Eleanor More leaned forward breathless. Her hands half-reached to the shimmer of blue and gold as the old man lifted it from the box and opened it with slow, reverent fingers.... The dragon’s played across the surface, and on the breast as he held it up were four cabalistic marks—the signs in the transparent map that guided them on their journey.
They stood a moment in silence. All the color of the coat seemed to gather to a soft intensity, and glow.
Eleanor More caught her breath with a little sound. “I had forgotten!” she said. “I had forgotten....!” Her face was filled with light—a look of happiness pervaded it.
Richard More glanced at her. “Ask him how much it is,” he said in a low voice to the interpreter.
The interpreter spoke the words and listened a moment and translated the answer swiftly: “Money will not buy the coat—not all the gold in all the world,” he chanted back.
Again and again Richard More made his demand.... And again he offered larger sums. But the old face opposite remained untouched.
“Money cannot buy it,” replied the interpreter.
It was like a refrain that came and went between the two men, as they faced each other—Richard More urgent, imperious, and strong; the old Chinaman impassive and quiet. His face had not changed from its look of calm endurance.
“He will not sell it,” repeated the interpreter. “He only shows it to you at the priest’s command. It is a legacy—from mother to son.”
“His son is dead,” said Richard almost harshly. His hand moved to the coffin with an abrupt gesture.... “His son is dead——-”