Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/344

RV 339 (VICTORY) "No!" cried Ming Huang, as though he were strangling. "No! Not that!"

"Go, faithful Kao," she pleaded. "Give the message to the troops."

Kao went, with heart so heavy he staggered under its burden.

As Yang Kuei-fei walked with Ming Huang in the shadowy paths of the tea-house garden, she murmured, "Perhaps this is only a dream and we are sleeping, or a black bubble of horror that will burst and it will be light once more."

Ming Huang could not trust himself to speak, lest he utter the thoughts that were raging in his mind. Yes, it was a dream, a hideous dream, a dream that would last always.

"I hope I may find the vapor of death fragrant," she said. She shuddered. She was afraid, so mortally afraid. It was as though icy fingers were clutching at her heart. At the same time she felt compassion for Ming Huang. How tender had he always been in their hours together, always thinking of her comfort, neglecting his Imperial duties so that her every whim might be gratified. She gazed at the wide sweep of sky, a glorious azure canopy embroidered with myriads of glistening jewels. "The Cowherd and the Spinning Maid tonight are grieving. There are no magpies to form a bridge."

Ming Huang found his voice. "Let me die with you, that we need never be separated!" RV 339 (339)