Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/24

 grew excited. So tight-clutched were his hands, the knuckles seemed without flesh. His nostrils twitched. His body trembled like a reed in the wind. In his excitement, he all but fell over and only regained his footing by clutching Yang Yuan-kuei's shoulder. His action was a serious affront to a Court officer, but Uncle Yang ignored this lack of decorum. For something of the mood of old Visram had affected him strangely, as though the breath of pestilence had swept over Changan. He had felt exactly that way when locusts had swept over the country and turned fertile fields into sad desolation, until the greatest Capital under Heaven was a ghost city shunned even by the wolves.

The old necromancer chattered a strange gibberish. Presently, he paused as though forcing himself back into reality.

"The candle weeps," he said huskily. "How can one gaze into the future when the candle weeps?"

Uncle Yang tossed a few cash on the ground. He was thankful for the question. Cupidity was a natural force that he could understand. He slipped a few almonds into his mouth. He wished this absurd affair were over so that he could walk once more in the lanes of men.

From a small chest near by, old Visram drew a fresh candle which he lighted before snuffing out the candle that wept. The second candle glowed with a cold blue light, an odd eerie light, but at least it did not weep.

Old Visram sighed. He did not like it, but he was afraid to risk a third candle. It might not even burn as well. He appeared very tired. By lantern-light, his