Night Orders in the Cabin
By the deeper watches of the night, the wind beyond the mouth of Taihu had already quieted, coming only in low, intermittent breaths that skimmed slowly along the ship's side. The scattered lights near the landing showed through the damp haze like a few yellow beans tossed into the mist—too far away to gather into a glow, too near to be clearly made out. Madam Wen's vessel lay steady at anchor, moored deep, the hull rising and falling only faintly with the current, so little that one could scarcely feel it move.
Yet the lamp in the forward cabin was still burning.
After the three of them had come aboard in daylight and recounted everything from beginning to end, Madam Wen had not immediately decided who would go and who would remain. She had first ordered a skiff made ready and sent ahead to scout out the situation. At the same time, she had the clerk in the front cabin make a preliminary inquiry into the shop deed at Ping Wharf, the amount of the deposit silver, and the background of the broker who had handled the arrangement. By the latter half of the night, the first report had already come back. Chief Steward Zhou had also sorted out which men could be taken along, while the silver pouch, calling cards, and medicine case had all been laid ready outside. Only then did Madam Wen have the curtain lowered softly and summon the chief steward, the old housekeeper, and two capable household guards into the inner cabin.
The wick inside had not been trimmed high, but the lamplight was steady. A simple map lay spread open on the table, showing several landings and branching waterways beyond the mouth of Taihu. The strokes were few, but each was clear. Beside it sat a small silver pouch, two calling cards, an old medicine case, and a copy of some contract papers wrapped in fine cloth. It was not the original deed, merely a transcription Madam Wen had ordered someone to make overnight after hearing Wang A'fu's account: the location of the shopfront at Ping Wharf, the amount of the deposit silver, the name of the man from central Shandong, Tang Yacai's role as broker, and even the time limit and exact wording used when they had smashed in the door and beaten people. Every point had been written down.
Madam Wen sat beneath the lamp, her expression as composed as it had been during the day, showing not the slightest trace of weariness.
"Chief Steward Zhou," she said, "at first light, you will take men and accompany the Wang family's elder brother back."
The middle-aged man standing before the table answered at once. He was not tall, and nothing in his dress drew attention, but his face held the settled steadiness of a man long used to handling matters beyond the house. At her words, he lowered his eyes to the things on the table and said, "Madam, do we secure the people first, or the deed?"
"The people first," Madam Wen replied without hesitation. "See to the injured first. Secure the boat, the nets, and the house as well. As for the contract papers and the accounts behind them, get a copy if you can. If you cannot, you are not to seize one by force."
She paused, then lightly touched one point on the map—the outer street beyond Ping Wharf.
"If that man from central Shandong dared bring men to smash in a door, then he is not swaggering on the strength of a single handprint on a sheet of paper. If there were no one behind him, he could not be so brazen. You are not going there to vent your temper or stand up for someone out of impulse. You are going to see this whole situation clearly."
"I understand," said Chief Steward Zhou.
Madam Wen continued, "Take silver with you. If you can help the Wang family through the debt pressing them at the moment, then do so first. Take the calling cards as well. If the other side is merely bullying people under borrowed influence, then once they see the card, they ought to draw back a little."
"And if they do not?"
Madam Wen lifted her eyes and looked at him.
"Then remember exactly who refused to yield, who turned hostile first, and who still dared lay hands on people after seeing my card."
She did not speak loudly, nor was there any weight in her tone. Yet beneath the lamplight, her words were like a fine, steady needle driven straight into the map upon the table. The two household guards had been standing to one side with lowered hands. At that single sentence, both men sharpened slightly, though neither asked a question. They merely answered together, "Yes, Madam."
Madam Wen turned to the old housekeeper. "Add more clean cloth to the medicine case. Two bottles of spirits to stop bleeding as well. And a small packet of ginseng rootlets. Qian-shi took a blow from a staff. If it is only a flesh wound, so be it. But if there is bruising inside, the longer it is left, the harder it will be to treat."
The old woman bowed her head and committed it to memory.
Only then did Madam Wen gently push the silver pouch forward.
"If the so-called deposit silver truly was no more than a small earnest payment, then advance it first and leave them no excuse to come smashing things a second time. But if it is not a small earnest at all—if that name is only being used as a pretext to ensnare people—then it becomes all the more important to trace where the accounts lead. On this trip, do not think of deciding black from white for anyone just yet. Bring me back the people, the accounts, the methods behind it, and whose official shadow lies over the matter—one by one."
