"But I must," the young man persisted. "Pan, don't you see that you have got to decide what you will be—Chinese or white? You cannot be both."
"Hush! Hush!" bade Pan. "I do not love you when you talk to me like that."
A little Chinese boy brought tea and saffron cakes. He was a picturesque little fellow with a quaint manner of speech. Mark Carson jested merrily with him, while Pan holding a tea-bowl between her two small hands laughed and sipped.
When they were alone again, the silver stream and the crescent moon became the objects of their study. It was a very beautiful evening.
After a while Mark Carson, his hand on Pan's shoulder, sang:
"And forever, and forever,
As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes,
The moon and its broken reflection,
And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here."
Listening to that irresistible voice singing her heart away, the girl broke down and wept. She was so young and so happy.
