Part 13 (2/2)

For a moment it seemed that they had come to an _impa.s.se_. Miss Vost was blinking her eyes rapidly, appearing to be somewhat interested in a junk which was poling down-stream.

She looked up with a wan smile. Tears were again in her eyes. ”Mr.

Moore,” she said in a broken voice, ”what you've told me about Mr.

MacLaurin, Captain MacLaurin, moves me--deeply!”

”Do try to be nice to Bobbie,” begged Peter. ”He is the finest fellow I know. He is true blue. He would give his life for your little finger. Really he would, Miss Vost!”

The bright eyes gave him a languis.h.i.+ng look.

”I'll try,” she said simply.

That night the banks of the great river were gray and mysterious under the effulgence of a top-heavy yellow moon. The search-light on the peak pierced out the fact that a low, swirling mist was creeping up from the river's dulled surface.

The air was damp with the breath of the land. Occasionally the gentle puffs of the wind bore along the water the flavor of queer, indistinguishable odors.

Elbow to elbow, glancing down at the hissing water, Miss Vost and Peter stood for a number of sweet, meditative moments in silence. At length Miss Vost slipped her arm through his.

”Sometimes,” she murmured, inclining her head until it almost rested against his shoulder, ”I feel lonely--terrible! Especially on such a night as this. The moon is so impersonal, isn't it? Here it is, a great, gorgeous ball of cold fire, s.h.i.+ning across China at you and me.

In Amoy it seemed to frown at me. Now--it seems to smile. The same moon!”

”The same moon!” whispered Peter as her warm hand slipped down and snuggled in his.

”Don't _you_ ever feel lonely--like this?” demanded Miss Vost suddenly.

Peter sighed. ”Oh, often. Often! The world seems so big, and so filled with things that are hard to learn. Especially at night!” He wondered what she thought he meant.

”I--I feel that way,” Miss Vost's absorbed voice replied. ”I try--and try--to reason these things out. But they are so baffling! So elusive! So evasive! Here is China, with its millions of poor wretched ones, struggling in darkness and disease. There are so many!

And they are so hard to help. And out beyond there, not so many miles beyond that ridge, lies Tibet, with her millions, and her ignorance, and her disease. And to the left--away to the left, I think, is India.

”If a person would be happy, he must not come to China or India. Their problems are too overwhelming. You cannot think of solutions fast enough, and even while you think, you are overcome by the weariness, the hopelessness, of it all. I wish I had never come to China.

”I happened to be in Foo-Chow not long ago. There is in Foo-Chow a thing that ill.u.s.trates what I mean. It is called the baby tower.

Girls, you know, aren't thought much of in China. At the bottom of the tower is a deep well. Women to whom are born baby girls go to the baby tower----” Miss Vost shuddered. ”The babies are thrown into the well.

I have seen them. Poor--poor, little creatures--dying like that!”

Miss Vost sniffled for a moment. Brightly she said:

”I like to talk to you, Mr. Moore. You're so--so sympathetic!”

A great, dark shadow bulked up against the rail alongside Peter.

”Good evening, folks!” declared the pleasant ba.s.s voice of Bobbie MacLaurin.

”We were just talking about you, Bobbie,” said Peter affably. ”As I was telling Miss Vost, you're the most sympathetic man I ever knew!

Good night, Miss Vost. Night, Bobs!”

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