Page:Frank Owen - The Wind That Tramps the World (1929).djvu/91

 climbed up the crooked mountain-road his old life was falling from him, like a shell that had become useless. The future held mystery. He could sense it in the air. Whether it held happiness he did not know. But he doubted it because his uttermost goal was death within six months anyway. Still the night's adventure was attractive and he labored onward up the road beside old Woo Ling-foh, the mystic, who seemed unable to appreciate fatigue. He walked forward without effort despite his age and the steepness of the trail.

Now the mantle of night had fallen completely, the stars gleamed forth. They seemed of immense size, more brilliant than ever before.

Finally they reached the summit of the mountain—a broad table-like plateau that faded out into the gray of the night distances. The sky was of a brilliant blue. It seemed to bear down upon the mountain as though it were resting prone against it. The air was keen and fragrant.

It was very light. The stars shone forth in startling splendor.

Woo Ling-foh seized Hwei-Ti by the shoulder. "They are not stars," he whispered, "they are lanterns gleaming from windows in the magical Blue City." The moon had risen, silver-bright, cool, as sharp-cut as a diamond. It lay before them a long white road, a road of moonbeams that spread off toward the Blue City.