As Destiny fated it, the Viceroy himself married, that summer, the daughter of the tea-farmer and not Ho Ling, Mandarin of the Fifth Rank.
More than a year had passed since the Viceroy had married this farmer’s daughter from the Valley of the Fountain, which extraordinary event had been duly commented upon by the gentry of Hangchau and had been forgotten. But with the Viceroy it was different. Though many months had mysteriously vanished he was still an uneasy bridegroom unable in any degree to resume that tranquil state he had enjoyed years before.
“Tranquillity of the spirits,” said a guest one day, “is the culmination of a scholar’s life; it is the essence of propriety; the golden mean between the heart and the mind.”
“Undoubtedly, undoubtedly,” replied the Viceroy gruffly, “but there is no happiness in it.”
So the Viceroy, while by no means tranquil, was happy. And though a year had rushed hastily away, he still paced restlessly back and forth before a richly carved screen; waiting, frowning, biting his under lip.
Suddenly stopping in his impatient pacing, he clapped his hands and an old woman timidly entered.
“Is she coming?” he demanded in a voice of mingled anxiety and doubt.
“Great Sir, she will be here in just——”
“Get out! I will not tolerate this any longer; not another——”
A soft, tinkling laugh from behind the screen caused him to turn, startled, uneasy; a gentle rustle and the tea-farmer’s daughter entered.