CHAPTER XXXIX
Afterwards
As she passed from the house into the garden, moving
crazily on—not knowing why, how or where—the
frenzied mother met her son coming blindly toward the
door, his arms still trussed at his sides.
Neither could speak.
But a Chinese woman, coming to them stealthily through the gloaming, spoke as she reached them. "Clome, me tlake," she said.
And almost literally she did take them, one on either side of her, each touched by her hand, impelled by her will.
"No talk," she whispered sternly.
But she need not have said it. Neither of them had word or voice.
They met no one. They heard nothing—except once the far-off trilling of a nightingale, telling the day good-by.
For such was the quality of Wu Li Chang. He had commanded the servants to their quarters, on the other side of the estate, when they should have undone the doors and gates.
But Ah Wong did not slacken her anxious pace, or let them slacken theirs, until the shore was almost reached.
Then, just before they were within sight of the waiting
