her pillow. He dropped to his knee there for an instant, his thought
for her care while he was gone. She stood apart watching, her hands
reaching back against the wall, her eyes burning upon him.
He placed the cot beside his and turned to the door. She came forth,
very little in her bare feet and white robe, a shawl about her
shoulders, holding something in her hand.
Romney waited for her to come forward, put out the lamp, and found his
place. There was a moment of stillness, and then her hand came forth to
meet his, and he found that it was the little silver cross that she
held.
The door to the court was open, and the moonlight lay pale upon the
stones.
*15*
Romney thought at first that it was a flutter of wings that aroused him.
The room was cool and touched with gray, not of moonlight. Many vague
images passed through his mind before the actual realisation of the
present. He turned to find the pillow empty at his side.
He felt the cold of morning, and a silencing dread. A dark shadow hung
before his eyes like the tangible presence of fear, and then a hand
lifted from the blanket close to his breast and patted him softly.
Now he saw her face, low in the cot. It was turned to him, and Anna
Erivan slept. He moved slightly and the hand patted him again. Romney
then lay very still, reflecting upon the miracle of her mothering
instinct. Without awakening she had felt his sudden stress. It was like
a babe's cry, and her hand had brought it peace. The presence of her
soothed him again. She was resting so sweetly that he could not arouse
her now. Contemplating the magic of it all in the thin dawn light, he
fell asleep again.
... Some one had come with a great message--the perfect word for him.
The lips moved close to his with the story--touched his with a kind of
imperishable wonder. He opened his eyes to the full sunlight, and Anna
Erivan's face was close to his.
"Take me with you!" she whispered.
She was dressed and kneeling beside him. His arms went out to her.
"Take me with you!" she said again.
"It is done," he answered, yet even as he spoke he felt that he would
have to suffer for that.
"You will take me with you--on your camel--into the desert!"
"Yes."
"Do you know what it means?"
"Yes."
Again in his consciousness came the sense that what he promised was a
failure for which he would have to pay.
She stared into the west. "No one goes that way from Nadiram," she
said. "I have been here a year, yet Wampli is but a name to me. Even
you, coming from Peking, know that desert bands watch the ways around
Wampli. We shall have no escort--"
"We shall pay the tariff demanded. I have credentials that worked
before."
"The little parchment of Rajananda shall help us!" she exclaimed.
"Also we have Bamban, a camel-tender, good compasses."
"You think there is no danger of getting lost?" she asked, and he did
not search in vain for her smile.
"I have been afraid to leave you here," he said. "There is danger, but
it is here--it is everywhere, in the desert and out--if they want to
bring us danger--"
"_They_--again," she whispered.
"I do not feel that we could be lost _together_. Are you afraid? Would
you rather stay?"
She laughed and leaned toward him. "Those who have met our kind of
fears, are not afraid of mere men and desert distances.... It will
be--it will be almost too great a thing--to leave Nadiram and all
this--and go out into the desert with you--"
He saw she had not said all:
"Yes--I would go without food or drink. I would go with you--for you are
all that faith means.... Better and better I understand. I do not think
we are to die soon--but if that is so--it will be together--a rapture in
that." ....
"I have thought every day of our going out in the desert," he said.
His eyes kindled from her nearness. "I saw it the first night here--and
every night as I sat at the west wall--"
"We will start to-night!"
"Yes."
"I have tea nearly ready. You will put the cots back--and this--you
know where it hangs. We will take it with us tonight."
She gave him the little cross.
"Hurry now and dress, and breakfast will be ready. Don't mind me. I
shall be at the fire--"
"I wonder that I did not waken when you did--that I did not hear you."
"I was very quiet."
"I awoke once in the night--and when I stirred, you patted me as if I
were--"
"I was dreaming," she said softly, her face turned from him. "I was
dreaming--and once I awoke in the night."
Romney felt the very core of the mystery now--his passion not to take or
seize, but to give her his life. All the difference between the old and
the new was in this--the difference between flesh and spirit, death and
life. The thought came that this which he now knew had to do with the
romances of the coming age--the passion to give one's self, not to seize
something for one's own. He wanted to give her every beauty from his
past and the high conceptions from the future, one by one. He had loved
her spirit, her understanding mind, her presence, somehow as detached
principles until this moment. Now they seemed one. All had come to the
very earth of her being. He had knelt to her. The touch of her lips
was the whole mystery. Nothing seemed impossible. He went to the door.
