so bereft of reason and vision.... I know _you_! No one knows you as I
do.... I knew something of you when Sir Romney first spoke your name.
It was a call to me. Did I not answer it? Did I not come at once? ...
And you--when I came--what a moment!--that look that flashed between us
like light across the world.... And your hand as you said, 'Come in!'
... your hand. It is the same now.... You are so powerful! Your touch
brings me to the earth--"
"It is for you," he said.
"Is it not strange?" she was whispering. "All is changed in a day....
You know, in a way, it was Sir Romney who brought me you, and now he has
come again bringing us our true life together.... I thought when I
found the one, I should rise and compel all things. Instead I bowed and
listened. You never knew how terrible it was to have you so lost in
affairs--even of an Empire. But you have come home to me.... My
thoughts are going away. Why is it? Closer to me--"
Romney was nearer to them. The Hunchback's left hand was thrust back.
It closed upon his in an iron clasp, commanding silence and peace.
There was an intensity of power in the long gray face--an expression of
invincible conquest that to Romney was like the mastery which the men of
the future are to know. He was holding pain from her by his force of
will. The instant Romney realised this, it became actual. Her cheek
was upon his shoulder now, her eyes like a drowsy child's. Often she
touched the face so close to hers, once with her lips. Once her eyes
fixed for a moment on Romney's.
"Forgive me, my friend," she said with a smile, and added as if
confident he would understand all: "The day is strange. I must be very
happy.... You are a good omen, Sir Romney--"
There seemed a certain wickedness, apart from time and motive, in the
destruction of such beauty.
"Oh, I know! I know now! ... You are putting me to sleep again--"
"For our journey!"
And then Romney heard:
"... We are one. We will go on. There is no end.... I thought I was a
terrible woman out in the world. But I was only a little girl looking
for her true companion.... I came to him and he knew. We are mated and
he is putting me to sleep.... It is deep, deep sleep, and he will be
with me. Yet I almost hate to go. Beloved--your head a moment on my
breast. I know only love.... Ah, closer to me.... He will not mind....
He, too, is searching for his own--"
It was her theme.
Nifton Bend did not arise from his cushion at her knees. With his free
hand, he drew a purse and a pistol and a packet of bank-notes from his
coat, and then he spoke:
"You will go now. You will rush forth into the hall as one maddened by
pain. You see, I use your plan. They have seen me. I think you will be
able to reach the street. Inasmuch as you are stricken, they will call
their work done. But do not let a servant approach you. Be wary in the
street, should they care to follow. The papers must be dropped into the
sea--and then you have finished.... Use the pistol in the hall if
necessary--all the chambers. But I think if they see the end upon you,
they will let you die outside."
The free hand was raised to Romney, who bowed to his knee before the man
and woman.
"You mean beauty and manhood to me--you precious two," he whispered.
"The packets shall be sunk as you say. I have been proud to serve you
both. Always I shall feel you above and beyond."
"Ah, America--so often you bring her home to my heart. Godspeed to you,
Romney. All is well with us. All is better than the best we could know
or ask for.... We will be alone together. We shall have silence
here.... Yes, that is well. Toss the yellow rug about us. Now we
shall know the deeper dreaming."
*PART FIVE: CONCLUSION*
*THE HILL-COUNTRY*
*1*
With his hand on the knob of the door, Romney looked back. The whole
hour he reviewed in a rush. He had not been heroic, nor even uncommon.
His story had been stammered. There had been nothing to tell such a
pair, lost in each other. Even the cause of China seemed little and
unsubstantial compared to the splendour of their relation. The courage
of Nifton Bend should always mean the arrival of man to manhood in
Romney's thoughts. The far roving spirit of the quest-woman come at
last to the home-nest of a great man's heart was a sort of pattern for
the world's romance.... She who had been the ruling imperious mistress
of a few flashing days of his own life, was a child, utterly feminine
and receptive in the presence of the greater force.
The big secrets of life had come to him in this hour, to be unwoven and
unfolded during the years that remained. Just now Romney felt himself
small in that he had risen to no part to help or spare them. He forgot
that the revelations were for him alone; that he had furnished complete
understanding; that his own soul carried forth the message of their end.
