“Such dreams do not fade with the light,” replied Ten-teh resolutely. “His feet are whole and untired; his mind clear. His heart is as inflexibly fixed as the decrees of destiny, and, above all, his purpose is one which may reasonably demand divine encouragement.”
“Yet there are the Han-sing mountains, flung as an insurmountable barrier across the way,” said Nau-Kaou.
“The wind passes over them,” replied Ten-teh, binding on his sandals.
“The Girdle,” continued the other, thereby indicating the formidable obstacle presented by the tempestuous river, swollen by the mountain snows.
“The fish, moved by no great purpose, swim from bank to bank,” again replied Ten-teh. “Tell me rather, for the time presses when such issues hang on the lips of dying men, to what extent Kha-hia’s legions stretch?”
“In number,” replied Nau-Kaou, closing his eyes, “they are as the stars on a very clear night, when the thousands in front do but serve to conceal the innumerable throng behind. Yet even a small and resolute army taking up its stand secretly in this valley and falling upon them unexpectedly when half were crossed could throw them into disorder and rout, and utterly destroy the power of Kha-hia for all time.”
“So shall it be,” said Ten-teh from the door. “Pass Upward with a tranquil mind, O stranger from the outer land. The torch which you have borne so far will not fail until his pyre is lit.”
“Stay but a moment,” cried Nau-Kaou. “This person, full of vigour and resource, needed the spur of a most poignant hate to urge his trailing footsteps. Have you, O decrepit one, any such incentive to your failing powers?”
“A mightier one,” came back the voice of Ten-teh, across the snow from afar. “Fear not.”
“It is well; they are the great twin brothers,” exclaimed Nau-Kaou. “Kha-hia is doomed!” Then twice beating the ground with his open hand he loosened his spirit and passed contentedly into the Upper Air.
III
The Last Service
The wise and accomplished Emperor Kwo Kam (to whom later historians have justly given the title “Profound”) sat upon his agate throne in the Hall of Audience. Around him were gathered the most illustrious from every province of the Empire, while emissaries from the courts of other rulers throughout the world passed in procession before him, prostrating themselves in token of the dependence which their sovereigns confessed, and imploring his tolerant acceptance of the priceless gifts they brought. Along the walls stood musicians and singers who filled the air with melodious visions, while fan-bearing slaves dexterously wafted perfumed breezes into every group. So unparalleled was the splendour of the scene that rare embroidered silks were trodden under foot and a great fountain was composed of diamonds dropping into a jade basin full of pearls, but Kwo Kam outshone all else by the dignity of his air and the magnificence of his apparel.
Suddenly, and without any of the heralding strains of drums and cymbals by which persons of distinction had been announced, the arras before the chief door was plucked aside and a figure, blinded by so much jewelled brilliance, stumbled into the chamber, still holding thrust out before him the engraved ring bearing the Imperial emblem which alone had enabled him to pass the keepers of the outer gates alive. He had the appearance of being a very aged man, for his hair was white and scanty, his face deep with shadows and lined like a river bank when the waters have receded, and as he advanced, bent down with infirmity, he mumbled certain words in ceaseless repetition. From his feet and garment there fell a sprinkling of sand as he moved, and blood dropped to the floor from many an unhealed wound, but his eyes were very bright, and though sword-handles were grasped on all sides at the sight of so presumptuous an intrusion, yet none opposed him. Rather, they fell back, leaving an open passage to the foot of the throne; so that when the Emperor lifted his eyes he saw the aged man moving slowly forward to do obeisance.
“Ten-teh, revered father!” exclaimed Kwo Kam, and without pausing a moment he leapt down from off his throne, thrust aside those who stood about him and casting his own outer robe of state about Ten-teh’s shoulders embraced him affectionately.
“Supreme ruler,” murmured Ten-teh, speaking for the Emperor’s ear alone, and in such a tone of voice as of one who has taught himself a lesson which remains after all other consciousness has passed away, “an army swiftly to the north! Let them dispose themselves about the eleven villages and, overlooking the invaders as they assemble, strike when they are sufficiently numerous for the victory to be lasting and decisive. The passage of the Ram’s Horn has been found and the malignant Fuh-chi, banded in an unnatural alliance with the barbarian Kins, lies with itching feet beyond the Kang-lings. The invasion threatening on the west is but a snare; let a single camp, feigning to be a multitudinous legion, be thrown against it. Suffer delay from no cause. Weigh no alternative. He who speaks is Ten-teh, at whose assuring word the youth Hoang was wont to cast himself into the deepest waters fearlessly. His eyes are no less clear today, but his heart is made small with overwhelming deference or in unshrinking loyalty he would cry: ‘Hear and obey! All, all—Flags, Ironcaps, Tigers, Braves—all to the Seng valley, leaving behind them the swallow in their march and moving with the guile and secrecy of the ringed tree-snake.’ ” With these words Ten-teh’s endurance passed its drawn-out limit and again repeating in a clear and decisive voice, “All, all to the north!” he released his joints and would have fallen to the ground had it not been for the Emperor’s restraining arms.
When Ten-teh again returned to a knowledge of the lower world he
