Hills of Han 39

Hills of Han 39

That night was Betty’s Gethsemane. Again and again she lived through

their strange quarrel over the half-eaten dinner here in her room. Her

mind phrased and rephrased the wild strong things she had said to him.

And these phrases now stung her, hurt her, as had none of his.

 

But once again, after hours of tossing on the narrow folding cot--_his_

cot--sleep of a sort came to her. She did not wake until half a hundred

beams of sunshine were streaming in through the dilapidated paper

squares.

 

She rose and peeped out into the courtyard. They were packing one of

the saddles; John, and cook, and a soldier. Brachey was not in sight. He

would be in his room then, across the corridor. She wondered if he had

slept at all, then glanced guiltily at the cot. He would hardly lie on

the unclean _kang_; very likely he had been forced to doze in a chair

these two nights, while she found some real rest. There, again, she was

using him, taking from him; and all he had asked of life was solitude,

peace. For that he had foregone friends, a home, his country.

 

Then her eyes rested on a bit of white paper under the door. She quickly

drew it in, and read as follows:

 

“My Dear, Dear Little Girl--

 

“As you of course saw this evening, it is simply impossible for me to

speak rationally in matters of the affections. It is equally clear

that by indulging my feelings toward you I have brought you nothing

but unhappiness. This was inevitable. As I wrote you before I am not a

social being. This fact was never so clear as now. I must be alone.

 

“As regards the statements you have just made, indicating that you

attach the blame for the present predicament to yourself, these are, of

course, absurd. I’m sure you will come in time to see that. It will be

a question then whether you will be able to bring yourself to forgive

me for permitting matters to go so far as they have. That has been

my weakness. I allowed my admiration for you and my desire for you to

overcome my reason.

 

“As for the course you must pursue, it will be, of course, to go on as

far as Ping Yang. There I will leave you. It may even prove possible,

despite the malignant enmity of Mrs. Boatwright, to convince M. Pourmont

and the others that we are guilty of nothing more than an error of

judgment in an extremely difficult situation. Certainly I shall demand

the utmost respect for you.

 

“I shall make it a point to avoid you in the morning; and it will

undoubtedly be best that we refrain so far as possible from speech

during the remainder of our journey. I shall go on alone, as soon as you

are safe at Ping Yang. I can not forgive myself for thus disturbing your

life.

 

“I can not trust myself to write further. It is my experience that words

are dangerous things and not to be trifled with. I will merely add, in

conclusion, and in wishing that you may at some later time find a mate

who can bring into your life the qualities which you must have in order

to attain happiness, and which I unquestionably lack, that I shall hope,

in time, for your forgiveness.. Without that I should hardly care to

live on.

 

“Jonathan Brachey.”

 

Soberly Betty read and reread this curious letter. Then for a moment

her eyes rested on the cool signature, without so much as a “sincerely

yours,” and then she looked at that first phrase, “My Dear, Dear Little

Girl”; and then her eyes grew misty and she smiled, faintly, tenderly.

Suddenly, this morning, life had changed color; the black mood was gone,

like an illness that had passed its climax. The curious antagonism in

their talk the evening before had, it seemed, cleared the air--at least

for her. And now, all at once--she was beginning to feel quietly but

glowingly exultant about it--nothing mattered.

 

She ate all the breakfast that John brought; then hurried out. It gave

her pleasure to stand aside and watch the packing, and particularly to

watch Brachey as he moved sternly about. He was a strong man, as her

father had been strong. He hadn’t a glimmer of humor, but she loved him

for that. He had all at once become so transparent. In his lonely way

he had expended so much energy fighting the illusions of happiness, that

now when real happiness was offered him he fought harder than ever. Her

thoughtful eyes followed his every motion; he was tall, strong, clean.

 

His heart and mind, in their very austerity, were like a child’s.

 

So deep ran this sober new happiness, as she stood by the litter waiting

until he came--austerely--and helped her in (she was waiting for the

touch of his hand, averting her face to hide the smile that she couldn’t

altogether control) that only a warmly up-rushing little thought of her

father that came just then could restore her poise. She cared now about

nothing else, about only this man whom she now knew she loved with her

whole being and the father she had so suddenly, shockingly lost. If

only, in the different ways, she might have brought happiness to each

of these strong men. If only she could have brought them together, her

father and her lover; for each, she felt, had fine deep qualities that

the other would be quick to perceive.