In this sense he was chosen. No man could have done better. He would
have been crude, indeed, to resist their way. He had entered upon the
heroism of abnegation.
The hush of their great story was in his heart as he stood by the
door.... The face of the Hunchback was upturned to the bowed head of
the woman. There was no sound, no movement. The leaves of an ancient
mulberry tree lay tranced against the leaded window. The yellow rug was
folded close. The lords of life and death were in that shadowed room.
An ironical smile came to Romney's lips as he turned the knob.... He
was meeting the little world of men again. He must act. He must go on
with his little part, after dwelling in the presence of those who were
great enough to show the world their own immortal selves.... He must
fight for his own life--what a travesty. How little were the herds of
mere men moving to and fro on the broad back of ample mother earth. For
a little time longer he, Romney, must play his part--or die.
A last devoted look back, even as the substantial wonder of his own life
recurred. To Anna Erivan now. Nothing but distance lay between--the
task accomplished.... It seemed an unreckonable length of time since
last night when he threaded the litany of a lover in the lobby of the
_Nestor_ waiting for Dr. Ti Kung....
He plunged into the hall--left hand to his brow, knees tumbling, his
right hand in the loose pocket of the corded blouse he wore, the pistol
in his palm. A pistol always made him laugh, gave him the sense of
being less than a man.... No, the task was not quite done--the yellow
packets to put away.... And a woman waiting in the hill-country. In that
instant of outward bewilderment the reality of Anna Erivan was very
close.... A servant with a tray met him in the hall near the stairs.
Romney veered by, and turned quickly. The yellow _boy_ had placed his
tray on the floor and followed as if to assist a guest in the house.
His face was troubled but innocent. Romney staggered on.
The broad curving stairs were empty; the lower hall. The white man saw
a shadow move on the polished floor beyond the half-drawn portieres that
led into the shop of Minglapo. Romney's way told once more. No
hesitation, a leap through the curtains. The servant there stepped back
in surprise, his hands quite empty. The other joined him behind. Their
heads bowed together as if to consult as to the best way to do their
duty by a totally incomprehensible guest. It was with difficulty that
Romney held to suspicion and the part assigned.... The great front-door
had not been opened to the Square. Romney reached it but stood aside:
"Quick," he called in Chinese. "Open. I go to a doctor. I have made a
mistake and fear death."
He leaned his back to the sash, while they unfastened. There appeared
to be no thought of detention. One of the servants was sent to call a
'rickshaw-coolie, another to explain his hurried departure to Minglapo.
Romney merely wanted them away from the door as he passed.... He was in
the street, and did not wait for the 'rickshaw. He had no panic, in
fact, marvelled a little at his coldness, under the play of dissolution
conducted exteriorly. The street brought a sudden bewilderment. He
could not hold it all at once--Minglapo, Ti Kung, Nifton Bend, Moira
Kelvin--and he who had served them, unscathed, unmolested, so far.
Yet foreigners in his case saw a drunken stranger or thought they did,
and the Chinese watched in their queer way expecting anything.... Now
he was in China, as the Hunchback had said. Any one of the hundreds of
natives near him and in sight--merchants, students, coolies, boys or
scavengers--might be the one deputised to get him. He crossed streets
in the midst of Chinese. They searched his face, keen looks, glances of
scorn and covert amusement. He had never felt a native throng so
powerfully before....
Doubtless he was followed. Doubtless they let him alone, believing that
the assassination principle was satisfactorily at work.... The brush of
a wadded coat against his own stung him strangely. He remembered the
absolute acceptance of death on the part of Nifton Bend. There had not
been the slightest expectancy of escape in that strange far-seeing
intelligence.
The same calmness was Romney's now, and the realisation that he had
passed through an episode that would ever increase in importance so long
as he lived. He had been with the heart of new China when it ceased to
beat; more than that, he had lost a man of his own heart and a woman who
had shown him the way to power and glory.... From the first moment he
had been drawn to the Hunchback--a kind of passion that seemed to awaken
potentialities of his being, starting within strange premonitive
urgings, that left him more and more dissatisfied with the smug and the
small things of life. As for courage, he had seen much of the courage
of the open with its laugh and flaunted arms, but this at the last of
the Hunchback broke all the former models.... Romney halted wondering.
