is as majestic as silence, absolute silence. Each morning Sam Wong slipped from the house before she had awakened. He never came near her room. He never touched her body. Not even a kiss did he seek. But he wooed her in a thousand subtle ways. And when her face began to take on some semblance of color he was glad.
Barby never left the apartment even when Sam Wong was away. She was afraid of the streets, the filthy noisy streets and the evil faces of men. Sam Wong brought her beautiful garments fit for a Manchu princess. She always wore them in the rooms, saving her single dress for such time as it would be necessary for her to return to the streets.
During those days she slept much, without trepidation, without fear. She never locked the door of her room. She had faith in Sam Wong. He was a genial philosopher. He never tried to force his favors upon her. One may bow down in worship before a goddess, but one should not presume beyond obeisance. Perhaps Sam Wong was foolish in his attitude. Certainly he was not a moralist, for his stock in trade destroyed the souls of men.
They never went out to dinner. All meals were sent in from near-by restaurants. Every conceivable luxury graced their table.
Barby was glad Sam Wong never urged her to appear upon the streets with him, although she was surprised that he did not. How was she to know that a hundred men constantly waited an opportunity to kill him? The police, too, were constantly on his trail. His increasing influence was resented in high places. The streets were not conducive to health. It was not his wish to parade his ivory girl in the face of danger. Better to keep her hidden away from baleful eyes.
At times he read Chinese love poems to her that thrilled her immeasurably. He chanted the verses in a softly modulated voice. It was a new strange country to Barby. She closed her eyes and listened. She scarcely breathed, so intent she was. It was restful. It soothed her nerves. Sometimes for hours they sat thus as Sam Wong read to her from his countless volumes of Far Eastern lore.
One night he entered the apartment breathlessly as though he had run a long distance. His usual calm mien was ruffled. His hands worked nervously.
"Quick, follow me!" he cried hoarsely. "There is not a moment to lose." He opened a secret door in a wall panel, disclosing a black passageway. Into this he crept and dragged Barby after him. The panel swung shut again, leaving them in impenetrable blackness.
"Be not afraid. Ivory Girl," he murmured, "but enemies are pursuing me and if we fell into their hands the consequences might be dreadful. I was a fool to subject you to disaster. But you will be quite safe if you follow my instructions."
While he had been speaking they had been creeping up a winding stair. Presenfly they emerged on the roof-tops. It was strange to be slinking along like shadows under the pale moon's glare. The sounds of the street drifted to their ears, laughter, harsh noises, the wail of a motor siren, the bark of a dog.
Sam Wong sped from roof to roof.
Nimbly Barby ran along beside him.
At last they darted into a doorway.
"Go down these stairs," he said, "and you will be free. Get away from Chinatown as soon as you can. I haven't a moment to loiter. Perhaps some day we will meet again and I can recite more lyrics to you."
The next moment he was gone. It was almost as though he had vanished into the air. It was an eery night, weird and creepy. The moon caused the chimneys
