The eyes of Routledge found her.
“Just a minute, doctor,—I must say this.... Noreen, don’t speak of it again—the others need not know! Your father was the best and bravest of our breed——”
“Strongheart!... London knows; Tokyo knows; every British correspondent cabled it to his paper that night, months ago; there are crowns of vine-leaves for you in the heart of every friend of yours; the Secret Service knows——”
“But your good name, Noreen——” he faltered.
“My name is Routledge for eternity,” she answered, and the famous eyes bent to lull him.... “Sleep, my lover, sleep.... I shall always be with you now!”
TWENTY-FOURTH CHAPTER
THE GREAT FRIEZE COAT AND THE WOMAN JOURNEY DOWN THE COAST OF CHINA TOGETHER, AND CROSS INDIA TO THE LEPER VALLEY
No one hurried a destroyer after this torpedo of a man, the “Horse-killer.” Now and then a Bingley bullet, when it is not aimed too accurately, gives a tired man a rest which his energy would not permit by any less drastic measure. Certain heroic temperaments must needs receive a jolt every little while to force them to lie down.
There are two kinds of men in the world—those who have a sense of brotherhood, and those whose every thought is an explosion designed to increase their own personal impetus. The one makes war; the other peace. Perhaps the ultimate relation between the two is suggested in the race for the cable—and its result.
Routledge healed in a month, and incidentally found his first rest in years. Noreen was with him—a tremendous thing. The two had been long apart, pent and hungering.... Meanwhile, the world read and commented upon the great story of Liaoyang. Bingley’s story led in London.
On their last day in Shanhaikwan, they walked along the Wall—Routledge and Noreen—and that night were together in the Yellow Sea. The ship was the Tung Shing, a little steamer that breasted the waves in her own way, but quite correctly. So clean and clever was she, that everyone was refreshed. There were no distractions, nor counter-attractions, and every night-view was beautiful. The loom of the Wu Tung light was over the shoulder of the East, and a cliff to avoid on the starboard. A rising wind decided not to bother, and boomed away north, before the near sea was aroused to a fit of temper.