Her word "to-night" was ringing through his whole being.
He sought Bamban early, to remark that they would set out for Wampli at
noon.
"There is some extra baggage at the Consulate, including some
provisions. We will need an extra camel and driver. In adding to the
provisions in stock, arrange for four persons, Bamban, and don't spare
on the little matters of extra comfort and accommodation--"
"Four persons?" said Bamban.
"Anna Erivan is going with us to Wampli."
Romney had a peculiar sense of hatred for an instant from his servant,
who a moment before was inclined to prostrate himself, at least in
effect. Bamban's hands were lifted, his head thrust forward from his
shoulders, thin lips protruding, and a kind of dusk about his features.
"It would be better for us to return with her to Turgim in case she is
not safe here, rather than to have a woman on the next part of the
journey. Any delay is better than taking a woman--"
"I think we'll be able to manage according to the plan--"
"You will forgive your servant, but our mission is endangered by this
plan. The solicitude of those represented by the master who came
yesterday is withdrawn from any party which contains a white woman. It
would be wiser for you to give up the mission and return to Peking--"
Romney coloured a little. "The master who came yesterday is friendly,"
he said.
"I am afraid you are taking the woman to her death--to say nothing of
your own."
"Bring the camels toward the end of afternoon, Bamban."
Romney turned and walked back to the Consulate. He had met nothing of
this sort before from his most excellent _boy_; and the fact that
Bamban's resistance tallied with a fear in his own mind, added to the
coldness with which he regarded the venture. He recalled his first
swift rejection of taking Anna Erivan forward on the mission. So
utterly had he put the thought away that it had not returned even in the
great stress at the thought of separation. Yet when she asked to go,
there had been no question; only the instant sense of warning which he
had put from him steadily.... His step quickened. The braver way would
be to change now--to explain his fear and ask her to remain. The force
to accomplish this, however, did not arise in him. He had always been
stubborn. He regarded his stubbornness now as something before which he
was powerless.... She had asked to go. He had agreed. She was
preparing even now. The journey to the desert was a part of her
dream--their dream. It called him now. Rajananda--a queer sense of the
old priest's love and tenderness and guardianship came to mind. Romney
shared with Anna Erivan a horror for Nadiram. He did not accept the
thought that he was taking the woman to her death, yet an icy draught
came to him somehow from the thought, a certain grim finality. He did
not know how he loved her until he was near the court. A gust of
warmth, an indescribable elation, swept over him, as he perceived her
against the doorway.
"You are pale," she said.
"It is a strain to be away from you," he answered.
"Bamban is Chinese. He does not understand," she said, with a touch of
mirth. "I knew he would do his worst to make you go alone."
Romney found that he had hoped she would change of her own accord, but
this was out of the question.
"I have locked up all his papers, and locked the Forward Room. My bags
are almost ready--and yours. I helped a little in your room. I could
not miss that thrill.... Ah, do not be troubled. I would die here....
Bamban does not know everything. Perhaps I will be a good omen, instead
of evil. I think Rajananda would not make me stay."
"Now that's queer; I had the same thought," said Romney.
Anna Erivan was standing by the table, waiting for him to come to her.
"There should not be any mission--any task at this time," she said
strangely. "There should be only two in the world--two and a desert--"
"They have given us power," he answered. "All these obstacles make us
only cleave together more furiously. I think I could not have known you
as I know you now, if everything had been smooth for us. Perhaps it is
in the Plan. There are always rapids where two rivers come together."
For an instant her eyes burned passionately into his.
"You are wise," she whispered. "You fill a woman's dream. Last night
you were like a priest. To-day you are like an adventurer--"
"To-night?"
"To-night--who knows what the desert will do?"