Chief Steward Zhou said in a low voice, "Rest easy, Madam."
The lamplight trembled softly over the table. Outside, the water slid along the underside of the hull with a hollow sound, then sank back into silence.
Only then did Madam Wen lean back the slightest inch, as though it was not until this moment that she had truly taken the matter into her hands. She lifted a hand and rubbed lightly at the space between her brows, though her voice remained as calm as ever.
"The two children will remain on the ship for now."
Chief Steward Zhou raised his eyes slightly.
"Neither of them is to be taken back?"
"Neither," Madam Wen said. "The Wang family's girl knows the waterways and moves quickly. She has a hard nature and looks as though she can carry her share of things. But in the end, she is still an unmarried young girl. As for that boy—"
She paused, as though remembering the pale young face she had seen in the cabin earlier, still marked by pain.
"His leg has not healed, and the breath in his chest is not steady. If he goes back with them, not only will he be of no help, he will be all the easier for others to seize upon."
She lowered her gaze to the map again and said evenly, "What must be divided now is not closeness and distance, but weight and urgency. The Wang family's elder brother must return because he is the one who knows the way, knows the people, and must be the one to speak. The two children remain on the ship because, for the moment, this place is safer than the shore."
Chief Steward Zhou nodded.
"And if the Wang family insists on taking their daughter back?"
Madam Wen smiled faintly. The smile was slight as spring water passing over stone, stirring only the thinnest line of light.
"I will speak to him myself."
After that, she said no more. She only lifted her hand, moved the small silver scissors aside, spread a blank calling card flat, and lowered her head to write a few fresh lines. The strokes were not sharp; if anything, they were almost gentle. But every line was perfectly steady, as though what she set down was not merely a name, but an entire weight of standing and dignity sufficient to press upon men's hearts.
That night, no raised voices were heard aboard the ship again. There were only the soft comings and goings of footsteps, the opening and closing of wooden boxes, the rustle of medicine cloth, and now and then the light knock of a small boat brushing against the landing stones outside before someone quickly pushed it away with a bamboo pole. By the time everything had been put in order, even the deepest layer of darkness at the horizon had begun, ever so slightly, to loosen.
Parting Ways at Dawn
When Fang Yingjie woke, the sky beyond the papered window was still no more than a wash of blue-gray.
After the hot restorative broth the night before—the one meant to steady the nerves and lull them into sleep—he had meant to force himself to stay awake a little longer and say a few more words to Wang Yan. But the moment his head touched the pillow, it had felt as though someone had suddenly drawn the bones out of his body, and he had sunk straight down into darkness. It was not that he had not stirred in the night. He had. Yet each time his eyelids lifted the slightest fraction, the heaviness rising out of the seams of his bones had dragged him under again. Now that he was truly awake, the breath in his chest was still not entirely steady, but at least it no longer went ragged the instant he moved.
As he braced himself and sat up, Wang Yan happened to wake as well on the narrow couch beside his.
She had clearly not slept as deeply as he had. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes, and her hair had come a little loose, yet compared with how she had looked at the wharf and later on the boat, there was more life in her now, more warmth of the living. Seeing him rise, she stared for a moment, then asked softly,
"You're awake too?"
Fang Yingjie nodded. Before he could say anything more, there came two light taps from beyond the curtain.
"Young Master, miss—the madam asks that you first have some hot porridge once you are up."
It was the same older servant woman who had brought the medicine and soup the previous night. Her tone was neither loud nor soft, but perfectly measured.
The two answered, and before long had washed and made themselves presentable. By the time they stepped out of the inner cabin, the vessel was already deep in the ordered busyness of morning. One person was carrying a medicine chest across the gangplank; another passed a small silver pouch to a servant, who tucked it away inside his robe; two more were at the skiff, testing the oars and adjusting the ropes. For all the movement, no one laughed loudly, and no one's steps fell into disorder. It was as if every motion landed precisely where it ought to land.
Wang Yan stopped short at the sight. The last trace of fright that had lingered in her eyes since the night before seemed to be pressed down by that quiet orderliness.
Madam Wen was standing just outside the forward cabin.
