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.