“If that acts as strongly as it tastes,” she said, after she had drunk it, “I’ll be well soon.” “It is to keep away inflammation.” “Oh! Can I go now?” “Yes. But to-morrow return, and I will look at the arm.” He took the lamp away and replaced his red-buttoned cap with a black felt hat. Then he silently preceded her down the steps to the road. Only when the light of her home shone plainly ahead of them, did he leave her. They had not spoken on the way. But as he bowed a good-night, she addressed him. “I thank you,” she said. “And may I ask your name?” “Kwa”--he began, and stopped. Emotion for an instant softened his impassive countenance. He turned away. “Fong Wu,” he added, and was gone. The following afternoon the crunch of cart wheels before the square-fronted house announced her coming. Fong Wu closed “The Book of Virtue,” and stepped out upon the porch. A white man was seated beside her in the vehicle. As she sprang from it, light-footed and smiling, and mounted the steps, she indicated him politely to the Chinese. “This is my husband,” she said. “I have told him how kind you were to me last night.” Fong Wu nodded. Barrett hastened to voice his gratitude. “I certainly am very much obliged to you,” he said. “My wife might have been bitten by the rattler, or she might have lain all night in pain if you hadn’t found her. And I want to say that your treatment was splendid. Why, her arm hasn’t swollen or hurt her. I’ll be hanged if I can see--you’re such a good doctor--why you stay in this----” Fong Wu interrupted him. “I will wet the bandage with medicine,” he said, and entered the house. They watched him with some curiosity as he treated the sprain and studied the pulse. When he brought out her second cup of steaming herbs, Mrs. Barrett looked up at him brightly. “You know we’re up here for Mr. Barrett’s health,” she said. “A year or so after we were married, he was hurt in a railway collision. Since then, though his wounds healed nicely, he has never been quite well. Dr. Lord, our family physician, prescribed plenty of rough work, and a quiet place, far from the excitement of a town or city. Now, all this morning, when I realised how wonderful it was that my arm wasn’t aching, I’ve been urging my husband--what do you suppose?--to come and be examined by you!” Fong Wu, for the first time, looked fully at the white man, marking the sallow, clayey face, with its dry, lined skin, its lustreless eyes and drooping lids. Barrett scowled at his wife. “Nonsense, dear,” he said crossly; “you know very well that Lord would never forgive me.” “But Fong Wu might help you, Anthony,” she declared. Fong Wu’s black eyes were still fixed searchingly upon the white man. Before their scrutiny, soul-deep, the other’s faltered and fell. “You might help him, mightn’t you, Fong Wu?” Mrs. Barrett repeated. An expression, curious, keen, and full of meaning, was the answer. Then, “I might if he----” Fong Wu said, and paused.