Read Online Norton, Andre - Novel 23 by The White Jade Fox (v1.0) - Free Book Online
Authors: The White Jade Fox (v1.0)
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echoed her laughter. "Good
enough. You teach me Chinese and I'll teach you whatever I can. Is it a
bargain, Damaris?"
But the other was still wary. "Maybe."
Having seen Damaris into bed, Saranna groped
her way back to her own room through the thick dark of the hall. She wished she
had brought a candle with her. There was something about this darkness—twice
she paused to listen. Was it only her skirts brushing against the wall as she
felt her way along which had evoked that faint whispering? She had to believe
that. But she found her heart beating faster and she whisked around her own
door and into her room as if some presence she did not care to meet had been following
her along.
Millie was there with a fresh copper jug of
hot water. She had pulled the trundle bed from its place beneath the
four-poster and spread it up, while Saranna's gown and nightcap were laid out
ready and waiting. Seeing those, the whole fatigue of the day settled upon the
girl and she willingly made ready and crawled into the bed, seeing Millie light
a small shielded night candle as if this need for some assurance against the
full power of the dark was accepted as a matter of course in Tiensin.
For the second time, Saranna had the dream
about the wall which was a living hedge. But this time, she thought she
recognized it for the one she had seen from her window, that which closed off
the hidden section of the Tiensin garden. Now, along the foot of those
somber-leaved bushes were pairs of eyes. Not as small as those which had caught
the lantern light on her entrance to Tiensin, but large, glowing, trying to
fasten and hold her own gaze. That she feared above all, that she would become
prisoner to the eyes.
She tried to run, yet her feet would not obey
her, rather they moved of themselves, carrying her nearer to the hedge and the
waiting eyes. Somewhere a voice imperiously uttered a command she could not
resist—called the strangely accented words Damaris had spoken:
“Kuei-Fu-Lu-Li —" And then added another.
"Mei— Mei—Mei—''
Saranna awoke. The dark was broken by shafts
of gray light from the two windows. The night candle had burned out. She could
hear the heavy breathing of Millie from the trundle bed. But somehow she could
also still hear that echoing "Mei— Mei — Mei —"
Slowly she repeated the strange word to
herself, trying to fix the alien accent. This was only a dream, of course, yet
she had a longing to know if she had carried out of it a strange word which did
have a meaning.
Saranna sat up in bed. Furniture looked out of
the shadows, the bulk of the pieces taking on an alien appearance in the early
hour. Not threatening—just strange. As if in the night hours, bed, dressing
table, wardrobe, all the rest, had played other roles.
She shook her head. Imagination—fancies—very
wild fancies— Perhaps this was the type of fancy which Damaris voiced, which
made Honora speak of her as being too nervously excitable.
Excited the child had certainly been last
night. But there had been nothing really hysterical nor fantastic in any of her talk. That she hated Honora was plain. And also
that she had had a strong tie with her grandfather. Perhaps Captain Whaley had
had little liking for his son's wife and had communicated that too frankly to
an impressionable child. Though Saranna tried to be neutral and just, she had
to admit that her sympathies lay, in any such dispute, with those opposed to
Honora. Her own dealings with Jethro's daughter had not been such as to foster
any close ties between them.
Then the light touched the small table beside
the lamp, and there Saranna saw again the Mountains of Peaceful
enough. You teach me Chinese and I'll teach you whatever I can. Is it a
bargain, Damaris?"
But the other was still wary. "Maybe."
Having seen Damaris into bed, Saranna groped
her way back to her own room through the thick dark of the hall. She wished she
had brought a candle with her. There was something about this darkness—twice
she paused to listen. Was it only her skirts brushing against the wall as she
felt her way along which had evoked that faint whispering? She had to believe
that. But she found her heart beating faster and she whisked around her own
door and into her room as if some presence she did not care to meet had been following
her along.
Millie was there with a fresh copper jug of
hot water. She had pulled the trundle bed from its place beneath the
four-poster and spread it up, while Saranna's gown and nightcap were laid out
ready and waiting. Seeing those, the whole fatigue of the day settled upon the
girl and she willingly made ready and crawled into the bed, seeing Millie light
a small shielded night candle as if this need for some assurance against the
full power of the dark was accepted as a matter of course in Tiensin.
For the second time, Saranna had the dream
about the wall which was a living hedge. But this time, she thought she
recognized it for the one she had seen from her window, that which closed off
the hidden section of the Tiensin garden. Now, along the foot of those
somber-leaved bushes were pairs of eyes. Not as small as those which had caught
the lantern light on her entrance to Tiensin, but large, glowing, trying to
fasten and hold her own gaze. That she feared above all, that she would become
prisoner to the eyes.
She tried to run, yet her feet would not obey
her, rather they moved of themselves, carrying her nearer to the hedge and the
waiting eyes. Somewhere a voice imperiously uttered a command she could not
resist—called the strangely accented words Damaris had spoken:
“Kuei-Fu-Lu-Li —" And then added another.
"Mei— Mei—Mei—''
Saranna awoke. The dark was broken by shafts
of gray light from the two windows. The night candle had burned out. She could
hear the heavy breathing of Millie from the trundle bed. But somehow she could
also still hear that echoing "Mei— Mei — Mei —"
Slowly she repeated the strange word to
herself, trying to fix the alien accent. This was only a dream, of course, yet
she had a longing to know if she had carried out of it a strange word which did
have a meaning.
Saranna sat up in bed. Furniture looked out of
the shadows, the bulk of the pieces taking on an alien appearance in the early
hour. Not threatening—just strange. As if in the night hours, bed, dressing
table, wardrobe, all the rest, had played other roles.
She shook her head. Imagination—fancies—very
wild fancies— Perhaps this was the type of fancy which Damaris voiced, which
made Honora speak of her as being too nervously excitable.
Excited the child had certainly been last
night. But there had been nothing really hysterical nor fantastic in any of her talk. That she hated Honora was plain. And also
that she had had a strong tie with her grandfather. Perhaps Captain Whaley had
had little liking for his son's wife and had communicated that too frankly to
an impressionable child. Though Saranna tried to be neutral and just, she had
to admit that her sympathies lay, in any such dispute, with those opposed to
Honora. Her own dealings with Jethro's daughter had not been such as to foster
any close ties between them.
Then the light touched the small table beside
the lamp, and there Saranna saw again the Mountains of Peaceful
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