There was another urge to realisation that came in that brief and laboured walk to the room where he had seen the woman and her own in the yellow lamplight. It seemed the nexus to an ampler power and a broader wisdom. Nifton Bend’s part in Young China was already done. To a material mind, it was the darkest hour, but Romney lived and moved that moment in a larger world where brave unselfish thoughts have immortal potency. He saw that no task is finished with the conceiver—that Nifton Bend was merely the drawer of plans, that the builders must come, that matter must obey since the plan was in the world. He saw also a new power in the quick refusal of the Hunchback to bring his young men into this house of secret death. The dreamer would spare the builders. The door was opened instantly. Romney stepped behind the Hunchback to keep the eyes of the hall from observing the change, for Nifton Bend was himself at the turn of the knob. Such men cannot be relied upon as actors.... "I have brought you back an old friend, Moira," he said. Romney pushed the door shut behind him and stepped forward to the woman.... They did not speak. Nifton Bend asked with concern: "You did not sleep?" "I was asleep when you sent the tea." The Hunchback’s face was turned from her. Romney saw the broad bent shoulders sag a little. The woman did not see that, but sensed the recoil of the tragic shaft that had entered her lover’s heart.... Her eyes instantly left Romney’s face. She turned, almost running—her hands to the low shoulders. She was never more beautiful.... Nifton Bend lifted the little teapot from its wrapping in padded silk. "How long since this came?" he asked. The voice was calm again, but the tone was hollow. "Don’t drink that. I’ll get some fresh for you both," she said. "It must be a half-hour since that came—" "Moira ... don’t call for more now. We will sit down together—we three. Romney has brought us the voice of God from the desert.... I hoped you would rest a little more. I was thoughtless to let them waken you—" Romney could scarcely credit his listening. The woman spoke: "Indeed, I never felt more animate. I was fathoms deep when the knock came—deep, deep and dreaming. The knock must have repeated several times, for it became a part of my dream, before I awoke and answered.... The _boy_ said that you were having tea and had sent some to me. I thought you would soon be coming, so I drank as I dressed—to be ready for you. I began to feel more joyous and light—like a little girl combing her hair for a great day. It was like a day of something-to-happen. It must have been your coming, Sir Romney. We hoped to see you last night—"