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It was in the Period of the Eleventh Moon:  the flowers had passed away, the perfume of the summer had flown, the winds were growing chill, and in Tong’s home the evening fires were lighted.  Long the husband and wife sat in the mellow glow,—­he speaking much of his hopes and joys, and of his son that was to be so grand a man, and of many paternal projects; while she, speaking little, listened to his words, and often turned her wonderful eyes upon him with an answering smile.  Never had she seemed so beautiful before; and Tong, watching her face, marked not how the night waned, nor how the fire sank low, nor how the wind sang in the leafless trees without.

All suddenly Tchi arose without speaking, and took his hand in hers and led him, gently as on that strange wedding-morning, to the cradle where their boy slumbered, faintly smiling in his dreams.  And in that moment there came upon Tong the same strange fear that he knew when Tchi’s eyes had first met his own,—­the vague fear that love and trust had calmed, but never wholly cast out, like unto the fear of the gods.  And all unknowingly, like one yielding to the pressure of mighty invisible hands, he bowed himself low before her, kneeling as to a divinity.  Now, when he lifted his eyes again to her face, he closed them forthwith in awe; for she towered before him taller than any mortal woman, and there was a glow about her as of sunbeams, and the light of her limbs shone through her garments.  But her sweet voice came to him with all the tenderness of other hours, saying:  “Lo! my beloved, the moment has come in which I must forsake thee; for I was never of mortal born, and the Invisible may incarnate themselves for a time only.  Yet I leave with thee the pledge of our love,—­this fair son, who shall ever be to thee as faithful and as fond as thou thyself hast been.  Know, my beloved, that I was sent to thee even by the Master of Heaven, in reward of thy filial piety, and that I must now return to the glory of His house:  I AM THE GODDESS TCHI-NIU.”

Even as she ceased to speak, the great glow faded; and Tong, re-opening his eyes, knew that she had passed away forever,—­mysteriously as pass the winds of heaven, irrevocably as the light of a flame blown out.  Yet all the doors were barred, all the windows unopened.  Still the child slept, smiling in his sleep.  Outside, the darkness was breaking; the sky was brightening swiftly; the night was past.  With splendid majesty the East threw open high gates of gold for the coming of the sun; and, illuminated by the glory of his coming, the vapors of morning wrought themselves into marvellous shapes of shifting color,—­into forms weirdly beautiful as the silken dreams woven in the loom of Tchi-Niu.

[Illustration:  Chinese calligraphy]

The Return of Yen-Tchin-King

    Before me ran, as a herald runneth, the Leader of the Moon;
    And the Spirit of the Wind followed after me,—­quickening his flight.