"And you think all this will come in my time?"
"I believe that you will live through the storm. And after, through the long age of desolation, you may still live, growing older and wiser and more patient. You will conserve the fragrance of our history and add to it the touch of your own mind. You will welcome the stranger, and teach him the rule of age and wisdom; and one of these strangers, it may be, will succeed you when you are yourself very old. Beyond that, my vision weakens, but I see, at a great distance, a new world stirring in the ruins, stirring clumsily but in hopefulness, seeking its lost and legendary treasures. And they will all be here, my son, hidden behind the mountains in the valley of Blue Moon, preserved as by miracle for a new Renaissance…"
The speaking finished, and Conway saw the face before him full of a remote and drenching beauty; then the glow faded and there was nothing left but a mask, dark-shadowed, and crumbling like old wood. It was quite motionless, and the eyes were closed. He watched for a while, and presently, as part of a dream, it came to him that the High Lama was dead.
It seemed necessary to rivet the situation to some kind of actuality, lest it become too strange to be believed in; and with instinctive mechanism of hand and eye, Conway glanced at his wristwatch. It was a quarter-past midnight. Suddenly, when he crossed the room to the door, it occurred to him that he did not in the least know how or whence to summon help. The Tibetans, he knew, had all been sent away for the night, and he had no idea where to find Chang or anyone else. He stood uncertainly on the threshold of the dark corridor; through a window he could see that the sky was clear, though the mountains still blazed in lightning like a silver fresco. And then, in the midst of the still-encompassing dream, he felt himself master of Shangri-La. These were his beloved things, all around him, the things of that inner mind in which he lived increasingly, away from the fret of the world. His eyes strayed into the shadows and were caught by golden pinpoints sparkling in rich, undulating lacquers; and the scent of tuberose, so faint that it expired on the very brink of sensation, lured him from room to room. At last he stumbled into the courtyards and by the fringe of the pool; a full moon sailed behind Karakal. It was twenty minutes to two.
Later, he was aware that Mallinson was near him, holding his arm and leading him away in a great hurry. He did not gather what it was all about, but he could hear that the boy was chattering excitedly.
CHAPTER 11
They reached the balconied room where they had meals, Mallinson still clutching his arm and half-dragging him along. "Come on, Conway, we've till dawn to pack what we can and get away. Great news, man - I wonder what old Barnard and Miss Brinklow will think in the morning when they find us gone… Still, it's their own choice to stay, and we'll probably get on far better without them… The porters are about five miles beyond the pass - they came yesterday with loads of books and things… tomorrow they begin the journey back… It just shows how these fellows here intended to let us down - they never told us - we should have been stranded here for God knows how much longer… I say, what's the matter? Are you ill?"
Conway had sunk into a chair, and was leaning forward with elbows on the table. He passed his hand across his eyes. "Ill? No. I don't think so. Just - rather - tired."
"Probably the storm. Where were you all the while? I'd been waiting for you for hours."
"I - I was visiting the High Lama."
"Oh, HIM! Well, THAT'S for the last time, anyhow, thank God."
"Yes, Mallinson, for the last time."
Something in Conway's voice, and still more in his succeeding silence, roused the youth to irascibility. "Well, I wish you wouldn't sound so deuced leisurely about it - we've got to get a considerable move on, you know."
Conway stiffened for the effort of emerging into keener consciousness.
"I'm sorry," he said. Partly to test his nerve and the reality of his sensations he lit a cigarette. He found that both hands and lips were unsteady. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow… you say the porters…"
"Yes, the porters, man - do pull yourself together."
"You're thinking of going out to them?"
"THINKING of it? I'm damn well certain - they're only just over the ridge. And we've got to start immediately."
"IMMEDIATELY?"
"Yes, yes - why not?"
Conway made a second attempt to transfer himself from one world into the other. He said at length, having partly succeeded: "I suppose you realize that it mayn't be quite as simple as it sounds?"
Mallinson was lacing a pair of knee-high Tibetan mountain boots as he answered jerkily: "I realize everything, but it's something we've got to do, and we shall do it, with luck, if we don't delay."
"I don't see how - "
"Oh, Lord, Conway, must you fight shy of everything? Haven't you any guts left in you at all?"
The appeal, half-passionate and half-derisive, helped Conway to collect himself. "Whether I have or haven't isn't the point, but if you want me to explain myself, I will. It's a question of a few rather important details. Suppose you DO get beyond the pass and find the porters there, how do you know they'll take you with them? What inducement can you offer? Hasn't it struck you that they mayn't be quite so willing as you'd like them to be? You can't just present yourself and demand to be escorted. It all needs arrangements, negotiations beforehand - "
"Or anything else to cause a delay," exclaimed Mallinson bitterly. "God, what a fellow you are! Fortunately I haven't you to rely on for arranging things. Because they HAVE been arranged - the porters have been paid in advance, and they've agreed to take us. And here are clothes and equipment for the journey, all ready. So your last excuse disappears. Come on, let's DO something."
"But - I don't understand…"
"I don't suppose you do, but it doesn't matter."
"Who's been making all these plans?"
Mallinson answered brusquely: "Lo-Tsen, if you're really keen to know. She's with the porters now. She's waiting."
"WAITING?"
"Yes. She's coming with us. I assume you've no objection?"
At the mention of Lo-Tsen the two worlds touched and fused suddenly in Conway's mind. He cried sharply, almost contemptuously: "That's nonsense. It's impossible."
Mallinson was equally on edge. "Why is it impossible?"
"Because… well, it is. There are all sorts of reasons. Take my word for it; it won't do. It's incredible enough that she should be out there now - I'm astonished at what you say has happened - but the idea of her going any further is just preposterous."
"I don't see that it's preposterous at all. It's as natural for her to want to leave here as for me."
"But she doesn't want to leave. That's where you make the mistake."
Mallinson smiled tensely. "You think you know a good deal more about her than I do, I daresay," he remarked. "But perhaps you don't, for all that."
"What do you mean?"
"There are other ways of getting to understand people without learning heaps of languages."
"For heaven's sake, what ARE you driving at?" Then Conway added more quietly: "This is absurd. We mustn't wrangle. Tell me, Mallinson, what's it all about? I still don't understand."
"Then why are you making such an almighty fuss?"
"Tell me the truth, PLEASE tell me the truth."
"Well, it's simple enough. A kid of her age shut up here with a lot of queer old men - naturally she'll get away if she's given a chance. She hasn't had one up to now."