She followed his words with growing interest. "I have heard of those dreams," she answered; "they were called 'reform.'" "Yes. And now all the dreamers are gone. They had voyaged to glean at Harvard, Yale, Cornell, and in the halls of Oxford. There were 'five loyal and six learned,' and they shed their blood at the Chen Chih Gate. One there was who died the death that is meted a slave at the court of the Son of Heaven. And one there was"--his face shrank up, as if swiftly aging; his eyes became dark, upturning slits; as one who fears pursuit, he cast a look behind him--"and one there was who escaped beyond the blood-bathed walls of the Hidden City and gained the Sumatra Coast. Then, leaving Perak, in the Straits Settlements, he finally set foot upon a shore where men, without terror, may reach toward higher things." "And was he followed?" she whispered, comprehending. "He fled quietly. For long are the claws of the she-panther crouched on the throne of the Mings." Both fell silent. The Chinese went back to the stove, where the fire was dying. The white woman, wide awake, and lost in the myriad of scenes his tale had conjured, sat by the table, for once almost forgetful of her charge. The dragging hours of darkness past, Anthony Barrett found sane consciousness. He was pale, yet strengthened by his long sleep, and he was hungry. Relieved and overjoyed, Mrs. Barrett ministered to him. When he had eaten and drunk, she helped him from the table to the stool, and thence to his feet. Her arm about him, she led him to the door. Fong Wu had felt his pulse and it had ticked back the desired message, so he was going home. "Each night you are to come," Fong Wu said, as he bade them good-by. "And soon, very soon, you may go from here to the place from which you came." Mrs. Barrett turned at the door. A plea for pardon in misjudging him, thankfulness for his help, sympathy for his exile--all these shone from her eyes. But words failed her. She held out her hand. He seemed not to see it; he kept his arms at his sides. A "dog of a Chinaman" had best not take a woman's hand. She went out, guiding her husband's footsteps, and helped him climb upon the mustang from the height of the narrow porch. Then, taking the horse by the bridle, she moved away down the slope to the road. Fong Wu did not follow, but closed the door gently and went back to the ironing-table. A handkerchief lay beside it--a dainty linen square that she had left. He picked it up and held it before him by two corners. From it there wafted a faint, sweet breath. Fong Wu let it flutter to the floor. "The perfume of a plum petal," he said softly, in English; "the perfume of a plum petal." THE JUDGMENT OF MAN BY JAMES HOPPER _Copyright_, 1906, by McClure, Phillips and Company Reprinted from _Caybigan_ by permission