He had passed days with Ti Kung and Minglapo. The former had lifted him
from the wash of the gutter literally; yet all of the night's
close-running horrors centred about the death of this white man and
woman--and they were one. A grandeur, an isolation about them.
... For a moment he had forgotten himself.
His body straightened, his face upturned to the morning sun. Suppose he
had brought Anna Erivan to Tientsin--to the house of Minglapo. He might
have left her with Moira Kelvin when the tea came. Yes, it might have
happened just like that.... The old sage Rajananda must have felt the
flood of love that poured forth from the American's breast that instant.
Where did he stand that he saw all this? ... Only the papers now, and
the journey to the desert. He must watch. He must be sleepless. He
would not be safe until he reached Nadiram, at least.
A deep sense of weariness gradually oppressed. He felt his own weight
and the misery of life. The world seemed mad to him--his heart
thirsting for the beauty and peace of a woman--and his master. Somehow
he wanted Rajananda once more before the ancient one passed. Distance
and time only increased the richness of this relation. He felt the hated
packet against his breast. If it were found upon him, it would prove
enough forever to rob him of peace, even if the assassin failed to
strike. Romney smiled again at his own weakness in the midst of recent
great affairs. He knew best of all his own inconsequence....
His hand touched the purse in his pocket, and he drew it forth. It was
heavy with gold. The note-case contained English and native money to a
large amount.... Now it came for the first time--the possibility of his
arrest in connection with the deaths of Minglapo and Nifton Bend. The
servants would report his presence in the house. His steps quickened.
Everywhere was the native crowd. His slightest movement toward making
away with the packets would be noted.... He was hastening to the
water-front.
He hailed a native rivercraft, pointing to one of the farthest of the
ships lying at anchor.
In the middle of the stream, his back turned to the boatman, he drew the
packets from his pocket, and loosening the long string that tied them,
he fastened the small, blunt-nosed automatic pistol Nifton Bend had
given him, to the papers. This was the only heavy object within reach.
Then, as he directed the eye of the native to a ship at right angles to
the present passage, he dropped the packets and the weight overside.
The sense of ceremonial did not come to him until the papers had sunk
from sight in the yellow Peiho. After that for a moment the American
lost all interest in the finding of a certain ship, but as the boatman
turned back toward the city-front, Romney encountered a peculiar dread
of entering that crowd again, and at the same time remembered that the
ship he had ordered the native to punt for was flying Blue Peter at the
fore, and also that her lines had a strange familiarity.
He was thinking rapidly now. The packets were safely out of the way.
He had tied them tightly to the weight, making a satisfactory use of the
bit of a mankiller, its chambers all unused. Perhaps they had followed
him to the water-front watching even now for his return, or some word
from this boatman regarding him. Romney turned and scanned the river
harbour again.
There was Blue Peter surely enough, and the rusty tramp that queerly
filled his eyes a second time. Now Romney laughed aloud. As certainly
as he lived, it was the _John Dividend_ at this instant drawing up her
huge barnacled hook. His voice whipped the boatman about and with
mutterings anent the proverbial insanity of foreigners, which the white
man was by no means supposed to understand, the native began poling once
again toward the smoking craft.... It meant down the river anyway and
giving Tientsin the slip. If the tramp were headed south he could make
the shore at Tongu at any rate and catch the Chinese Eastern across
Shantung Province in the general direction of Tushi-kow.
There was no ladder overside. Romney had to shout, and this was hard
for him. He did not know his own voice, and could not remember letting
it out in this way since a boy. It was like calling up to an
uninterested some one in a third floor window. The "old man" showed
himself, spat overside, narrowly missing the lesser craft, and appeared
to reflect whether he cared to be bothered or not. Perhaps he needed a
hand. In any event the ladder came down, and Romney, grateful for the
thickness of the _John Dividend_ between him and the keenest possible
eye on the waterfront, ran up the tarred threads calling the boatman to
follow. The latter obeyed, though his expostulation was high-keyed.
The "old man" went on with his clearing. Romney had never had any truck
with this person and did not care to begin now. He was aboard and the
_John Dividend_ was getting into the down-channel under her own steam.
