"Haven't an earthly idea what you're babbling about."
"You said—that day—that you—oh, Finch, please do it!" He made a gesture to express mystery. "That lovely thing you said you did—in front of the little goddess."
"Oh, that!" He stood motionless above the candle flame, an odd pointed shadow on his forehead, the hollows of his eyes dark.
"You wouldn't like that. It would frighten you."
"Frighten me! Never! I shan't tell a soul of it."
"Swear!"
"I swear."
"If you breathe a word of this I'm done with you for ever and ever, remember!"
He went to the cupboard. There was a mysterious rustling, while Wake sat upright on the bed shivering in ecstasy.
Finch brought forth the figure of Kuan Yin and set it on the desk. He took from a drawer a packet of small pyramids of incense, and stood one at her feet. The moon had risen above the treetops and was sending a shaft of light, clearly defined as the blade of a sword, in at the window. Finch blew out the candle. The various objects in the room were reclaimed by darkness; only the delicate porcelain figure of Kuan Yin held the light like a jewel. He lighted the incense. A blue spiral of smoke arose from it, and spread like a tremulous veil to the verge of the moon-shaft. A pungent, exotic scent sought the expectant nostrils of the boys. They became still as the statue herself; their faces, drained of colour by the moon, seemed also shaped in porcelain. A sudden gust had arisen; the oaks began to sigh and then to shake. The moon, which had seemed clear of the treetops, now was caught in their upward straining, her light shattered into bright prisms dissolving, rejoining, dancing across the darkness. The spirits of the boys were not in their bodies, but were liberated by the incense.
Under the guidance of Kuan Yin, patroness of sailors, they floated through the casement into moonlit seas of an unearthly beauty.
