“The result was a miracle to us. In a short time the Dalai Lama had recovered. But in the meantime Major Carstair had gone on into the Gobi seeking the fantastic treasure.”
The girl turned toward the man, a wide-eyed, eager, lighted face.
“Do you realize,” she said, “the sort of treasure that my father sacrificed his life to search for?”
The Oriental spoke slowly.
“It was to destroy a Kingdom,” he said.
“To destroy the Kingdom of Pain!” She replied, “My father was seeking an anesthetic more powerful than the derivatives of domestic opium. He searched the world for it. In the little, wild desert flower lay, he thought, the essence of this treasure. And he would seek it at any cost. Fortune was nothing; life was nothing. Is it any wonder that you could not stop him? A flaming sword moving at the entrance to the Gobi could not have barred him out!”
The big Oriental made a vague gesture as of one removing something clinging to his face.
“Wherefore this blindness?” he said.
The girl had turned away in an effort to control the emotion that possessed her. But the task was greater than her strength; when she came back to the table tears welled up in her eyes and trickled down her face. Emotion seemed now to overcome her.
“If my father were only here,” her voice was broken, “if he were only here!”