The same calmness was Romney’s now, and the realisation that he had passed through an episode that would ever increase in importance so long as he lived. He had been with the heart of new China when it ceased to beat; more than that, he had lost a man of his own heart and a woman who had shown him the way to power and glory.... From the first moment he had been drawn to the Hunchback—a kind of passion that seemed to awaken potentialities of his being, starting within strange premonitive urgings, that left him more and more dissatisfied with the smug and the small things of life. As for courage, he had seen much of the courage of the open with its laugh and flaunted arms, but this at the last of the Hunchback broke all the former models.... Romney halted wondering. He had passed days with Ti Kung and Minglapo. The former had lifted him from the wash of the gutter literally; yet all of the night’s close-running horrors centred about the death of this white man and woman—and they were one. A grandeur, an isolation about them. ... For a moment he had forgotten himself. His body straightened, his face upturned to the morning sun. Suppose he had brought Anna Erivan to Tientsin—to the house of Minglapo. He might have left her with Moira Kelvin when the tea came. Yes, it might have happened just like that.... The old sage Rajananda must have felt the flood of love that poured forth from the American’s breast that instant. Where did he stand that he saw all this? ... Only the papers now, and the journey to the desert. He must watch. He must be sleepless. He would not be safe until he reached Nadiram, at least. A deep sense of weariness gradually oppressed. He felt his own weight and the misery of life. The world seemed mad to him—his heart thirsting for the beauty and peace of a woman—and his master. Somehow he wanted Rajananda once more before the ancient one passed. Distance and time only increased the richness of this relation. He felt the hated packet against his breast. If it were found upon him, it would prove enough forever to rob him of peace, even if the assassin failed to strike. Romney smiled again at his own weakness in the midst of recent great affairs. He knew best of all his own inconsequence.... His hand touched the purse in his pocket, and he drew it forth. It was heavy with gold. The note-case contained English and native money to a large amount.... Now it came for the first time—the possibility of his arrest in connection with the deaths of Minglapo and Nifton Bend. The servants would report his presence in the house. His steps quickened. Everywhere was the native crowd. His slightest movement toward making away with the packets would be noted.... He was hastening to the water-front. He hailed a native rivercraft, pointing to one of the farthest of the ships lying at anchor.