“From the outer land of Im-kau,” replied the other.  “Over the Kang-ling mountains.”

“It is a moon-to-moon journey,” said Ten-teh.  “Few travellers have ever reached the valley by that inaccessible track.”

“More may come before the snow has melted,” replied the stranger, with a stress of significance.  “Less than seven days ago this person stood upon the northern plains.”

Ten-teh raised himself upon his arm.  “There existed, many cycles ago, a path—­of a single foot’s width, it is said—­along the edge of the Pass called the Ram’s Horn, but it has been lost beyond the memory of man.”

“It has been found again,” said the stranger, “and Kha-hia and his horde of Kins, joined by the vengeance-breathing Fuh-chi, lie encamped less than a short march beyond the Pass.”

“It can matter little,” said Ten-teh, trembling but speaking to reassure himself.  “The people are at peace among themselves, the Capital adequately defended, and an army sufficiently large to meet any invasion can march out and engage the enemy at a spot most convenient to ourselves.”

“A few days hence, when all preparation is made,” continued the stranger, “a cloud of armed men will suddenly appear openly, menacing the western boundaries.  The Capital and the fortified places will be denuded, and all who are available will march out to meet them.  They will be but as an empty shell designed to serve a crafty purpose, for in the meanwhile Kha-hia will creep unsuspected through the Kang-lings by the Ram’s Horn and before the army can be recalled he will swiftly fall upon the defenceless Capital and possess it.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Ten-teh, “why has the end tarried thus long if it be but for this person’s ears to carry to the grave so tormenting a message!  Yet how comes it, O stranger, that having been admitted to Kha-hia’s innermost council you now betray his trust, or how can reliance be placed upon the word of one so treacherous?”

“Touching the reason,” replied the stranger, with no appearance of resentment, “that is a matter which must one day lie between Kha-hia, this person, and one long since Passed Beyond, and to this end have I uncomplainingly striven for the greater part of a lifetime.  For the rest, men do not cross the King-langs in midwinter, wearing away their lives upon those stormy heights, to make a jest of empty words.  Already sinking into the Under World, even as I am now powerless to raise myself above the ground, I, Nau-Kaou, swear and attest what I have spoken.”

“Yet, alas!” exclaimed Ten-teh, striking his breast bitterly in his dejection, “to what end is it that you have journeyed?  Know that out of all the eleven villages by famine and pestilence not another man remains.  Beyond the valley stretch the uninhabited sand plains, so that between here and the Capital not a solitary dweller could be found to bear the message.”

“The Silent One laughs!” replied Nau-Kaou dispassionately; and drawing his cloak more closely about him he would have composed himself into a reverent attitude to Pass Beyond.