Kou Ying reached to it. But Richard held it away. His finger traced a line along the paper and paused.... “This must be the place—here?” He looked about him, at the clustering houses and the Taoist temple on the right. Kou Ying’s face bent eagerly above the paper. “Where did you get this?” he asked huskily. There was a strange, quiet gleam in the yellow face. “The man I told you of—Stewart—gave it to me.... I had forgotten—till now. Will it help, do you think?” Kou Ying looked at him, almost with compassion, it seemed. His finger touched the paper. But he made no further move to take it. “Hold it to the light!” he said. And when Richard More held it against the light they saw, gleaming high, an imperial dragon and beside it the four strange cabalistic marks. “It is the royal seal,” said Kou Ying quietly—“the seal of a dynasty long since deposed. Only documents of rare value are inscribed on this paper.” He waited a moment in silence. “It will tell us the way,” he said slowly-“Whoever sees that paper must speak true words—on penalty of death.” He held out his hand. “Give it to me,” he said quietly. And Richard More yielded it without demur. The man’s whole bearing had changed. His face had lost its sullen look. He gazed down at the yellowed paper with quiet intentness. Presently he looked up. The smile on his face was youthful and full of light. The antagonism was gone, and the repression and difference of race. “I wish I had known before—that you carried this,” he said gently. He smoothed it in his yellow fingers. “What would you have done—different?” asked Richard, a little curious. “I should have served you in spirit,” said Kou Ying. “This is the map of the spirit country.” He touched it reverently and waited a moment. “I cannot tell you more. My words would not have meaning—for you———” But Eleanor More leaned forward a little, with parted lips. “Tell us,” she said swiftly. And Kou Ying looked at her a moment in grave silence. The paper in his hand seemed to radiate a kind of light and remove him mistily. “You will know,” he said, “—all that the paper can tell. You will know—soon.... But I cannot tell you.” He motioned to the bearers and they took up the chairs and moved forward. And wherever the chairs halted and the paper was presented, there was swift hurrying and obedient response to Kou Ying’s questions and demands. The little procession became a kind of royal convoy. Each village that was entered received it with honor and hastened to serve it and to speed it on its way—almost as if eager to be rid of so fateful a mission. There was no dallying in progress now, and no detours leading to fruitless results. Each halt found the route ahead prepared and directions ready for Kou Ying’s hand.... But the end that they sought was always a little farther on—a day’s journey on.