CHAPTER SEVEN

THE WHITE LAMB AND YELLOW WOLF

A month after the night-flight and night-riot, which the Propitiation of the Gods of the Waters had brought about, a defensive calm pervaded the Mission of Yingching and its immediate environs, although to the westward the noise of hammer and saw filled the air.

The fires that started from the bursting shells had swept westward to the street of the Golden Flower and north to Old River Street, where, owing to the greater width of these thoroughfares, as well as to the strenuous exertions on the part of the fire-fighters, the flames had been stopped, but only after an area almost an half-mile long and about an eighth of a mile in width had been completely gutted.

In a few days after that dreadful night, when the dead and mutilated had been removed from the open space and order had been restored throughout the suburbs, these people, as industrious ants, began to rebuild on the embers, amid ashes, their homes and stores and temples. Abroad over the black blot rose the garrulous noise of their labour; and over the debris, ash, and dead, creative life in its various phases hummed persistently. Men were coming and going, some carrying bricks, others chiselling granite blocks; some were whipsawing logs into floors, joists, beams, and doors, while others were putting together the piles of wood, brick and stone.

A kind of bitter happiness pervaded those building this new suburb in the midst of the old, and they chattered, cursed, railed. Hucksters with viands and sweetmeats passed and repassed; children played among the logs; soldiers moved back and forth; silent groups stood scowling along the waterfront, and among the brick-heaps and half-completed buildings troops of spectators came and went. Sometimes a lone being slunk along, looking vainly for some spot; if found—weep; if not—vanish.

At the northwest and northeast corners of the Mission Compound the marines had thrown barricades across the Old River Street and had mounted ordnance on each. Sentries patrolled these barricades as well as the whole circuit of the Mission Walls. On the river opposite the open space a French cruiser and gunboats still anchored; their cannon covering all approaches and even holding the city at their mercy.

One day about a month after the night-feast of the Gods and toward the third hour after sunrise, the sentries on the east barricade noticed a movement among the Chinese patrols stationed farther down Old River Street.

Presently a single sedan with four bearers and one attendant came swiftly toward the barricade. Near the redoubt the sedan stopped and the attendant cautiously advanced toward a sentry, holding before him an open card. The marine reached down his gun and the attendant stuck the card on the bayonet.

After some delay a squad of marines marched out of the north gate to the east barricade and, with these sailors acting as an escort, the sedan entered the redoubt and disappeared within the walls of the Mission. At the entrance it passed through double ranks of marines standing at present arms and was carried into the building to the rear of the sombre Visigothic chapel. When it was set down in the bishop’s own study, an old man, trembling, withered, tottered out of it.

The bishop came up to him and bowed.

“Your Excellency does me great honour. How will I ever be able to repay such kindness?”

Tai Lin made no reply. Aged and shrunk, without the strength of self-support, he sank into a chair beside a table and, leaning forward, buried his head in his arms.

The bishop sat down on the other side of the table and, lolling back in his chair, caressed his pallid hands, now and then cracking his knuckles.

Sometimes a tremor passed through the body of Tai Lin.

Sometimes the bishop bit his lips.

Tai Lin raised his head and looked piteously at him.

“I cannot find her.” Then the old man’s head sank again upon the table.

“It is very unfortunate,” communed the bishop in soft, sad tones. “Human frailty, alas, human frailty! When I sent the priest to be instructor to your wife, I thought him a noble, a virtuous man. It has broken my heart to find out that by being tempted he has lost his soul. What could be worse! I would rather the Mission be wholly destroyed than one soul lost. We came here to save souls, not to lose them. And now, in the opinion of your countrymen, all our benevolence, all our good deeds, our self-sacrifice, our prayers and labours are gone, utterly forgotten on account of this one evil act. You complain bitterly. You have lost a wife—God a soul.”

Silence again ensued. Several times the bishop cleared his throat as if to speak.

Tai Lin remained motionless.

“Did you ever think that—that—perhaps the priest was not wholly to blame?” asked the bishop with mild concern.

Tai Lin looked at him dully.

“Yes; you are right. She was not to blame.” He answered mechanically. “She could do no wrong.

