For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. Pearls too! I mean it. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. And now she was witnessing or observing the complicated machinery of civilization through which they had come, at length to land on the beach of her island.
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