The camels came when the shadows were long. Bamban's face was
wistful.... Romney's lips moved as one wonder-struck, as Anna Erivan
emerged a last time from her room in riding-garb--starry-eyed and
silent. They saved their words for the desert. Vile Nadiram was in a
sunlit stupor, and did not stir as three camels crossed its face like
insects--a dirty face in the late day.... They looked back. Nadiram
lay still in the midst of thin sharp shadows, not a voice, not a
movement--just a sprawl of lifeless browns and thin dark lines, and all
around it the desert in the gold of sunset.
The woman spoke:
"A good-bye to that--the rooms, the beds, the streets, the Chinese," she
whispered. "Oh, how I have hated it all--but a good-bye to that!"
They halted soon for supper, glad of the fire in the quick chill of
dusk, glad for the cheer of the kettle and food. Bamban and the
camel-driver sat apart. Romney raised his hand and his servant
approached.
"We will set out as soon as the moon rises. And, Bamban, fill the
water-cans now, and all you need from the water-hole."
This was done, and Romney led Anna Erivan to the water, and drew apart,
waiting. The dusk crept in, and he thought of Bathsheba taking her bath
in the fountain on the roof-tops.... All the magic of the old East
opened again as he waited, but the moments were unbearably slow. His
heart quickened, as after months of separation, when she appeared from
the hollow--exquisite to the finger-tips, even in the desert..... The
last of their fresh milk was used in that supper, and they fared very
well indeed with perfect tea and dried fruit and loaves of her own
baking at the Consulate.
"Are you rested for a hard night's journey?" he asked with a laugh.
"I have not been so rested since a little child," she answered.
... They were standing in the darkness by the camels, all prepared for
departure, when there came out from the darkness of the desert that
insane laughter, the mouthing of stones in thick wet glass.
She caught her breath and clasped his arms. She was laughing, as one who
has been drenched with cold water.
"I had forgotten," she said. "It's quite all right, only I had
forgotten. I'm not afraid at all.... Why, they are nothing more than
jackals--"
The moon was two-thirds full and in meridian. Three nights--and
moonlight all the way. Ahead, in the east, the great planet arose. Her
eyes were lost in that rising. It was then Anna Erivan sang her song,
like the ancient Deborah at the end of conquest:
"A star in the East--" she whispered, leaning back to him. "Our
quest--by swiftest camels.... I love it. I love the night and the cold
wind---the smell of the desert and the smell of the camels. This is our
flight--and what is at the end, Beloved? ... You know, you know, what it
is we journey to by swiftest camels--the risen star before our eyes--"
"A little child," said Romney.
For a moment, she clung to him.
*16*
They were in a country of rocks. It was late afternoon of the second
day's travel, and Bamban had just found a suitable place for camp. Anna
Erivan's eyes had been turned toward the south for a moment. Now her
hand pressed Romney's sleeve. He followed her eyes and discerned a
black movement in the distance.
Silently they watched a single black figure which presently appeared
more clearly, not on account of an approach, but because of an eminence
gained. They saw a signal as of a wind-blown cloak. A moment later a
party of horsemen appeared upon the slope of a rolling waste of sand,
halted before the figure that had signalled--then all were in the saddle
and sweeping forward.
Romney's eyes turned to Bamban. The little chap was kneeling in the
midst of the camp-kit, but watching the horsemen. Similar parties of
horsemen had been met on the out-journey, but there had not come to
Bamban's face before quite such a look as now. He stepped forward to
Romney.
"It is the Dugpas," he said. "They are devils."
"I think we'll take care of them all right," Romney said lightly.
Anna Erivan fixedly regarded the approach of the desert-men. There were
a dozen or fourteen, riding at a gallop in a semi-circle about their
leader--the faces bent forward, their black cloaks blown full behind.
"We met this sort of thing coming out," Romney explained.
His hand crept under his blouse to the place of the little parchment.
She did not answer. There were no further words between them, just her
quick look, haunting and tender, and his movement slightly nearer.
"Greeting--_Amitabah_."
Romney's salutation was returned by the leader. He came forward alone.