“Once I gave her a little stool. She always sat on that at my feet. You do not know, but that is the way it was. She patted my hand—now, she is gone—all is gone.”

The old quavering head fell forward upon the table. Sometimes a tremor passed through his body, but no sound broke the silence.

The bishop picked his teeth, white, narrow teeth, set far apart. This was a sign of meditation.

“Did you ever see this ring?” he asked gently, as he placed on the table the pearl that the wife had given to the Breton.

Tai Lin raised his head, looked at the pearl and shuddered.

“I noticed,” continued the bishop sympathetically, “that he had this ring the very first day after his return from your wife. She made him promise not to part with it. I thought it might show a little—a very sudden—I may be wrong—but a woman’s passion.”

“My ring.” Tai Lin’s voice was almost inaudible in its calmness.

“Have you ever noticed any eagerness on her part for his coming?” asked the bishop with compassionate reluctance.

Tai Lin continued looking mutely at the ring.

“I did not know, but—I suspected it,” went on the bishop in the same pitying tones. “I noticed that when he was prevented from going to your palace she would send long letters to him—as bishop I read them. They were filled with tender endearments, the most passionate riotous words. It is difficult for me to speak of this. I hope I have not offended Your Excellency, for there is only one desire in my heart—the truth. To seek the truth and to live uprightly have been the two master wishes of my life. But, alas, how hard it is to discover truth! To do this one must pray to God. There is no other way. And since this terrible affair I have been continually on my knees. God has smiled. His smile has penetrated the darkness surrounding this mystery and all is now clear, but to understand, one must first understand women.

“It is strange the attributes men clothe women in: Some deceive themselves into looking upon her as an angel, when they ought to close their eyes and cry, Scat! Others make her a tantalising riddle, and spend their lives trying to solve it; a sweet enigma, which they do not try seriously to know, lest knowing they find out what they do not wish.

“Woman is not a riddle, she is not an angel, she is not an enigma. She is an animal—that is all.

“To understand a woman, study a feline. She has all their attributes. Like them she only ceases to want when satiated; when she desires, she does nothing else—like an animal she follows the scent of her wishes. A woman never rests except when asleep; she never sleeps unless her hungers have been satiated. Nothing is more alarming than a woman with one eye open; like animals, when they doze they think of to-morrow’s hunt. Women, as felines, have only three hungers: When these are allayed they are at peace; when not, they prowl—they cannot help it. Hunger and reason are always in conflict, but when reason is lacking there is no contention, no delay, and they hasten on the warm trail of their desires. There are no difficulties they will not surmount if the scent of the game is strong. Feline-like they are velvety-heeled, and we hear not their comings nor goings. One never suspects they have claws until they lacerate. They are not satisfied with one victim; they suck the heart’s blood, then sniff for another. Old age has not much blood—no, not very much.”

For some moments the bishop cracked his knuckles in silence; his cavitous eyes fixed keenly on the old, withered man before him, who still looked dumbly at the pearl on the table.

“Yes; they are best caged,” resumed the bishop in soft, meditative tones. “And yet those closely confined are most dangerous when given a little liberty. The breath of freedom—that insane folly—soon heats the blood and leads them to wild excesses. Had I not felt so sure of the priest’s virtue, I would not have permitted him to teach her and lay himself open to temptation. I did not think he would submit. But no risk is so great as to be lenient or careless with the caged. Open the bars and animals will go forth. Play with their claws and they will scratch. Tantalise their hungers and uncaged they will gorge. The wisest way is to teach them a few tricks—a very few, and when not performing keep them behind bars. Man’s greatest self-deception is to believe that they are tamed. No animal has ever yet been so gentled that it could be left to its own instincts. Nothing is more dangerous. How many keepers have been lacerated to death by this one act of careless confidence!

“But I do not know how she could have managed it,” the bishop’s tones became filled with deep concern. “Surely she was not so bold and immodest as to come from behind the screen?”

Tai Lin raised his eyes from the ring and looked startled, mutely about him.

The bishop wiped his lips, and behind the handkerchief a smile flickered.

