When she was out of sight, Caswell’s eyes went back to his book of verses, but they carried no impressions from the page to his brain. The thoughts which had been aroused were insistent. They possessed him and he sat and battled with them. He was distracted from his reverie by the fluttering of the paper on the pin. A warm breeze had awakened and came in mimic gales which rippled the pools and set the bamboos on the farther bank in a silver shimmer. After the pin had resisted several onslaughts, a stronger air loosed it and sent the paper fluttering into the water. Almost before it fell Caswell was on his feet. Then he checked himself. “It is not my business,” he thought. “Shall I interfere with the course of Fate?” He sat down. Then he rose again. “But perhaps I am the minister of Fate.” He leaned over the rail. The paper was slowly sinking, but he read under the clear water, “I am going to walk. Do you want to come?” The young man’s stick was lying on the balcony. He took it and leaning over the rail fished up the wet paper. As he put his hand upon it, he heard a footfall, and turning saw the big lieutenant coming out of the temple. He had turned in time to catch the youth’s expression, as he perceived that the girl was not there. “Oh!” said the youth, awkwardly. He saw that something had happened. Caswell bowed in the Japanese manner, sucking his breath as if to a superior, and extended the dripping paper with the inscrutable countenance which the East had taught him. The youth read it at a glance. “Thank you! Thank you, very much!” he said, impulsively; then remembering himself, he repeated his thanks in Japanese: “_Arigato! Arigato!_ I understand,” he said, in answer to Caswell’s gesture toward the water. “The wind blew it in. You were very good.” He repeated the Japanese word again and bowed, and Caswell, bowing solemnly, backed off the balcony and left him. “It was best so,” he thought, when he was on the path by the edge of the water. He had come to the priest’s apartments, the little palace where the great Shogun had lived in his retirement, before he was conscious whither his steps were taking him. His thoughts were across eight thousand miles of sea. He looked around him with a start. “Shall I go in?” he said to himself. One of the priests, although of a different sect, was his friend. On the porch, a temple student saluted him. He was known because he often came, not only to talk with his friend, but to study the screens of Kano Tan Yu and Jakuchu, and the marvelous folding screens painted by Korin and Soami, and the kakemonos by those other ancient masters, Cho Densi and Shubun and Eishin.