 

All during the morning, feeling through every sensitive nerve-tip the

nearness of this man who loved her and whom she loved, she rode through

a land of rosy dreams. She felt again the power over life that she had

felt during their first talk at T’ainan. Love had come; it absorbed her

thoughts; it was right.... She exulted in the misty red hills with their

deep purple shadows. She smiled at the absurd camels with the rings in

their noses and the ragged, shaggy coats.

 

After a time, as the morning wore along, she became aware that he,

too, was changing. Once, when he rode for a moment beside her Inter, he

caught sight of her quietly radiant face and flushed and turned away.

At lunch, by a roadside temple, under a tree, they talked about nothing

with surprising ease. He was eager that she should draw and paint these

beautiful hills of Hansi.

 

Late in the afternoon--they were riding down an open valley--he appeared

again beside the litter. Impulsively she reached out her hand. He guided

his pony close; leaned over and gripped it warmly. For a little while

they rode thus; then, happening out of a confusion of impulses that,

with whichever it began, was instantly communicated to the other, he

bent down and she leaned out the little side door and their lips met.

 

The cook, from his insecure seat on the pack-saddle, carolled his

endless musical narrative. John rode in stolid silence; the merely human

emotions were ages old and quite commonplace. Mr. Po merely glanced up

as he trudged along in the dust, taking the little incident calmly for

granted.

 

So it was that, unaccountably to themselves, the spin of these two

lovers rebounded from acute depression to an exaltation that, however

sobered by circumstance, touched the skirts of ecstasy. They rode

on silently as on the other days> but now their hearts beat in happy

unison. No longer was the situation of their relationship unreal to

them; the unreality lay with the white world from which they had come

and to which they must shortly return. The mission compound was but

an immaterial memory, like an unpleasant moment in a long, beautiful

journey.

 

In the evening after dinner, they sat for a long time with her head on

his shoulder dreamily talking of the mystery, their mystery, of love.

 

“It had to be,” she said.

 

He could only incline his head and compress his lips as he gazed out

over her head down a long vista of years, during which he would, for

better or worse, for richer or poorer, protect and cherish her. The old

phrases from the marriage service rang in his thoughts like cathedral

bells.

 

“1 don’t believe we’ll ever have those dreadful moods again,” she

murmured, later. “At least, we won’t misunderstand each other again. Not

like that.”

 

“Never,” he breathed.

 

“Only one thing is wrong, dear,” she added. “I wish father could have

known you. He’d have understood you. That’s the only sad thing.”

 

He was silent. At last, after midnight, in a spirit of deepest

consecration, he held her gently in his arms, kissed her good night, and

went to his own room.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVII--APPARITION

 

 

1

 

MEANTIME, M. Pourmont, at Ping Yang, was calling in his white

assistants and sifting out the trustworthy among his native employees

in preparation for withstanding a siege. He had swiftly carried out his

plan of destroying the native huts that stood within a hundred yards

of his compound. Such lumber and bricks as were of any value he had

brought into the compound, using them to build two small redoubts at

opposite comers of the walled-in rectangle and to increase the number

of firing positions along the walls. From the redoubts the faces of the

four walls and all of the hillside were commanded by the two machine

guns. A wall of bricks and sand-bags was built up just within the

compound gate so that the gate could be opened without exposing the

interior to outside eyes or weapons. On all the roofs of the low stables

and storehouses that bordered the walls were parapets of sand-bags.

 

These elaborate preparations were meant as much to impress and

intimidate the natives of the region as for actual defense. In the main,

and in so far as they could be understood, the natives seemed friendly.

Several thousand of the young men among them had been at various times

on M. Pourmont’s pay-roll. The trade in food supplies, brick and other

necessary articles was locally profitable. And the shen magistrate was

keenly aware of the commercial and military strength represented by the

foreigners.

 

There were--engineers, instrument men, stake-boys, supply agents,

clerks, timekeepers, foremen and others--fourteen Frenchmen, eight

Australians, three Belgians, six Englishmen, two Scotch engineers,

four Americans, two Russians. Three of the Chinese had served as

non-commissioned officers in the British Wei Hai Wei regiment in 1900.

There were a few native foremen who had been trained in the modern

Chinese army of Yuan Shi K’ai. The total force, including M. Pourmont