A Galahad of the Creeks; The Widow Lamport

by S. Levett Yeats

* * * * *

"My God, thou hast forsaken me!" Never did cry more bitter come from the soul of the prophet than came from the heart of Habakkuk Smalley from the spot where he had watched the whole meeting and seen the parting of the two. He had been a witness to it all from start to finish, and only perhaps a priest could have restrained himself as well as he had done up to now. It seemed as if his life had crumbled away. He now knew what he had never expected, and like an inspiration the motives of his wife in forcing him to leave the place flashed upon him. After all, the temptation had been resisted, and who was he to judge. He thought of the lesson his Master had taught in a case of terrible reality, and was he, a priest of the Gospel, to stop at less than this? He kneeled down on the turf, and, holding up his arms to heaven, prayed. "God," he cried, "thou hast hunted me like a deer on the mountain side, and I am sorely wounded----" He could say no more, but gasped out "Strength! strength!" and then after a while a peace came upon him and he arose and followed the footsteps of his wife. He found her sitting in their now cheerless room, and her features seemed pinched and drawn. Never a word did Habakkuk speak of what he knew, but his voice was as kind and gentle as ever. "Everything is ready," he said; "shall we go?"

Now Ruys made no answer, but simply rose, and they went forth together.

CHAPTER XII.

[THE EPISODE OF LI FONG.]

"By the Prophet's head,

He shall die," he said,

"By the knife of the Khyberee!"

Civil and Military Gazette.

Li Fong, contractor and general shopkeeper, was wearied of Dorian fruit, of nga-pe, and of Pazobin. Li was no "eleven o'clock chink "--that is, a Chinaman born and bred out of the Celestial Empire--but was a pure Hankow man, and had migrated to Burma with the philanthropic motive of spreading enlightenment among the outer barbarians, and to extract as much as he could out of the country he was honouring with his presence. But he was tired of Pazobin. Pazobin had no more to give, and for him the orange was sucked dry. His real business did not lie among the lead-foil packets of bad tea, with the cubes of China sugar, that crumbled to dust at the touch, with the inferior writing paper, the preserved ginger, and the pickled bamboo, with which his little shop was stocked. No, it had other and more paying ramifications, or Li could not have looked so sleek and comfortable as he sat in his cane chair beneath a green and yellow paper lantern and inhaled a long cigarette, the soupcon of opium in the tobacco imparting a dreamy flavour to his smoke. But Li was not in his usual spirits. "Allee pidgin gone," his thoughts ran on; "Li he go too." Yes, this was true, too true. All business, really paying business, had gone since Pozendine and Iyer were swept away with other refuse, and there was nothing to be done with Mr. Pillay, who reigned in their place. Profits had come down to zero, for Mr. Pillay was that rara avis of his class--an honest man. Li Fong's approaches toward him had resulted in Li's being treated with indignity, and, what was worse, in attracting the particular attention of Jackson toward the Chinaman. And when the special attention of a district officer is drawn to a person like Li, it is better for him or her to move on, and our sleek friend, fully aware of this, was on the eve of his departure. But he was going heavily laden. He had sold his shop, and was for this night a care-taker only. Honest Yen Chow, of Myobin, was the purchaser. Yen would come to-morrow, and then Li was free as air. He smoked his cigarette comfortably through, and dozed off slowly. When he awoke he found that the township was going to bed. It was not a bad idea, thought Li. He would do the same. He turned down the burner of the little kerosene lamp that was placed within the gaudy lantern, locked his shop door, and went inside. Here, in a little back room, in heat and stuffiness so great that only a Chinaman could endure it, Li Fong lived his celibate life. He lit a small lamp carefully and placed it in a corner of the room; then he kneeled down, but not to pray. He merely fumbled under a heap of bedding and pulled out a small box. His eyes sparkled with delight as he opened the casket, and he gazed at the contents with a smile of deep satisfaction. When he had gladdened his eyes he shut the lid slowly with a regretful snap, and put aside the treasure. There was one more delight before sleep came, and that was contained in his opium pipe. He lit this with a luxurious slowness, and then, stretched out on his pallet, smoked himself into paradise. What rosy dreams were Li's! He would be a mandarin of the green button, his ancestors would be ennobled, he might become an Amban! "To-mollow," he murmured to himself; but to-morrow never came to Li on earth. Li dreamed on, sunk in lethargy, and finally fell into profound sleep, and the lamp burned low.