“You spoke of Tao the other day,” said Kitty, after a pause. “Tell me what it is.”
Waddington gave her a little look, hesitated an instant, and then with a faint smile on his comic face answered:
“It is the Way and the Waygoer. It is the eternal road along which walk all beings, but no being made it, for itself is being. It is everything and nothing. From it all things spring, all things conform to it, and to it at last all things return. It is a square without angles, a sound which ears cannot hear, and an image without form. It is a vast net and though its meshes are as wide as the sea it lets nothing through. It is the sanctuary where all things find refuge. It is nowhere, but without looking out of the window you may see it. Desire not to desire, it teaches, and leave all things to take their course. He that humbles himself shall be preserved entire. He that bends shall be made straight. Failure is the foundation of success and success is the lurking-place of failure; but who can tell when the turning point will come? He who strives after tenderness can become even as a little child. Gentleness brings victory to him who attacks and safety to him who defends. Mighty is he who conquers himself.”
“Does it mean anything?”
“Sometimes, when I’ve had half a dozen whiskies and look at the stars, I think perhaps it does.”
Silence fell upon them and when it was broken it was again by Kitty.
“Tell me, is: the dog it was that died, a quotation?”
Waddington’s lips outlined a smile and he was ready with his answer. But perhaps at that moment his sensibilities were abnormally acute. Kitty was not looking at him, but there was something about her expression which made him change his mind.
“If it is I don’t know it,” he answered warily. “Why?”
“Nothing. It crossed my mind. It had a familiar ring.”
There was another silence.
“When you were alone with your husband,” said Waddington presently, “I had a talk with the regimental surgeon. I thought we ought to have some details.”
“Well?”
“He was in a very hysterical state. I couldn’t really quite understand what he meant. So far as I can make out your husband got infected during the course of experiments he was making.”
“He was always experimenting. He wasn’t really a doctor, he was a bacteriologist; that is why he was so anxious to come here.”
“But I can’t quite make out from the surgeon’s statements whether he was infected accidentally or whether he was actually experimenting on himself.”
Kitty grew very pale. The suggestion made her shudder. Waddington took her hand.
“Forgive me for talking about this again,” he said gently, “but I thought it might comfort you—I know how frightfully difficult it is on these occasions to say anything that is of the least use—I thought it might mean something to you that Walter died a martyr to science and to his duty.”
Kitty shrugged her shoulders with a suspicion of impatience.
“Walter died of a broken heart,” she said.
Waddington did not answer. She turned and looked at him slowly. Her face was white and set.
“What did he mean by saying: the dog it was that died? What is it?”
“It’s the last line of Goldsmith’s Elegy.”
LXVII
Next morning Kitty went to the convent. The girl who opened the door seemed surprised to see her and when Kitty had been for a few minutes about her work the Mother Superior came in. She went up to Kitty and took her hand.
“I am glad to see you, my dear child. You show a fine courage in coming back here so soon after your great sorrow; and wisdom, for I am sure that a little work will keep you from brooding.”
Kitty cast down her eyes, reddening a little; she did not want the Mother Superior to see into her heart.
“I need not tell you how sincerely all of us here sympathise with you.”
“You are very kind,” whispered Kitty.
“We all pray for you constantly and for the soul of him you have lost.”
Kitty made no reply. The Mother Superior released her hand and in her cool, authoritative tone imposed various tasks upon her. She patted two or three children on the head, gave them her aloof, but winning smile, and went about her more pressing affairs.
LXVIII
A week went by. Kitty was sewing. The Mother Superior entered the room and sat down beside her. She gave Kitty’s work a shrewd glance.
“You sew very well, my dear. It is a rare accomplishment for young women of your world nowadays.”
“I owe it to my mother.”
“I am sure that your mother will be very glad to see you again.”
Kitty looked up. There was that in the Mother Superior’s manner which prevented the remark from being taken as a casual politeness. She went on.
“I allowed you to come here after the death of your dear husband because I thought occupation would distract your mind. I did not think you were fit at that moment to take the long journey to Hong Kong by yourself, nor did I wish you to sit alone in your house with nothing to do but to remember your loss. But now eight days have passed. It is time for you to go.”
“I don’t want to go, Mother. I want to stay here.”
“There is nothing for you to stay for. You came to be with your husband. You husband is dead. You are in a condition in which you will shortly need a care and attention which it is impossible for you to get here. It is your duty, my dear child, to do everything in your power for the welfare of the being that God has entrusted to your care.”
Kitty was silent for a moment. She looked down.
“I was under the impression