She was dressed even more simply than she had been the day before: a lake-green outer robe over plain inner garments, her hair pinned up without any unnecessary ornaments, save for a single slender hairpin at her temple. Morning light reflected off the water and touched her, and somehow the whole boat seemed steadier for it. When she saw the two of them emerge, she first looked at Fang Yingjie's complexion, then at Wang Yan, and said gently,
"Sit first."
Hot porridge had already been laid out on the table, together with small cakes and two light side dishes. Beside them stood a bowl of warm medicine. It was not bitter; instead, it carried the faint fragrance of ginseng.
Madam Wen did not speak of serious matters at once. Only after the two of them had each eaten half a bowl of porridge and some of the color had returned to their faces did she begin slowly,
"I have already sent word back to the Wang family."
The sentence was not heavily spoken, yet it plucked tight the cord in both their hearts all at once.
Wang Yan lifted her head at once.
"My father?"
"Your father is going back as well," Madam Wen said. "This matter concerns his own household. If he does not return, others cannot speak in his place. I have sent Chief Steward Zhou with him, along with four household servants. They are carrying silver, calling cards, and medicine for wounds."
Wang Yan's lips moved. She looked as though she wanted to ask, What about me? But before the words could leave her mouth, Madam Wen had already turned her gaze toward her.
"You will remain on the boat."
Wang Yan froze.
"Why? I know the waterways—"
"I know you do," Madam Wen interrupted gently. "And I know how you chased your way here. But at a moment like this, it is not simply a matter of whoever knows the road being the one who ought to go. Your household is already in turmoil. There are wounded people, and the debt trouble is not yet settled. If you are dragged into it as well, your father will only have one more thing weighing on his mind."
As she said this, her eyes came lightly to rest on Fang Yingjie.
"As for him, there is even less to say."
Fang Yingjie had been about to speak himself. But the moment she looked at him, the words caught in his throat.
Madam Wen did not silence him by force. She simply spoke with perfect clarity.
"Your leg is not healed, and the breath in your chest has not fully settled either. Had you not been exhausted out of your wits last night, you might not have slept at all. You may look stronger this morning, but if you fling yourself back into a chaotic river port like the Taihu inlet, you may be able to chase someone one moment and fail to remain standing the next."
"If you go with them, you will not be helping Brother Wang. You will only force others to turn back and protect you."
She spoke neither harshly nor lightly, and yet every word landed squarely on the truth of the matter. Fang Yingjie lowered his head. His fingers curled unconsciously against his knee. He found that he could not refute a single word.
Seeing him fall silent, Madam Wen softened her tone a little.
"I am not keeping you both here because I mean to cast you aside. I am doing it because the first thing is to separate what matters most from what matters less."
"Brother Wang is returning so he can identify the people involved, the house, and the trail of debts. You two are staying because for now you must keep clear of that knot of chaos. Once matters over there are understood, we can decide who should return and who should go. That way, everyone will not rush headlong into the same mess at once."
At this, Wang Yan's eyes tightened faintly, though she still tried to hold herself firm.
"But my mother is still hurt…"
"Which is exactly why your father must not be made to divide his attention protecting you as well," Madam Wen said. "If you truly want to help your family, then the best thing you can do right now is steady yourself first."
Her voice remained calm and level. Wang Yan had been ready to argue again, but for some reason, the moment she met that gentle, unyielding gaze, the stubbornness in her seemed to be pressed down by an invisible hand. It did not rise again. She only bit her lip softly.
Just then, footsteps approached from the outer cabin.
By the time Wang A'fu came in, he had clearly already been told of the arrangements. The day before, when calamity had fallen upon his household without warning, his face had been ashen and his mind in utter disarray. Though he still looked tense now, he was no longer wholly at a loss. Yet the moment he saw Wang Yan, something in his eyes shifted.
"Yan'er."
Wang Yan rose at once.
"Father, I'll go with you—"
"No." Wang A'fu shook his head before she could finish. His voice was rough, but he kept it low. "Your mother's side has been provided for. Madam has prepared medicine, and it will be taken back with us. Shunzi is there too. If you come back with me, even if you do not add a full layer of trouble, you'll add half a layer of worry. You… you stay here with Madam for now."
Having said this much, he seemed afraid that if he went on speaking he might change his mind. He turned his eyes away at once.
When Fang Yingjie saw him, he hurried to his feet as well.
