As for the old woman, she allowed no doubt of her meaning. She now kept no secrets from the girl and was almost savage in her frankness, unleashing her scorn for the degenerate crowd which cluttered the family gates.
"You will not stay here," she repeated, times without count, "you must not stay here. If you were one of their blood,"—the t'ai-t'ai, in the pronouns she used, spoke as if even she and her family were different races,—"if you were one of their blood, it would be harder; they wouldn't wish to let you go, and your old family wouldn't want you back; there would be lawsuits till the end of time. But this is so simple. You are foreign born; when once you have gone, they will not weep for you. They might stop you if they saw you going, but only for face; after you have gone they will say, 'Oh, she was nothing but a foreigner. What use was there keeping her here?'"
So imperative did she become that Nancy asked once in astonishment: "Do you wish me to leave you?"
"Ah no," laughed the old lady, "you know that was not my meaning. You are more nearly kin to me than the children of my own flesh. I could not bear to part with you now and spend the rest of my days among fools. But neither can I bear the thought that you should spend the rest of your days—so many more than mine—as a slave to fools. So we must plan, you and I, how you are to go when I die. Ha, it's lucky I am old and can see things clearly. Twenty years ago I should have loved you just as much, my child, but I should never have had boldness enough to counsel the wife of my grandson to escape. Now, when I come to die, I command you to go, or I shall not die peacefully."
"But you are not going to die for years and years," laughed Nancy.
"This is my seventy-third winter," said the old lady, startling her with one of those sudden burning looks which made her eyes blaze, "my seventy-third winter, and my last."
Weakly Nancy protested, but by this time she knew too well that the t'ai-t'ai did not predict idly; her words, like her own father's scroll, seemed to get themselves fulfilled. The thought had looked absurd when she saw how straight the old woman carried herself, but it lurked in the back passages of her brain and came forward many a time during the ensuing weeks when the t'ai-t'ai abruptly would shatter her desire to dwell secure in comfortable, comforting talks by saying, "I—I shall soon die." Nancy came to believe, in spite of herself, and to watch, with the fascination of one who has been bewitched, the first marks of death upon the face of her aged friend.
"I am afraid of only one thing," said the t'ai-t'ai, "I am afraid of you. I am afraid that you will be too proud to escape when my time comes. So you must remember that it will be my express command then that you go. I am your father and mother now; you owe your obedience to me. I am the head of the family into which you have married; I take upon myself your duties to this family; when I go to my ancestors, I shall report to them what I have done and they will approve; we were not wont to be a small-livered people and we did not resist the will of heaven. Ah, my daughter, you have always obeyed, you have understood my wishes before I asked them. We cannot tamper with the mandate of heaven; your fate is your fate and you must accept it. You must go back, I say, to the husband your father first chose for you. You must bring him many sons to honor him and to honor you. Here you will be childless and forsaken. What comfort shall I have among the dead when I remember this? I will not eat of your sacrifices till you promise me this one thing. I will go like a starved spirit, I tell you, and be homeless and cold till you promise me. Will you promise me? Will you promise me? I demand it of you now because I know that I shall die."
Nancy had never seen the t'ai-t'ai so shaken by feeling. She felt she had trespassed upon a queen in one of those moments of human passion which a mere subject must pay with his life to witness.
"Yes," she whispered, falling down because she dared not look her mistress in the face, "I will promise you; I will go, but I cannot go till you are dead."