He was old, very lean and sharp of face, singular in his preservation of
wiry strength. His face was a surprise, also, since it might be called
cruel or kind, according to the moment; but it was in no wise heavy with
brutality. The ponies were given over to the charge of a third portion
of the party and were left some distance from the camels. The relieved
riders came forward in twos. The significant thing to Romney and the
woman was that these were mainly men of years, a queer phantom grayness
about them, gray in the black of their skin, a touch of gray in the
dulled red of their lips. Life had shown them more than comes from mere
desert-riding. Bamban strode in closer. The leader loosed a strap at
his throat, the black cloak falling back from his shoulders. It was
retained at his hips by a girdle. He shook his arms with a queer
spasmodic movement, as if to straighten out a cramp of hard riding from
his muscles. There was a thin line of white foam on his lips and he spat
twice--pointing first to the woman, then to the camels.
"He does not want her here when we talk," said Bamban. "I will take her
there."
He was back in a moment. The usual questions as to direction and motive
of the journey were passed. Romney was then informed that he would not
be allowed to go on to Wampli. The American drew forth the usual
passports, also Anna Erivan's credentials from Russia, and had them
thrust back into his hands unopened. The native leader spat again.
Romney now offered the parchment from Rajananda. The other took it in
his two hands, pressed it to his lips, then turned away, bowing his head
close to the paper.
At this point, Bamban undertook to say something to his master, and
called upon himself a look of peculiar ferocity from the second in
command.
Now certain of the followers came up with long sharply-pointed poles,
which were driven into the ground in the form of a square. Before the
final stake was driven, Romney and the woman were bundled in. The whole
enclosure was then woven with leather thongs, and the sides covered with
skins and cloaks. Soon all was quiet about, the chill of night
increasing.
Romney called. Bamban was summoned from the camels to interpret. The
white man asked for his blanket rolls. Bamban was allowed to serve his
master to this extent.... In the early darkness, a twist of dried
goat's-flesh and a tin of tea were passed over the pickets.
Romney was quiet many moments, subdued with reflections of his own
stubbornness. The woman's hand had come forward from the dusk, touching
sometimes his hand, sometimes his knee, or patting his cheek. At last
she spoke:
"I know that you are thinking that you might have done differently. You
are troubled that this happened with me here, but really I do not mind.
I have been many times more miserable--ah, night after night, when you
came to the west wall, scores of times before you came to Nadiram--much
more miserable. This that has come to us--somehow I cannot lose the
great joy and beauty of our meeting and mating. I cannot think steadily
of these lesser things. They come to mind, but this wonderful thing we
have known routs them forth--"
"You do not falter," he whispered. "You rise and rise, Anna Erivan. I
should not ask more of the Gobi, or from Earth itself, than this meeting
with you. You said days ago that this was but a place of meetings and
departures--perhaps you were right. But I had glimpses of a longer
journey than this--that is all."
"That will come to pass--if not to Wampli and beyond--then a still
longer journey together.... I am very close to you. We are warm. The
thongs give easily to one's back. Will you not lie down a little?"
... His head was upon her knee, her hand lightly touching his
temples.... Full darkness had given way to the moon-glow, but the orb
itself had not risen for them to see. They heard a sudden restlessness
from the picket-line of the horses, a movement as if the natives had
started up quickly from the fire--then the soft tread of camels and a
hail. The coughing snarl followed from their own camels, as the
stranger-beasts came to a halt near-by. The desert greeting,
"_Amitabah_" from the Dugpa leader now reached their ears. Another
desert party had joined the camp.
For a long time the leaders intoned by the fires; then voices dwindled
and the flame-shadows on the picket-wall died to the red glow of
embers.... Romney was wondering if the parchment would be of value....
Anna Erivan was not asleep. The slightest movement of his hand and her
pressure answered. She was so frail and yet so strong; absolutely
courageous, yet so tender. This fragrance that came to him from her was
like a breath from home. He was not ready for the end. He wanted earth
with her, more than heaven; yet the sense of peril was somehow lost in
the peace of her presence, and the madness of any human adversary was
less than her power....