“Yet there are worse things than her coming from behind the screen,” he continued compassionately. “If it had only stopped there, for the pride of beauty may have moved her unconsciously; impelled by nature she may have crept unseen to his side.

“This manner of movement is peculiar to women and—snakes.

“Did Your Excellency know that during the first month of the world’s birth these two met—a snake and a woman? Being unable to swallow each other, they made perpetual compact—to devour man.

“Since then they have possessed many attributes in common. Their tongues have the same forked rapidity; poison lurks in their kisses; death in their embraces. One-half of them is allurement, the other half desire. In gorgeous bedeckment they resemble flowers—men often mistake them for such. Their backs are beautiful with radiant colours, their bellies pallid. One coaxes what the other devours. Nothing can equal the subtlety of their movement! One never feels them until bitten; one never knows them until the heart has been clogged by their poison. Thinking them an innocent flower on account of their hues and beauty, one reaches out after them and finds—what Your Excellency has discovered.”

A shudder passed through the old man.

The bishop picked his teeth.

Time passed.

Tai Lin sat up; never taking his eyes away from the ring, he spoke, but as much to himself as to the bishop, feebly, piteously calm:

“I do not know why she did this.”

There are some silences that men hesitate to break; the silence of a tempest, the silence of an abyss, the silence of a broken heart.

The bishop made no attempt to answer or break the oppressive stillness that followed Tai Lin’s simple statement.

It was a long time before he spoke again, then his voice was quiet, but in his tardy speech lay decision not less terrible than it was calm.

“Yes; it is all over. I am glad you told me. She shall suffer. When you said they were animals you told the truth. I always believed that, but thought her different. I was not mistaken. She has been more a snake than beast. Your words have been learned, only there is no such poison in a snake’s mouth as in a woman’s heart.

“No; I do not ask you why you did not stop this crime when you saw its beginning, because I know you have made roguery holy to escape its responsibility and to enjoy its profits. You have your own protection, but she shall die.”

The bishop, who had been picking his teeth, leaned forward.

“She shall be lyngcheed,” added Tai Lin softly.

“But she may be a Christian,” interposed the bishop.

“Lyngcheed,” reiterated Tai Lin meditatively.

“She may be a Christian,” said the bishop again.

“Yes,” continued Tai Lin, heedless of the bishop’s words. “Yes, that is her punishment by the laws of the Empire.”

“But she may have become a Christian.”

“Yes; it is necessary that she shall die.”

“She is undoubtedly a Christian by this time,” interrupted the bishop decisively.

“What do I care if she is a Christian!” and Tai Lin rose up savagely, quaveringly before him.

“Well—you know,” and the bishop wrung caressingly his bony, bloodless hands, “Christians are entitled to our protection. Yes, yes, we could not permit you to——”

“She is my wife and by the law shall be punished.”

“Christians are not subject to your laws. They are under the protection of the Church. The Church does not recognise your pagan marriage. By becoming a Christian she is free and entitled to our protection——”

“I will hammer this Mission into dust!” and Tai Lin brought his trembling fist weakly down upon the table.

“There are three warships in the river,” commented the bishop softly.

“I will sink them!”

“There are battleships at Hong Kong; ten thousand troops at Saigon. A word from me and this city will be bombarded. A cable from me and ten thousand French troops will be landed. You know I speak the truth. Do you want to be held responsible for the death of a myriad multitude? Responsible for the loss of three kingdoms——

“How posterity would revile your name! How contemptuous will be held your descendants! Even then you cannot regain her.

“Beware! Beware!

“Disaster surely falls on him that opposes the Church, for it is God’s world-child; mankind and kingdoms its servants. Do not think that this child sleeps, curled up in a lotus-bud, or is drifting to a Nirvana. It is moving onward to Universal Power.”

The bishop leaned farther over the table; turning his head he looked up into the face of Tai Lin and, flushing from the intensity of his feelings, became ashen. His lips were parted, showing the long, narrow gleam of his teeth, while his jet eyes, set so deep in their sockets, glittered and had a speech of their own.

