y reviewing his rows
of bottles, outwardly unaware of her presence.

"Fong Wu," she said, in a low voice, "when will he wake?"

"When he is rested; at sunrise, maybe, or at noon."

"And then?"

"He will be feeble. I shall give him more medicine, and he will sleep
again."

He rose and busied himself at the fire. Soon he approached her, bringing
the gold-encrusted teapot and a small, handleless cup.

She drank thirstily, filling and emptying the cup many times. When she
was done, she made as if to go. "I shall see that everything is all
right at home," she told him. "After that, I shall come back." She
stooped and kissed her husband tenderly.

Fong Wu opened the door for her, and she passed out. In the road,
unhitched, but waiting, stood the mustang. She mounted and rode away.

When she returned, not long afterward, she was a new woman. She had
bathed her face and donned a fresh waist. Her eyes were alight, and the
scarlet was again flaming in her cheeks. Almost cheerfully, and
altogether hopefully, she resumed her post at the ironing-table.

It was late in the afternoon before Barrett woke. But he made no attempt
to get up, and would not eat. Fong Wu administered another dose of
herbs, and without heeding his patient's expostulations. The latter,
after seeking his wife's hand, once more sank into sleep.

Just before sunset, Fong Wu, who scorned to rest, prepared supper.
Gratefully Mrs. Barrett partook of some tender chicken and rice cakes.
When darkness shut down, they took up their second long vigil.

But it was not the vigil of the previous night. She was able to think of
other things than her husband's condition and the doom that, of a
sudden, had menaced her happiness. Her spirits having risen, she was
correspondingly impatient of a protracted, oppressive stillness, and
looked about for an interruption, and for diversion. Across from her, a
celestial patrician in his blouse of purple silk and his red-buttoned
cap, sat Fong Wu. Consumed with curiosity--now that she had time to
observe him closely--she longed to lift the yellow, expressionless mask
from his face--a face which might have patterned that of an oriental
sphinx. At midnight, when he approached the table to satisfy himself of
Barrett's progress, and to assure her of it, she essayed a conversation.

Glancing up at his laden shelves, she said, "I have been noticing your
medicines, and how many kinds there seem to be."

"For each ailment that is