She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. Then he got up and left her. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way.
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