“You think, in this country,” he continued in a voice intense with feeling, “that the Church is the cat’s-paw of European nations; that they get missionaries killed to have an excuse for conquest? Bah! What are these nations? The Church’s hammer and tongs. The Church commands, they obey. You cannot injure a servant of God with impunity. You cannot oppose the Church without ruin. The Church of God must be the Spiritual Ruler of the world. It cares not who holds the few hours of temporal sway. Accept our Spiritual Dominance in peace and be your own rulers; attempt to destroy and you shall become the Servant of the World.

“You know that no army ever landed in this country that did not come at our wish and command. Why are all of these gunboats creeping up and down your rivers? Who are they to obey? Dare you punish a Christian without our leave? Has not the church placed them above your laws? And yet you come to me and threaten to destroy this Mission; kill this priest and lyngchee a Christian woman! What could be more ridiculous? How would you do it? Where would you begin and where would you end?”

After a moment of silence the bishop drew back in his chair. Gradually his ashen flush faded and he again became pallid.

Tai Lin stood motionless. Presently his head sank upon his bosom, but the frown on his withered face did not go away.

The silence was broken by the bishop, speaking compassionately.

“I am sorry for Your Excellency. You are a wronged man. When one is cast out by a father one can forget; when one is scorned by a son one can grieve and forgive, but when a man’s wife discards him he cannot forget, nor grieve nor forgive. He has been injured internally and abroad. His heart has been splintered; his name befouled; his thoughts and hopes, like green scum, are cast adrift; his children and children’s children are bastardised; he is alone in the profundity of his sorrow and yet conspicuous because of her sin.

“Most of our sins die with us, but the sins of such a woman live on. Like abhorrent weeds they have seeds, which by Time’s winds, are scattered abroad to tare the fields of men. Quick should be her cut-off. There is no law in this land wiser than the one that makes death the penalty of her crime. It is the same law that God himself gave to Moses, our Great Elder. I can understand the threefold reason why you should have her lyngcheed and sympathise with you.

“A man should be known before the world as just; the laws of the Empire should not be deceived; the stigma should be removed from your descendants, for if not, men will ever say there was baseness in your household and your whole progeny will be heralded as bastards. How can the wick of one’s memory be tended by those whom the world repudiates?”

The bishop leaned close to Tai Lin and lowering his voice spoke with greater intensity.

“Would you have me aid you?”

Tai Lin looked at him dully, incredulously.

The bishop tapped the table with his finger-tips.

“You called her Christian,” mumbled Tai Lin.

“Yes, yes; but you don’t understand. You were going to act against the Church, not with it.”

The bishop caressed his hands.

“Now if you and I could come to some agreement.”

“You?”

“Yes; whereby the Church withdraws its protection——”

“I agree,” cried Tai Lin. “Where is she! Where is she!”

“What will you agree to?”

“Anything,” cried Tai Lin hoarsely, groping feebly the table’s edge.

One by one the bishop pulled his fingers until the knuckles cracked in each, which he did only in moments of great pleasure.

“Will Your Excellency agree to deed your park to the Church if it withdraws its protection and sanctions her punishment?”

“No!” answered Tai Lin decisively.

“But if she is found and given over to you?” interposed the bishop eagerly.

Tai Lin did not answer for some time.

“No,” he said finally. “You will take my park and then squeal Christian! Christian! Christian! I know you rogues.”

The bishop picked his teeth. Once in a while he clacked his tongue, which was a sign of perplexity. Presently he smiled.

“We will draw up a contingent bond signed and attested to the effect that the park shall not become the property of the Church until the last stroke of the lyngchee.”

A purple pallor overspread the seams and wrinkles of Tai Lin’s face; his glowing eyes became vacuous.

The bishop moved uneasily.

Tai Lin fumbled at the throat of his robe.

Suddenly he bent over the table toward the bishop.

“The priest?”

The bishop rose and whispered for some time in his ear.

“Make the bond!” commanded Tai Lin huskily.

The bishop hastened from the room and when he returned he brought with him the commandant of the marines.

The bonds were drawn and signed.

Tai Lin rose. For a moment he stood looking thoughtfully at the ring on the table, then, without noticing the bows of the bishop, got into his sedan.

As he was being carried out of the Gateway he caused his bearers to stop, and, lifting the blind, looked back long and fixedly at the House of God.