rd, and at the
lattice of Shen Yi he will not fail to leave a sufficient excuse for
your no-appearance."

"Your voice has the compelling ring of authority, beneficence,"
replied the stranger gratefully. "The obscure name of the one who
prostrates himself is Wo, that of his degraded father being Weh. For
this service he binds his ghost to attend your ghost through three
cycles of time in the After."

"It is remitted," said Chang Tao generously, as he resumed his way.
"May the path be flattened before your weary feet."

Thus, unsought as it were, there was placed within Chang Tao's grasp a
staff that might haply bear his weight into the very presence of
Melodious Vision herself. The exact strategy of the undertaking did
not clearly yet reveal itself, but "When fully ripe the fruit falls of
its own accord," and Chang Tao was content to leave such detail to the
guiding spirits of his destinies. As he approached the outer door he
sang cheerful ballads of heroic doings, partly because he was glad,
but also to reassure himself.

"One whom he expects awaits," he announced to the keeper of the gate.
"The name of Wo, the son of Weh, should suffice."

"It does not," replied the keeper, swinging his roomy sleeve
specifically. "So far it has an empty, short-stopping sound. It lacks
sparkle; it has no metallic ring. . . . He sleeps."

"Doubtless the sound of these may awaken him," said Chang Tao, shaking
out a score of cash.

"Pass in munificence. Already his expectant eyes rebuke the unopen
door."

Although he had been in a measure prepared by Wo, Chang Tao was
surprised to find that three persons alone occupied the chamber to
which he was conducted. Two of these were Shen Yi and a trusted slave;
at the sight of the third Chang Tao's face grew very red and the
deficiencies of his various attributes began to fill his mind with
dark forebodings, for this was Melodious Vision and no man could look
upon her without her splendour engulfing his imagination. No record of
her pearly beauty is preserved beyond a scattered phrase or two; for
the poets and minstrels of the age all burned what they had written,
in despair at the inadequacy of words. Yet it remains that whatever a
man looked for, that he found, and the measure of his requirement was
not stinted.

"Greeting," said Shen Yi, with easy-going courtesy. He was a more
meagre man than Chang Tao had expected, his face not subtle, and his
manner restrained rather than oppress