Romney's eyes stung with the dawn. The cloaks had suddenly been removed
from the pickets and he was staring straight into the rising sun. He
turned softly to greet the woman. She sat up laughing like a child. The
morning air was keen and bright, the wood-smoke fragrant. Nothing from
these black strangers appeared to dismay her, though the impending evil
became acute in Romney's mind. The party of later arrival, consisting
of a dozen horsemen, was already prepared to depart, standing at the
head of their mounts, with the exception of the older men who were
conferring with the leader of the original party. Bamban had been
called into this conference. Romney saw him bow his head and hold his
palms out, a matter of uncertain significance to the white man, though
the suspicion arose that the _boy_ was expressing himself to the effect
that he had done his best to prevent the woman's coming. Queerly enough
the whole spell was broken for an instant as a pair of horses, belonging
to the original party, stretched their tethers too close to the camel
pickets. There was a tangle, and vicious squealing of beasts, through
which Romney observed that his camel driver conducted himself with
singular calm.
"What a perfect night's rest," said Anna Erivan.
Romney regarded her with awe. She held up her frail arms to the light
and smiled. Her girlish breast seemed moulded of new wonder for that
day. It was only in detached fashion that Romney could _take_ the
facts. Neither of the parties seemed to have the slightest concern about
food. The halting place of the night was clear of unpacked provisions
of any kind. Apparently Bamban was not permitted to serve his own. The
sun was rising. The rock-strewn desert was like a dream. The sand was
drinking in its false life; the rocks were touched with morning red; the
horizon was a ring of pearly azure with one flaming jewel of rose-gold.
Romney turned his eyes from that rising radiance to the woman, and
touched her hand.
The leader of the first party and two others now approached. Romney
realised that talk was finished; that what was to be done was to be done
now. Then like a thrust their purpose came to him. It was like a
physical horror crawling nearer and nearer. Anna Erivan was not slower
to grasp the meaning of the approach. Her arms went to him, her face
close to his:
"They can only separate us a little. I am yours, body and soul,
remember that--yours--yours--my Beloved."
The full madness really came to him when he understood that the woman
recognised as coming to pass that which was the most rending fear of his
life. It happened very quickly. Two of the pickets were pulled out, the
thongs slipped, and the leader stepped back, bowing his head in sign for
them to come forth. Romney was first to obey and was ordered to stand
with the two desert-men at the right of the opening. Anna Erivan was
beckoned to the left by the leader's side. They moved forward, not
largely separated, but Romney was halted--a brown hand on each arm--by
his own camels; and Anna Erivan was led forward toward the second party
of horsemen, which stood in readiness to mount. Whether it was the
restraining hands or the obedience of the woman--her face turned back to
him--which broke Romney's control, he did not know himself, but leaping
forward, he was caught and held, and the battle was on.
He heard her voice. Nothing that he did prevailed; nothing that a white
man could do with his body counted against this silent pair of
spine-twisters. Knee or knuckle, he could not tell, but it seemed a
steel bolt was hurled into his back. He sprawled like a frog, her face
and a certain amazement at his own futility queerly blended in his last
flash of consciousness--his open mouth pressed into the sand.
*PART THREE: THE GOBI*
*RAJANANDA*
*1*
At times Romney thought he was insane. There were stretches of desert
miles, and hours of travel in which he knew only the waver of a brassy
film before his eyes--no sand, no sky, just a slowly moving brazen
curtain that was like an emanation from burning metal.... He had
awakened to the rock of the camel, and day was high. Bamban was
nearest, beyond him the Dugpa leader and six of his party. They were on
the western trail. Vaguely to Romney's mind came the word "Wampli."
Bamban waited for him to speak.
"Did the other party give her the third camel to ride?" Romney asked.
"Yes. Also one driver is with their party."
"Where did they go?"
"I don't know. We turned out of the camp before they left. I think
they went back toward Nadiram."
"Was she hurt?"
"No. They treated her with every care."
"Did she say anything--after I fell?"
"No--only for me to take good care of you. She covered her face. After
that she was calm."
"Do you think they will do her harm?"
"No. They are not like that."
"Is it a matter of ransom?"
"Not in this case. They greatly reverence the little parchment from
Rajananda. They gave it to me to restore to you."
"Did you tell her I was not hurt?"
"I could not. I did not know what had happened. It was at the very
worst, when she seemed to know the feel of fresh power."
"You were with them, Bamban, when they made the plan to separate us.
What brought it about?"