"I do not care. I will not stay; at least, I will not stay unless you share with me the wine that Tsoi has brought. I was wont to have a cup of sweet spiced wine each night, and thou hast had it here while there I have had none."
"The wine: assuredly. That is but fair," agreed Ming Tseuen. He had already raised it to his lips to quell a sudden thirst that parched his throat, but now he turned aside to wipe his mouth and then held out the cup. "Your engaging moderation fills me with despair. Put my self-reproach at ease by drinking all."
"Yea; that is but fair," repeated San approvingly, "seeing how long you have enjoyed it. . . . It has a bitterish taste that was not wont to be."
"The rarer kinds of wine are often thus; it indicates a special sort of excellence."
"But this weighs down my eyes and sways my mind," objected San, with twitching limbs already. "It begins to burn my mouth. . . . I will not drink the rest."
"Consider well," urged Ming, “how humiliated would be the one who sent the wine if any should be left."
"I cannot Why does the room thus spin"
"Cannot!" protested Ming, and by a swift and sudden move he held the other's head and raised the wine until the cup was empty. "Cannot! But see, thou hast!"
"That was not well," gasped San, turning to bite the hand that held him, ere he fell senseless to the ground. "To-night thou art outdone, misgotten dog!"
"Perchance; but the deities ordain," acquiesced Ming trustfully, "and this works to an end." He continued to regard the one stretched at his feet, and then he turned to wedge the door inside and to listen for a moment to the sounds about the house. San had not stirred nor did he move again.
"Much of this arises from an ordinary person interfer-
