She fluttered like a bird until she saw that, surprised by her presence, he had forgotten death and thought only of life—of life and love. A glad, eager light shone in his eyes. He made a swift step towards her. Then—he covered his face with his hands. “Fou Wang!” cried O’Yam, love at last overcoming superstition, “must I become the wife of Moy Ding Fong?” “No, ah no!” he moaned. “Then,” said the girl in desperation, “take me to yourself.” Fou Wang’s hands fell to his side. For a moment he looked into that pleading face—and wavered. A little bird flew in through an open window, and perching itself upon an altar, began twittering. Fou Wang started back, the expression on his face changing. “A warning from the dead,” he muttered, “a warning from the dead!” An iron hand gripped O’Yam’s heart. Life itself seemed to have closed upon her. IV It was afternoon before evening, and the fog was rolling in from the sea. Quietness reigned in the plot of ground sacred to San Francisco’s Chinese dead when Fou Wang deposited a bundle at the foot of his mother’s grave and prepared for the ceremony of ministering to her three souls. The fragrance from a wall of fir trees near by stole to his nostrils as he cleared the weeds and withered leaves from his parent’s resting place. As he placed the bowls of rice and chicken and the vase of incense where he was accustomed to place it, he became dimly conscious of a presence or presences behind the fir wall. He sighed deeply. No doubt the shade of his parent was restless, because— “Fou Wang,” spake a voice, low but distinct. The young man fell upon his knees. “Honored Mother!” he cried. “Fou Wang,” repeated the voice, “though my name is on thy lips, O’Yam’s is in thy heart.” Conscience-stricken, Fou Wang yet retained spirit enough to gasp: “Have I not been a dutiful son? Have I not sacrificed all for thee, O Mother! Why, then, dost thou reproach me?” “I do not reproach thee,” chanted three voices, and Fou Wang, lifting his head, saw three figures emerge from behind the fir wall. “I do not reproach thee. Thou hast been a most dutiful son, and thy offerings at my grave and in the temple have been fully appreciated. Far from reproaching thee, I am here to say to thee that the dead have regard for the living who faithfully mourn and minister to them, and to bid thee sacrifice no more until thou hast satisfied thine own heart by taking to wife the daughter of Kien Lung and given to thy sister and thy sister’s husband an elder brother’s blessing. Thy departed mother requires not the sacrifice of a broken heart. The fallen leaf grieves not because the green leaf still clings to the bough.” Saying this, the three figures flapped the loose sleeves of the well-known garments of Ah So Nan and faded from his vision. For a moment Fou Wang gazed after them as if spellbound. Then he arose and rushed towards the fir wall, behind which they seemed to have vanished.