"Uncle A'fu, I—"
Wang A'fu looked at him, and the weariness in his eyes eased ever so slightly.
"You're not going either."
"With your injuries, I was afraid last night that your last breath would scatter right there on the boat. If you come back with me and run into those people again, you won't even be able to run properly."
Then he cupped his hands toward Madam Wen, as though setting down the heaviest burden in his heart, and said in a low voice,
"These two children… I leave them in your care, Madam."
Madam Wen merely inclined her head.
"Rest easy."
The three words were softly spoken, yet they seemed to press down the disorder still floating through the cabin.
Outside, the skiff had already been made ready. The silver pouch, the calling cards, the medicine chest, and the travel provisions had all been laid neatly by the rail. Chief Steward Zhou stood by the planks. Seeing that the moment had come, he did not press the matter, but only gave a slight bow.
"Brother Wang, let us go."
Wang A'fu answered, but in the end he still turned back for one last look at his daughter.
This time Wang Yan made no fuss. She only pressed her lips together so tightly that they had gone pale. Her eyes shone, though whether from unshed tears or the wind, no one could say. Only when her father truly stepped down from the deck did she suddenly take half a step forward and call in a voice kept very low,
"Father."
Wang A'fu paused.
"When you come back… remember to bring me some of the sugar pastries from the flat wharf."
The instant the words left her mouth, everyone in the cabin fell still.
Wang A'fu stared for a moment, caught off guard. Then his eyes reddened all at once. He did not turn around. He only nodded hard.
"I will."
After that single answer, he did not stop again, but went down with Chief Steward Zhou.
When the skiff pushed away from the boat, the water gave a soft little sway. Wang Yan stood at the cabin entrance and watched her father's back retreat farther and farther into the distance. Only after the skiff had passed beyond the hanging curtain of shadow did she slowly draw back her gaze. She never cried. But the color had drained a little from her face, and even that lively brightness that usually shone in her seemed to have sunk under.
Madam Wen did not try to console her at once.
She simply stood there and let Wang Yan finish that last, stubborn effort to hold herself together. Only then did she turn to the servant woman beside her and say,
"Take the young lady back to the cabin and let her rest awhile."
Then she looked at Fang Yingjie.
"You as well."
Fang Yingjie had still been staring in the direction the skiff had gone. At her words, he started slightly, then answered in a low voice.
When the two of them had gone back inside, Madam Wen finally turned away. Standing by the window, she watched as the little skiff slowly vanished into the watery light. Her expression remained unchanged, but beneath her calm eyes lay a depth of meaning that was still, steady, and unreadable.
A breath of wind slipped in beneath the curtain and stirred one corner of the calling card on the table. She lifted a hand and pinned it down. Her face remained tranquil, without the slightest visible ripple.
Rest in Adjacent Cabins
After Wang A'fu left the boat, the whole vessel somehow grew quieter rather than less so.
Outside the mouth of Taihu, the wind had softened since morning, and the heave of the water had gentled with it. The boat did not put off at once. It merely drifted another half li along the outer channel, just enough to leave behind the clutter of voices and prying eyes near the dock. To anyone watching from shore, it would have looked like nothing more than a respectable craft shifting to a better mooring. Yet for those inside the cabins, that half-li move seemed to lay a thin veil between them and all that had been left behind on land—the mud, the spilled wine, the creditors, the pounding on the door.
The old serving woman took Wang Yan back to one of the side cabins first.
She had held herself together all the way there, but the moment she stepped inside, it was as though half the breath she had been forcing herself to keep broke loose. She still insisted she was fine, yet her hand had already curled unconsciously into the hem of her clothing, and even the simple act of sitting down took her longer than usual. The old woman asked nothing. She brought a basin of hot water for Wang Yan to wash her hands and face, fetched a clean pair of shoes and stockings to replace the wet ones she had worn while chasing the boat the night before, and at last set a small dish of warmed sugar pastries by her hand—the kind commonly sold by the Taihu docks, crisp and thin, with a faint sweetness rising from them.
Wang Yan stared at the plate for a moment, as though she did not know whether she ought to reach for it.
A short while ago, in front of her father, she had forced herself to ask for only one thing: When you come back, remember to bring me some sugar pastries. And now the pastries had truly been set before her first. The sour ache she had been pressing down with all her might gave a small, treacherous twist inside her chest and rose sharper than before.
