She moved a step—and half held out her hands. But the other did not
stir and she crossed the space between them.... They were of equal
height. As Richard More turned a startled glance, he was aware of
something curiously alike in the two figures—a lift of the head,
an air of quiet endurance—but more than all, a kind of
dignity—something regal—that stirred vague memories.... When had he
stood before and seen two women thus?... Surely in some other life—in
some other age and time, he had looked on at a supreme moment of joy and
abnegation.
For a long moment, the two women confronted each other, gazing deep into
the other’s eyes. Then with a little gesture, the Oriental, in her
softly rustling garments, moved to the platform and lifted the Chinese
coat in her hands and placed it in Eleanor More’s.
Were there tears in the eyes that gazed... or only a deep, still joy?
Before Richard More could question—the look was gone. The Oriental
woman was moving from them and the door closed softly behind her.
He watched it swing together, with a sense that something irretrievable
had passed—a mystery and wonder—out of life.... Then he turned and
saw his wife’s face.
She was gazing down at the coat with a look almost of fear. “Her sons
and her sons’ sons—forever,” flashed through his mind.... She
lifted her eyes and smiled at him, holding out the coat.
“Carry it for me, Dick!”
He moved quickly toward her. “You are tired?” he said tenderly.
“No—I am not tired!” She looked about her. “I am only glad....
It was a long journey, wasn’t it?” She spoke with quiet conviction.
“But now it seems short—and easy to find....”
She looked about her again. Her eyes rested wonderingly on the shrine of
the Buddha and on the shallow platform with its coffin and the three men
standing by it....
“I have been here before, I think—and yet...” She passed her hand
across her eyes. “I cannot——”
“Never mind!” He had taken the coat from her and handed it to the
interpreter, who was folding it in slow, skilful hands.
The old Chinaman had not stirred from his place, a little to one side.
He looked on with impassive gaze.
Richard More glanced at him and a sense of something wonted came to
him... a sudden vision of the oak-tree with its great roots protruding
from the ground, and the low-swung branches. He moved quickly to the
platform. From about his neck he removed the long strings of cash and
placed them beside the coffin and from his pocket he took handfuls of
the Chinese silver “shoes” that had served them on their journey....
They would not need them now.... He piled them about the coffin.
The old eyes of the Chinaman gazed straight before him. His lips parted
in half-spoken words that the interpreter took up, translating softly.
“He will go to the grave of his ancestors.... He is old and his sons
are dead.... He will bury this son, the last of his race—” His hand
touched the lacquered surface gently. “He will offer worship at the
sacred mountain and pay vows before the tomb of his ancestors. The money
you have given shall make glad the hearts of his ancestors.”
He ceased. The old man approached the coffin. For a long moment he stood
with hands resting on it—as if he would gather from it something
of the strength of the race that was passing. Then with grave face he
lifted the strings of cash and placed them about his neck and gathered
up the silver shoes from beside the coffin and took from a little shelf
by the platform a red umbrella and a pair of half-worn sandals. With
courteous gesture he passed from the room.
XXIV |In the grove outside the city wall they paused to rest.
The interpreter, who had come with them from the house and refused
to leave them till the city gate was reached, had been paid and was
returning to the temple.
As they passed through the streets, they had been conscious of curious
whispers, glances from behind opaque windows and rustling from concealed
doorways and passages beyond—so a hive of bees despoiled of its comb
stirs with low-murmured sound and the restless whir of wings.... But no
one had approached them, no one barred passage to the light oblong box
that Richard More carried so carefully in his hand.
At the entrance to the grove he glanced at his wife.
“We shall rest here,” he said with quiet decision.
And she acquiesced—a little smile coming to her lips as they entered
the grove.
The green light filtered through the boughs. It touched the twisted
trunks with a still look of mystery and strangeness.
“How beautiful!” she said under her breath.
He made a place for her to sit down, and as she leaned against the
gnarled trunk, looking up to the boughs where the filtering light came
through, he was struck again by the pallor of her face.
“You are tired!” he exclaimed. “I shall signal Kou Ying to bring
the chairs!” He moved to the entrance of the grove—but she stayed
him.
“No—wait! I like it—to be alone with you.... Don’t call Kou
Ying—yet!”
