Throughout the long hours that followed, Fong Wu, from the room’s shadowy rear, sat watching. He knew sleep did not come to her. For now and then he saw her shake from head to heel convulsively; as he had seen men in his own country quiver beneath the scourge of bamboos. Now and then, too, he heard her give a stifled moan, like the protest of a dumb creature. But in no other ways did she bare her suffering. Quietly, lest she wake her husband, she fought out the night. Only once did Fong Wu look away from her. Then, in anger and disgust his eyes shifted to the figure on the table. “The petal of a plum blossom”--he muttered in Chinese--“the petal of a plum blossom beneath the hoofs of a pig!” And again his eyes dwelt upon the grief-bowed wife. But when the dawn came stealing up from behind the purple Sierras, and Mrs. Barrett raised her wan face, he was studiously 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-incrusted 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.