She drew a quiet breath, then finally picked up one small piece.
The sweetness melted on her tongue, and heat almost sprang into her eyes at once. She lowered her head in a hurry and chewed very slowly, as though if she hurried even a little, the thin shell of composure she had managed to keep around herself would break apart.
On the other side, Fang Yingjie was led back by the old serving woman to a small front-side cabin.
He had meant to say he was perfectly all right, but the instant his right foot settled on the floorboards, the dull swelling ache in the gaps of the bone reminded him otherwise. A full day of chasing boats, racing through the docks, and holding himself upright on sheer will had, in the end, dragged his injury into something worse again. The old woman was deft-handed and long-practiced. She asked first about the pain under his ribs, then about his leg and foot. After that, she carefully unwound the bandages Old Daoist Xuan had tied for him earlier and changed them for fresh, clean ones. The medicine smelled faintly of bitter herbs. When it first touched the skin it felt cool, then gradually warm, and before long it truly had pressed down some of the heavy, stuffed throbbing in his bones.
When the dressing had been changed, she brought him a bowl of clear medicinal broth and told him, "It moves the blood and smooths the breath without harming the spleen or stomach."
Fang Yingjie took it from her and drank a few swallows with his head lowered. The tight, guarded breath he had been holding inside his chest ever since morning seemed to ease at last, if only by half.
About the time it took to finish a meal, another serving woman came from the front cabin to summon them.
"Madam Wen asks the two of you to come sit with her."
By the time they stepped out together, the daylight had brightened considerably. The dock lay farther away now, and the human noise had thinned with distance, leaving only the creak of oars and the faint slap of water against the hull. Heard long enough, the sounds seemed capable of slowing even the disorder in a person's heart.
The front cabin had been put in immaculate order. Two small stools had been added beside the table, and half of the blue-green curtain by the window had been lifted so that the wind could pass through without blowing straight onto those inside. Madam Wen sat beside the table, a white porcelain cup in her hand, and did not speak at once. Only after the two of them had seated themselves did she look at them and say, in a calm voice,
"In the daylight hours, the boat will not go far."
Wang Yan had been waiting for exactly that sentence. The moment she heard it, she looked up.
"Then my father—"
"If all goes smoothly, there should be word before tonight. If something delays them on the way, someone will still return to the boat with news by tomorrow morning at the latest," Madam Wen said. "What matters most for the two of you now is not letting yourselves fall into confusion before anything has even happened. You must steady your hearts first."
When she said this, her gaze came to rest lightly on Wang Yan's face, and her tone softened still further.
"If you exhaust yourself now by imagining the very worst of everything, then when the real news comes, you may not have the strength left to bear it."
Wang Yan's lips moved, but in the end she only answered with a low, obedient, "Mm."
Madam Wen turned then to Fang Yingjie.
"The same goes for you."
He started slightly and raised his eyes.
Her voice remained even, never pressing him.
"I know the things weighing on your heart are not limited to what lies before your eyes today."
The words were spoken lightly, yet they landed at the truest place. Fang Yingjie had been sitting straight-backed until then, but at that, his fingers drew in almost imperceptibly.
"Things have come this far," she went on. "The more chaotic they become, the more important it is to sort what matters first."
She did not follow by asking what else burdened him, where he had come from, or who might be behind him. Once she had touched the point, she stopped there and gathered her words back with perfect restraint.
"For now, the only thing you can do is keep hold of your own breath. When word returns from there, then you may see how the road ahead should be taken. So long as a life has not been cut off, the road is not cut off either."
There was nothing stirring or lofty in the way she said it. It was almost as plain as if she were stating some ordinary fact. Yet for reasons he could not have named, when the words reached Fang Yingjie's ears, they seemed to press flat by half an inch the knot of thoughts that had been tightening and tangling in his chest without end.
He lowered his head and answered, "Yes."
Madam Wen said nothing more after that.
She did not press them about their origins, nor force her kindness into their faces. She merely had two cups of clear tea brought in and then let them return to rest. Her sense of measure was extraordinarily sure. It was as if she knew perfectly well that the two children were now aboard her vessel, yet felt no need to demand every answer at once or take everything into her own hands at once. It was enough, for the moment, to settle them.
By afternoon, the boat had shifted once more, gliding slowly a little farther along the outer waterway.
