While this was going on Il-han remained with the King and the Queen, for by now they were surrounded by the Chinese, and Il-han stayed with them until the city was quiet. When the Queen rose to return to her own palace he knelt before her and said nothing until she spoke.
“Lift your head,” she commanded, and he lifted his head.
“Get to your feet,” she said, and he rose to his feet.
She gave him a long steady look.
“There will be another time,” she said. “Watch for it — and come earlier to save me.”
“Yes, Majesty,” he said.
He waited until she was gone, and then he turned to the King, preparing once more to kneel but the King stopped him with lifted hand.
“Here is sorrow,” he said, “when a kingdom comes between a man and his wife.”
He dropped his hand then and bowed his head, and Il-han knew himself dismissed.
When Il-han reached his own gate, it was barred as though for siege. He beat upon the gate and he waited but there was no answer.
“Beat again with me,” he commanded his servant.
They beat four-handed, raising such clatter that doors opened along the street and neighbors put out their heads. When they saw what was going on, they shut their doors again in haste.
In such times every small sign was of significance, and Il-han felt his heart grow cold with fear. Had some vengeance been wreaked upon his family by unknown enemies? Enemies he knew he had for he had been friend first to the Queen and then to the King, and in his double duty doubtless he had made enemies on both sides. He was casting about in his mind to know what he could do, when suddenly the gate opened a crack and the gateman looked out. When he saw who was there he beckoned to Il-han to come in, but he held the door so that only he and the servant could enter and then he barred the gate again.
“What is this?” Il-han asked.
He looked about as he spoke. Silence was everywhere. The usual bustle of servants, the shouts and laughter of his children, and Sunia’s voice of welcome, all were gone.
“Master,” the gateman whispered. “We had warning just before sunset that this house would be attacked in the night.”
“Warning?” Il-han exclaimed. “How did it come?”
“The tutor told our mistress,” the man replied. “He was away all day, after you left, and he came in at noon and he told.”
“But why?”
The man shook his head. “I know nothing. Only my mistress bade us make all haste to leave and under her command we put clothing and food into boxes and baskets and as soon as darkness fell all went to the country except me. She bade me stay here until you came and to saddle your horse ready. I have saddled the two horses for I am to go with you.”
Il-han was astounded and somewhat vexed. “How can I leave the city at this time? All is in confusion and I do not know at what moment I shall be sent for at court.”
The servant interrupted. “Master, these questions can be answered when you are with our mistress again. Now we must leave, for who knows what lies ahead? You could be seized at any moment. You must retire now to your grass roof, otherwise you will lose your life, and if the Queen is angry with you, your family, too, will die. Who knows whether she will listen a second time to the American woman?”
When Il-han still hesitated, the servant began to weep silently but Il-han would not allow such pleading.
“Do not distract me with tears,” he said sternly. “I have more to consider at this moment than my own life or even the lives of my sons.”
Upon this the servant sobbed aloud. “And can you serve if you are dead? Your father stood here even as you do. I was only a boy but I stood beside him. But he was wise — he chose to retire to his grass roof and live and protest, rather than to let his voice be silenced in death.”
“My father?” Il-han exclaimed.
“Go to his house,” the servant said. “Search his books and you will find what he was. You never knew him.”
Why this moved Il-han he himself did not know, but he bowed his head in assent and the man went to the stables and led out the two horses, saddled and ready. Il-han held in his restless horse until he heard the gate of his house barred behind him and then he galloped into the night.
It was soon after midnight when he drew rein before the wooden gate set into the earthen wall which surrounded the farmhouse where his father had lived for so many years, alone except for his few old servants some of whom still lived here and would until they died. The ancient gateman sat outside on the stone step, staring into the darkness and huddled in his padded jacket. The night wind blew chill and the moon was dark when Il-han came down from his horse and the old man wakened and lit his paper lantern and held it up.
“It is your master,” Il-han’s manservant told him.
“We are waiting for you,” the old man said, coughing in the night wind.
With this he opened the gate, and Il-han strode into the courtyard. The sound of the horses’ feet told Sunia that Il-han had come and she opened the door of the house and he saw her there, her head lifted, the candles burning in the room behind her. He entered and closed the door.
“I thought you would never come,” she said.
“The road was endless,” he replied. “Tell me what happened.”
Before she could reply they heard a knock on the inner door, and she called entrance and the tutor came in.
For the first time Il-han saw this man was no longer young.
He came in, not shy or hesitating, and he looked Il-han full in the face.
“Sir,” he said, “shall I speak now or shall I wait until you are bathed and have eaten and rested?”
“How can I rest or bathe or eat when I know nothing of what has happened?” Il-han replied.
“Can anyone hear us?” Sunia asked, her voice low.
“I have my men on guard,” the tutor said.
“Your men!” Il-han exclaimed. “Who are you?”
The tutor motioned to Il-han to be seated, and Il-han sat down on the floor cushion at the table in the center of the room. He was suddenly very weary, and he braced himself for whatever news he must hear. When he sat, Sunia sat also, and he gestured to the tutor to be seated. Had he been only the tutor he would not have dared to seat himself, but now he did and face to face with Il-han who had been his master, the tutor spoke.
“I do not know whether you have heard that a new revolution is growing everywhere like fire in the wild grass. Yet it is so. The landfolk are ready to rise up in every village and on every field. They can no longer suffer what they are suffering nor will they any more pay with their life and their strength for what is being forced upon them.”
A dark foreboding fell upon Il-han. “I suppose you mean the Tonghak.”
“Only a name for being in despair, sir,” the tutor said. “I must tell you that it was I who gave your household warning. I am grateful to you for sheltering me all these years in your house, as your father sheltered mine. Now I must warn you that the turmoil has only begun. The landfolk have lost hope. They have come together under the Tonghak banner and no one can foretell what they will do.”