmer of blue and gold as the old man lifted it from the box and
opened it with slow, reverent fingers.... The dragon’s played across
the surface, and on the breast as he held it up were four cabalistic
marks—the signs in the transparent map that guided them on their
journey.
They stood a moment in silence. All the color of the coat seemed to
gather to a soft intensity, and glow.
Eleanor More caught her breath with a little sound. “I had
forgotten!” she said. “I had forgotten....!” Her face was filled
with light—a look of happiness pervaded it.
Richard More glanced at her. “Ask him how much it is,” he said in a
low voice to the interpreter.
The interpreter spoke the words and listened a moment and translated the
answer swiftly: “Money will not buy the coat—not all the gold in all
the world,” he chanted back.
Again and again Richard More made his demand.... And again he offered
larger sums. But the old face opposite remained untouched.
“Money cannot buy it,” replied the interpreter.
It was like a refrain that came and went between the two men, as they
faced each other—Richard More urgent, imperious, and strong; the old
Chinaman impassive and quiet. His face had not changed from its look of
calm endurance.
“He will not sell it,” repeated the interpreter. “He only shows
it to you at the priest’s command. It is a legacy—from mother to
son.”
“His son is dead,” said Richard almost harshly. His hand moved to
the coffin with an abrupt gesture.... “His son is dead——-”
The words held themselves on his lips.
He was facing a small door across the room. His hand fell to his side in
a gesture of silence.
The woman in the doorway stood looking at them with deep, intent gaze.
Then she moved toward them—as one who comes in her own right.
She spoke a word to the interpreter. He gave quiet assent and waited
while she spoke.
“She says the coat is of royal lineage,” he translated slowly—“a
heritage in her family—since Time.... She is of a dynasty long since
deposed. Only the coat remains. No one remembers whence it came—no one
reads the dragon marks....” He translated the words as they came from
her lips in quaint exact phrasing. “But there is a tradition—” his
voice went on——
He listened again—a half-curious flutter of his lids rested on Eleanor
More’s face.
She had withdrawn to one side and stood looking down at the
red-and-black lacquered surface of the coffin.... Her hands were folded
quietly. Something within her seemed to hold itself remote.
His gaze ran from her to the woman who stood speaking the words that he
translated, half under his breath———
“There is a tradition—” he repeated softly, “that the coat is
immortal—”
They turned to it where it lay beside the coffin. It seemed to shimmer
and gather light.
“—a tradition that the coat is immortal,” went on the singing
voice of the interpreter.... “And one day there shall come from the
East—a woman—a woman out of the East.... And her sons shall cherish
the coat!”
Eleanor More stirred a little.
The voice of the interpreter took on a high sing-song note, alternating
with the low, gentle phrasing of the Chinese woman’s words.... “Her
sons and her sons’ sons—forever.”
The voice ceased and the room was very still. From somewhere in the
house came a rustling sound that rose and died away.