Not far off, a black-awning skiff drifted past, its oar creaking softly. Farther still, peddlers at the dockside could be heard calling out with shoulder poles, but their voices reached across the damp breath of the lake so muffled that they were little more than shadows of sound. The sun had grown stronger than it had been at dawn, and the lake glittered in broken shards of light. Yet by the time that brightness entered the cabin, it had already been sifted through blue-green curtains and wooden lattice, leaving behind only a thin layer of warmth that did not trouble the mind.
Wang Yan leaned by the window and looked out for a long time. Then, in a low voice, she asked, "Do you think... my father will come back?"
She had not dared to ask it at the cabin door earlier. Only now did the question finally escape her.
Fang Yingjie was silent for a moment before he said, "He will."
The word left his mouth, and even as he spoke it, he knew he did not possess anything like complete certainty. Yet once it had been spoken, it seemed to settle something all the same.
Wang Yan turned her head toward him. Much of the bright, brisk spirit she usually wore in her eyes had dimmed, but she still forced out a small smile.
"I think so too."
"My father promised me he would bring me sugar pastries from Ping Wharf."
When she said that, her voice turned faintly light, as though she feared that if she went on, she truly would not be able to hold herself together. Fang Yingjie looked at her. Since the moment when the wine jar had shattered at the gate of the Wang family courtyard, the pressure in his chest had never fully left him, and now it rose once more. But he still said nothing. He only reached over and gently pushed the plate of sugar pastries he had not yet finished toward her.
By dusk, the wind outside had freshened again.
The sky had not fully darkened when two small lamps were hung outside the cabin first. Their reflections swayed over the water like two soft yellow moons fallen onto the lake. Farther off, lights had begun to kindle at the dock and on other moored boats as well, scattered in the mist like stars, and the sight only made this vessel seem quieter still.
Deep into the night, the old serving woman brought them hot broth again.
It was not medicine this time, only a very light calming draught steeped with a few gentle leaves. Once drunk, it loosened the limbs by degrees and made even the eyelids heavy. She merely said, "Madam feared the two of you might not sleep well tonight, so she sent this," in a tone so matter-of-fact that such care sounded like the most natural thing in the world.
Though both of them had managed some sleep the night before, neither had rested deeply. They had risen at dawn, and all day long their hearts had been stretched taut. By now, how could they possibly go on holding themselves upright? It was not long after the broth went down that drowsiness began to press over them layer by layer.
Before sleeping, Fang Yingjie still could not help touching the jade token hidden against his chest.
Its surface was cool and smooth, its edges worn round. It was not a large token, yet resting in his palm at that moment, it seemed still to carry the same unhurried but steady presence that had once received them at the outlying wharf of Pingsha Market, and that had received them again beneath the lamp in this cabin tonight.
Outside the window, the water murmured softly, and the lamplight swayed.
Through the curtain, he thought he could still hear low footsteps moving beyond the outer cabin, as though someone were shifting the mooring again, or perhaps putting things in order somewhere on deck. But the sounds were faint and never alarming. To ears worn thin with exhaustion, they became no more than distant surf. Listen for a moment, and then they too seemed to sink away.
By the time both side cabins had fallen fully silent, the two small lamps outside had changed position one after the other.
The great boat had moved farther from the dock.
And yet it was still within the waters of Taihu, still upon the old roads of wind and water. It had not truly left the lake. It was only that after this night, the two children had come to remain aboard Madam Wen's vessel, securely sheltered for the time being beneath the order and dignity she maintained around her.
The wind on shore was still there. The spilled wine was still there. The tangle of debts at the mouth of Taihu had by no means truly passed. Yet for this one night at least, they finally slept in peace.
And the party that had gone out earlier was even now making its way back, little by little, along the dark water and under the night's shifting shadows, turning once more toward the gate of the Wang family courtyard.
Poetic Coda
The rail-lamps still burned; the water scarcely stirred.
In a single night, their roads divided and ran apart.
The silver pouch and calling card went ashore with the tide;
old wounds and startled dreams grew lighter aboard the boat.
At parting, the daughter still held back her tears;
the old father only answered over his shoulder.
Best of all was the blue curtain, stirring in an unhurried wind,
granting the turmoil, before all else, a place to come to rest.
(End of Chapter Twenty-Five)