She looked about with dreamy eyes. “It is so beautiful here—and
quiet—I shall rest,” she said slowly.
Then her eyes fell on the box and she smiled.
“Open it!” she commanded.
And as his fingers undid the cord and lifted the thin rustling papers
and drew the coat from its place, she laughed and chatted like a child.
And her laughter, sounding through the grove, had something sweet and
strange in it.
He lifted the coat and laid it before her. She looked down at it. She
put out her hand and stroked the dragons, the laughter still in her
eyes.
“For William Archer,” she said.
“And his sons,” responded Richard.
“And his sons’ sons forever,” she finished dreamily.
Her hand still stroked the dragons.
“I did not think you—would get it—for me!” she said.
“Of course I should get it—if you wanted it.... You had only to say
you wanted it!”
“You knew that!” he added after a minute.
“Yes, I knew.” A little sigh touched her lips.
They sat a moment in silence. Then he lifted the coat. “Put it on,”
he insisted gently.
She lifted her arms to the sleeves and smiled at him as he wrapped
it about her.... Suddenly the look of pallor was in her face. It grew
strangely quiet, and a touch of wistfulness curved the smile of the
lips.
He looked down at her, startled... the pallor in the quiet face seemed
passed to his own.
Hastily he laid down the still figure and ran to the entrance of
the grove.... At the edge of the path he paused and looked up and
motioned—gesticulating swiftly to a single figure on the plateau
above.
From his post above Kou Ying started. He leaned forward and lifted his
hand in a swift gesture.
He gave a harsh call.
The men behind him leaped to their feet and ran from the trees. There
was confusion and hurry and a swift chatter of voices, as they seized
the empty sedan chairs and slung them to their shoulders, and moved
forward toward the winding path that led from the hill.
From the edge of the hill before he descended Kou Ying looked down
again.
The valley below was still. No one moved among the trees.
From the mountain opposite, the quiet face of the Buddha looked across
to the plain.
XXV
In the grove he bent above the deathlike face. A tremor crossed it.
She brushed a hand lightly across her eyes, as if visions fled, and sat
up. The color came slowly back to her face.
“I had a dream!” she breathed.
The green light of the grove shimmered about her softly and touched her
face.
“It was William Archer and the coat. But I cannot remember—” She
passed a hand across her forehead.
“Never mind,” said Richard. “We are going to take it home to
him.”
Her hand dropped to the dragons and smoothed them absently.
“And to his sons’ sons forever!” she murmured happily.
At the entrance to the grove, dark incurious faces peered in at the
blue-robed figure that rested against the gnarled trunk.... The sound of
quick, indrawn breath passed among the leaves.
Richard More lifted her to her feet.
“Come!” he said.
They passed out of the grove where the sedan chairs waited them. The
bearers prone on their faces on the ground uttered low words that rose
in a kind of chant and ended in the long indrawn note of awe.
Kou Ying alone stood erect.
He held out his hand to the blue-robed figure and escorted it to the
sedan chair and seated it with grave care.
Richard More took his place in the chair beside her.
“We return by the lower route,” said Kou Ying.
He spoke a sharp word to the bearers. They sprang to their feet and
touched the handles of the chairs.
“Keep to the lower hill by the spur,” he commanded.
The procession moved toward the low hill that edged the plain. And as
they made their way up the long slope at an easy trot Richard More’s
eyes rested on his wife.
She sat erect beneath the canopy of the chair, the blue robe with its
gold dragons wrapped about her. Her tranquil face in its white hair
looked across the plain.... She was more beautiful than he had ever
known her! A queen in this robe of the Past!
He reached his hand till it touched the one that lay on the arm of the
chair. The face with its tranquil smile turned to him.
And he saw with a start that the blue of the eyes and the blue of the
coat were one....
They reached the spur of the hill and Kou Ying gave the signal to halt.
Behind them in the face of the cliff the seated Buddha looked across the
plain.
And ahead, far beyond them on the plain, a single figure beneath a red
umbrella plodded stolidly on, moving toward the tomb of its ancestors.
And as it went the red umbrella bobbed slowly, a spot of color in the
distant far-reaching grayness of the plain.