but only for those to whom sons of their bodies are denied. A man should beget men, father his own heir."
He said much more. It was his last indulgence of self, for even his stern resolve yearned over her, and his tortured heart delayed the parting with the girl. He spoke of her childhood and of his own. But of the high traditions of the women of its blood, upon which their great house was built as on an impregnable rock, he did not speak again. He spared her that—his only child, the first woman of her name to err in the degree that is not forgiven Chinese gentlewomen.
Presently he commanded again—and no question now—that she should tell him all, and commanding turned his screw.
"He is not dead," he said. "He lives. He is unharmed." Nang Ping swayed a little on her stool and caught at her knees with her hands. "Tell me all."
"O honorable sir," she sobbed, huddling at his feet, "I cannot."
Wu smiled. "All! Omit nothing. You can save him so!"
Nang Ping started up, sitting bolt on her heels, and searched her father's face with narrow eyes widened and piteous.
"All! And he shall live. Even, he shall go free!"
Nang Ping moaned, hung down her head, and began to speak, for she knew that Wu Li Chang would keep his word. And even this price of shame her discarded love would pay to save her man. Her words came with tortured breath—in gasps. But it was for Basil, and she kept her bond. She told of their first meeting and their last. She told it all—all but those utmost things that never have been told, and never can, and in China least of all.
