The "old man" went on with his clearing. Romney had never had any truck with this person and did not care to begin now. He was aboard and the _John Dividend_ was getting into the down-channel under her own steam. Straight to the engine-room where he had once trafficked with coal against his will, Romney made his way now and presently was measured head to toe by a single and most calculating gray eye. "Where are you heading, Mack?" he asked. "Tongu. Chifu." "Take this river-coolie in charge. I’m healed. I go to Chifu with you. I want him to go too. Cut his boat loose from the ladder. I’ll pay him for it. I’ll pay him for his time and passage back. I’ll pay you for managing the job.... How much?" He felt light and fine toward McLean. If it had not been for that loan, he would have gone to Japan instead of the Gobi. It was not a matter in which McLean was accustomed to make haste. He did not appear disturbed by the outcries of the Chinese, who thought the American was interceding with the engine-man to pay for his passage out from the water-front.... Presently the fence spoke. Romney would have paid many times the amount for the service. He found the steward and a berth.... They were three miles below the city when he went on deck. The ladder had been drawn up. No native craft was trailing.... The river boatman was easily placated later from the purse. Tongu was passed without misadventure. Presently the _John Dividend_ was tumbling around the capes in the Yellow Sea, and Romney with quickened pulse, five days later, started inland from Chifu to Tushi-kow. *2* Romney was changed. The thing called civilisation settled back. Only the spirit of that which he had passed through remained with him from past days. All seemed closed, integrated. He travelled light. There was no menace, no apparent pursuit. He could not hold the continual wariness. Fear slipped from him before he rejoined Bamban at Tushi-kow. They were on the road to Turgim with two camels and one driver with provisions. Romney leaned forward. Sometimes it was like a terrible thirst. The pictures of the past no longer fed his heart. They too were completely integrated. He wanted the living woman again—her voice and hands, her sweet and sacred mysteries. He was burned with waiting. The actual resistance of the miles of sand and rock against the tread of swift camels was a peculiar and persistent deviltry. His sleep was brief and fragmentary. Only lovers and great workmen can endure such sleeplessness. Many times each night he awakened to see the greater stars moved but a short step westward.... Turgim, that had meant so much in approach, was nothing but a night-camp upon arrival. Ahead was another long barren stretch to Nadiram; every hour had to be wrestled back. His images all had to do with a certain coming hour.