Straight to the engine-room where he had once trafficked with coal
against his will, Romney made his way now and presently was measured
head to toe by a single and most calculating gray eye.
"Where are you heading, Mack?" he asked.
"Tongu. Chifu."
"Take this river-coolie in charge. I'm healed. I go to Chifu with you.
I want him to go too. Cut his boat loose from the ladder. I'll pay him
for it. I'll pay him for his time and passage back. I'll pay you for
managing the job.... How much?"
He felt light and fine toward McLean. If it had not been for that loan,
he would have gone to Japan instead of the Gobi.
It was not a matter in which McLean was accustomed to make haste. He
did not appear disturbed by the outcries of the Chinese, who thought the
American was interceding with the engine-man to pay for his passage out
from the water-front.... Presently the fence spoke. Romney would have
paid many times the amount for the service. He found the steward and a
berth.... They were three miles below the city when he went on deck.
The ladder had been drawn up. No native craft was trailing.... The
river boatman was easily placated later from the purse. Tongu was
passed without misadventure. Presently the _John Dividend_ was tumbling
around the capes in the Yellow Sea, and Romney with quickened pulse,
five days later, started inland from Chifu to Tushi-kow.
*2*
Romney was changed. The thing called civilisation settled back. Only
the spirit of that which he had passed through remained with him from
past days. All seemed closed, integrated. He travelled light. There
was no menace, no apparent pursuit. He could not hold the continual
wariness. Fear slipped from him before he rejoined Bamban at Tushi-kow.
They were on the road to Turgim with two camels and one driver with
provisions. Romney leaned forward.
Sometimes it was like a terrible thirst. The pictures of the past no
longer fed his heart. They too were completely integrated. He wanted
the living woman again--her voice and hands, her sweet and sacred
mysteries. He was burned with waiting. The actual resistance of the
miles of sand and rock against the tread of swift camels was a peculiar
and persistent deviltry. His sleep was brief and fragmentary. Only
lovers and great workmen can endure such sleeplessness. Many times each
night he awakened to see the greater stars moved but a short step
westward.... Turgim, that had meant so much in approach, was nothing
but a night-camp upon arrival. Ahead was another long barren stretch to
Nadiram; every hour had to be wrestled back. His images all had to do
with a certain coming hour.
From a white man's standpoint he had little to count on. His woman had
been torn away by a desert-band--only the promise of a withered ancient
creature whose next breath was less than a good gambling chance, yet
Rajananda had bulked mightily in his heart. In his best moments he had
faith--a priceless winning. From a white man's standpoint, he was on
the longest possible chance, but only in the darker and more terrible
passages could Romney accept this.... There was one moment of
starlight, the last night of riding between Turgim and Nadiram, when he
really had a great moment.
It was in solitude, as all such visitations arrive. Bamban was on the
other camel with the driver, since provisions were down to small
compass. He had fallen into a deep reverie and came-to with his hands
out, palms stretched upward, eyes turned to the stars, his lips moving
with a sentence like this:
"It's the love of the Long Road. I have found her. No man can spoil
that. I will find her again--if not now, when the time comes--if not
here, there--"
Romney laughed at the stars. He had been listening to his own soul,
perhaps. It was stronger than he. He wanted her here and now; but the
fact that the sentences had come through to his brain, had a
significance that he was deeply-grounded enough in life to understand.
And his palms had been stretched out. That meant submission, the world
over.
He laughed again. He was very far from the world just now.
Cities--even China--had distressed him. He must reach calm on that. He
must go back and master that terror of men. The desert had given him a
tithe of her mysticism and power. He would have to go back and make it
tell among men. Would he have to go back alone?
Nifton Bend had mastered himself in the midst of men. Romney gripped a
fuller understanding. The Hunchback had passed this barrier--after that
his mate came to him. They were a completed circle--one even in their
dying.... He would love to tell Anna Erivan that story.... In the very
strength of his submission, his faith grew. The word of Rajananda
returned. There had been no doubt in what the old master said. Anna
Erivan was to wait for him in the hill-country. All that Rajananda had
said about other things had been fulfilled.... And Nifton Bend had
followed his own into the deeper dreaming. What did he mean by that?
