he
story the sea-captain told, of me playing 'Willow Branches' at the Lake
of Cranes. O Marco Polo, before you came there were the moon and the
sun and the stars, and I was lonely. O Marco Polo," she cried, "you
wouldn't go, you couldn't go! What would you be doing in cold Venice,
far from the warm moonlit garden."

"Sure, I'll be lonely, too, little Golden Bells, a white monk in a
monastery, praying for you."

"But I don't want to be prayed for, Marco Polo." She stamped her foot.
"I want to be loved. And there you have it out of me, and a great
shame to you that you made me say it, me that was desired of many, and
would have no man until you came. And surely it is the harsh God you
have made out of The Kindly Person you spoke of. And 'tis not He would
have my heart broken, and you turning yourself into a crabbed monk.
And how do you know your preaching will convert any? 'Tis few you
converted here. Ah, I'm sorry, dear Marco Polo; I shouldn't have said
it, but there is despair on me, and I afraid of losing you."

"'Tis true, though. I have nothing, nobody to show."

"You have me. Am n't I converted? Am n't I a Christian? Marco Polo,
let me tell you something. I said to my father I wanted to marry you,
and I asked him if he would give you a province to govern, and he said,
'Sure and welcome.' And I asked him for Yangchan, the pleasantest city
in all China. And he said, 'Sure and welcome, Golden Bells.' And I
told him we would be married, and go there and govern his people
kindly. And you wouldn't shame me before my own father, and all the
people of China. You couldn't do that, Marco Polo. Marco Polo,"--she
came toward him, her eye shining,--"let you stay!"

"Christ protect me! Christ guide me! Christ before me!"

"Marco Polo!"

"Christ behind me!"

"The moon, Marco Polo, and me, Golden Bells, and the nightingale in the
apple-tree!"

"Christ on my right hand! Christ my left! Christ below me!"

Her arms were around his neck, cheek came close to his.

"Marco Polo! Marco Polo!"

"Christ above me!"

"My Marco Polo!"

"O, God! Golden Bells!"

And he put his arms around her, and his cheek to hers, and all the
battle and the disappointment and the fear and the strangeness went out
of him. And down by the lake the wee frogs chirruped, and in the
apple-tree the nightingale never ceased from singing. And they stayed
there shoulder to shoulder and cheek to cheek. And the moon rose
high