“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“Oh, father, father, they are killing one another! Separate them, oh, separate them!” pleaded Fin Fan.

But her father’s interference was not needed. Wong Ling swerved to one side, and falling, struck the iron foot of the stove. Tian Shan, seeing his rival unconscious, rushed out of the store.

THE MOON HUNG IN THE sky like a great yellow pearl and the night was beautiful and serene. But Fin Fan, miserable and unhappy, could not rest.

“All your fault! All your fault!” declared the voice of conscience.

“Fin Fan,” spake a voice near to her.

Could it be? Yes, it surely was Tian Shan.

She could not refrain from a little scream.

“Sh! Sh!” bade Tian Shan. “Is he dead?”

“No,” replied Fin Fan, “he is very sick, but he will recover.”

“I might have been a murderer,” mused Tian Shan. “As it is I am liable to arrest and imprisonment for years.”

“I am the cause of all the trouble,” wept Fin Fan.

Tian Shan patted her shoulder in an attempt at consolation, but a sudden footfall caused her to start away from him.

“They are hunting you!” she cried. “Go! Go!”

And Tian Shan, casting upon her one long farewell look, strode with rapid steps away.

POOR FIN FAN! SHE HAD indeed lost every one, and added to that shame, was the secret sorrow and remorse of her own heart. All the hopes and the dreams which had filled the year that was gone were now as naught, and he, around whom they had been woven, was, because of her, a fugitive from justice, even in Canada.

One day she picked up an American newspaper which a customer had left on the counter, and, more as a habit than for any other reason, began spelling out the paragraphs.

A Chinese, who has been unlawfully breathing United States air for several years, was captured last night crossing the border, a feat which he is said to have successfully accomplished more than a dozen times during the last few years. His name is Tian Shan, and there is no doubt whatever that he will be deported to China as soon as the necessary papers can be made out.

Fin Fan lifted her head. Fresh air and light had come into her soul. Her eyes sparkled. In the closet behind her hung a suit of her father’s clothes. Fin Fan was a tall and well-developed young woman.

“YOU ARE TO HAVE COMPANY,” said the guard, pausing in front of Tian Shan’s cage. “A boy without certificate was caught this morning by two of our men this side of Rouse’s Point. He has been unable to give an account of himself, so we are putting him in here with you. You will probably take the trip to China together.”

Tian Shan continued reading a Chinese paper which he had been allowed to retain. He was not at all interested in the companion thrust upon him. He would have preferred to be left alone. The face of the absent one is so much easier conjured in silence and solitude. It was a foregone conclusion with Tian Shan that he would never again behold Fin Fan, and with true Chinese philosophy he had begun to reject realities and accept dreams as the stuff upon which to live. Life itself was hard, bitter, and disappointing. Only dreams are joyous and smiling.