But the shop in Ichang proved only a duplicate of the shops of old Shanghai, and they returned to the river and moved on—this time in their own boat, a clumsy, roomy junk that went more slowly and was propelled by the wind or by stalwart rowers—up through great gorges, where the river made its tortuous way—up, steadily up, over rapids or along the smooth-flowing water between gigantic walls. And as Eleanor More watched the muscles in the half-naked backs, bending to the oars or tugging and straining at the rope that hauled the boat through swift foaming rapids, she felt as if she ascended some great river of a dream world.... So Dante may have watched the shades appear and vanish, or a turn of the journey reveal new and mysterious regions of the unknown world. Already they had fallen into the habit of saying little. They sat in the sedan chairs that had been provided for the upper reaches, motionless and silent. Above them the great walls stretched dizzily or opened out around quiet waters where the light lay dazzling on distant peaks; or they watched the water as it broke and swirled about the bow and the boat groaned and bumped under the tugging strain that brought it at last one reach higher up. Often the journey was halted for expeditions into the country on one side or the other as they made their way steadily toward the Thibetan ranges that stretched to the west. But no clew had been reached.... Always the courteous reception of Kou Ying’s inquiries—always the spreading before them of gorgeous robes and flower-embroidered garments—but no glimpse or hint of a blue coat and shining dragons. “I begin to feel as if it were a dream,” said Eleanor, “we have been remembering all these years—only a dream-coat. It was so long ago!” she mused. “And this is another life.” She motioned to the strange fields about them—the low houses among the trees and the carved, fantastic temple rising from the grove near by. “Almost another world!” she murmured. The sedan chairs halted for luncheon. A little distance away, the bearers sat or lolled at rest. In the distance Kou Ying consulted with a Taoist priest, who shook his head and turned away. They saw Kou Ying move swiftly after him and press a coin in his hand. The priest stopped and regarded it with passing motion, and spoke a few words again, and shook his head and went on to his temple. Kou Ying returned to them with the usual formula of failure. He motioned to the bearers to take up the chairs and continue the journey. But Richard More stayed him. “Wait,” he said. He was searching in his pocket for something. Kou Ying paused without interest. And Richard More took from his pocket a yellow paper, and began to unfold it with slow, rustling fingers. The Oriental’s face changed subtly. He moved toward it and reached out his hand. “What is that?” he demanded. Richard More looked up. “I had forgotten—that I had it,” he said absently.