He seemed so glad to go, even though their lives were most beautiful
together.
The next day Romney squinted up at the sun. Something of the same power
came to him again. There was a cross in the blinding light, and after
that a full sheaf of golden wheat. Of course it might have been only
the glare in his eyes, but he felt very strong and that he would bring
something of different manhood to the woman who waited for him.
Romney leaned forward.
Bamban accepted him. There were no two ways now. He had bowed in
silence long after the story of the end of Minglapo, even lamenting a
little that he had not been there. But Rajananda had somehow put a seal
on his service to the white man. Romney regarded the _boy_ as he had
never been quite able to do before, and respected the nature capable of
such awe and reverence for the holy man. More especially admirable had
Bamban proved on this last swift lonely journey.... They sat together
during a long evening in the stone court of the Consulate at Nadiram
(the door shut, the pole empty where the Russian flag had hung, and the
hyenas whimpering afar off).
"I'd like to go on to-night," Romney muttered.
"It would kill the camels. They have been pressed as never before."
"Did you ask if there were two new camels here--exchange or rent?"
"Nothing of the kind."
"I shall wait."
"My master is parched," said Bamban.
When his servant went to the Rest House, Romney remained to contemplate
his world a little from the west wall where he had sat so many nights.
At last he arose and went to the door where she had stood--the place of
their first meeting--and knelt a moment on the stone.
Even the next day the camels travelled but slowly. The same pair had
come from Tushi-kow and they needed the rest of many days. From Nadiram
to the place of the thonged stakes required two full days' travel;
indeed, the night had fallen before they reached this point on the road
to Wampli, and no desert-band was encountered on the journey.... The
night was very still and hot. For two days a south wind had blown, and
they breathed now the burning of the lower borders of the desert.
A deserted world. Romney could not eat. With deep strange kindness, the
_boy_ pressed him to drink his tea. The white man had come and there
was no sign. His head was heavy on his breast. When his thoughts
became too swift and torturing for stillness, he arose from the fire and
walked to the place of the stakes. From there he followed the way to
the point where he had fallen in his revolt against the natives....
They had taken her on from this point--just here he was carried to the
camel.... The sentences of the old master on that last day recurred
persistently now.
"... He said that man goes alone on his mission and that woman waits.
He said that the woman I had found was to wait in sanctuary.... He
seemed to love her, too, Bamban--"
"Yes, he called her his daughter, and spoke twice of her filling his
bowl in the stone square at Nadiram--"
"He said that he was going to her," Romney went on, his words heavy and
slow, "--that she was waiting for me in the hills of his country--not
far from this place."
"He will come soon," said Bamban, who was stretching out the blankets.
"He said there must be a new and different love between man and woman in
the world. But, my God! they die! They seem to die when they love like
that--"
"I do not understand," said Bamban.
"Why, I saw such a love--but there was no child. They died--in a room
at Minglapo's house.... They did not have time--"
"You mean the General--"
"Yes--"
"His work was finished."
"But his woman wanted a baby. She told me long ago--"
"Perhaps she saw at the last that it was better to go--"
"I am afraid--afraid to-night--tired and done. I won't fail. I won't
lie down--but I thought he would be here to take me--"
"He will come," said Bamban.
Romney was looking up at the lustrous film of night. His lips moved
again:
"He said the builders were coming to lift the earth--that the saints
were coming, for he could hear their songs--that the heroes were coming
with light about their heads, their voices beautiful with the story of
God--that they must come from the love of man and woman here--but they
reach that love only to die--"
"My master must sleep," said Bamban.
"I am very far from sleep," said Romney; but the other pressed him down,
and the small hard hand was in his, and there was no yellow and white
between them. And almost instantly, Romney slept.
He awakened in a smoky red light, started up to see the heads of camels
and horses against the east; then a voice:
"My son, all is well. You will arise and go to the beloved who waits
for you in the hills of my country--not far from this place."
The ancient shaven head emerged from the yellow robe, so near that
Romney had not perceived it until after the distance had unfolded its
objects. Romney leaned forward and took him in his arms.
"Tell me again--is she well? Is all well with her?"