At a gesture from Ko Thah Byu the Karens began trying to replace the ropes that had been wrenched from Maha’s litter.
“No use――they have been cut. I will walk; my brothers are around me,” said Maha.
Only Karens were left, for the Shans were retiring into the jungle from which they had so unexpectedly emerged.
“Will the sahib and mem return to Mouang?” said Ko Thah Byu. “It is not well to pass through the forest at night.”
Oscar assented by a silent inclination of the head. At first he could not utter a word, the revulsion from utter despair was so great. Io made up for her husband’s silence by giving fervent thanks to her deliverer in broken Karen, as she resumed her seat on her litter.
“It was all God’s doing, mem sahib,” said Ko Thah Byu in gentle tones, which curiously contrasted with his loud, impassioned address to the Shans. “Ko Thah Byu was on his way to Mouang, hoping to reach it before night should make the forest path dark. Ko Thah Byu sat by yon ruin, and read his book, and fell asleep, like the man in the pilgrim-story of whom the _padri_ [clergyman] tells. Ko Thah Byu rose, and forgot his book, and went on his way, and trod many steps towards Mouang ere his loss was known. Karen servant of Christ had to go back; but he found the book, and now the reason why he lost it is clear as the moon in the sky. Karen at Mouang would not know of the white mem’s trouble; Karen in the wood could give help. All was right――all is ever right that our Father God does for His children.”
“All was indeed ordered in mercy,” observed Io to her husband as he walked beside her litter, which was borne on again by the Karens. “My Oscar, at the worst, the very worst, I thought that the Lord would come to our help. I prayed very hard in my terror, and I am sure that you prayed too.”
“No, I did not pray,” was the gloomy reply, which astonished and distressed the young wife.
“O Oscar! I felt as if the Lord’s loving hand were holding me up,” she exclaimed.
“You saw the hand stretched forth to save; I saw the hand upraised to strike.”
Oscar had no sooner uttered the unguarded words than he wished them unsaid. The party were passing under the deep shadow of the dark trees; the torches were some way in front. Oscar could not see on his wife’s face the effect of the sentence which had escaped from him in a moment of anguish; still less could he know its effect on her mind, for Io uttered not another word until Mouang was reached. The exclamation of Oscar had been to her like a fearful revelation――a sudden gleam on a dark subject, but such a gleam as a flash of forked lightning might give.