"Vile spies!" she exclaimed. "Hired assassins! If there were a man here, he would drown you in that pond! Go away! Shoo!" she shrieked at the astonished natives. Without a word, they exchanged slow, wondering glances, nodded, and withdrew. Gwendolen slammed the shoji together again. "No wonder you are pale, Yuki," she said, her voice trembling with excitement and indignation; "I never dreamed anybody would dare a thing like this!" "But how intensely romantic!" remarked Dodge, in a low voice, to the ceiling. Yuki did not try to answer. Her head drooped lower, lower, with each instant. Tears were coming in uncontrollable throbs to eyes that had, through deeper troubles, remained dry. This humiliation before friends of another world touched some secret personal spring of pride. She lifted first one gray sleeve, then the other, apologizing in low, broken sentences for the vulgarity of thus displaying grief. Gwendolen threw herself to the floor beside her friend, her own bright eyes becoming springs of sorrow. Dodge rose, standing helplessly near, and wishing himself somewhere else. Upon this lachrymosal tableau entered Tetsujo Onda, and stood for a moment incredulous, in the parted fusuma, like some image of Ojin Tenno, the God of War, a scowl carved deep in his brow. Gwendolen first caught sight of him. Rising to her knees, she tried by looks to wither him away. She might as well have blown seed-arrows from an iron dandelion. Dodge, the diplomat, rushed gallantly to the fore. "Good-morning, Mr. Onda," he began, bowing spasmodically. "Fine morning, isn't it? We were just making a little call in the neighborhood, and ran in to see your wife and daughter,--foreign custom, you know!--and the young ladies have to talk and weep sometimes over their happy, vanished school days!" "Ugh!" grunted the unwilling host, scantily returning one of the many bows. "Just so--just so," said Dodge, with increasing cordiality. "And now we must bid you good day. Miss Todd and I were just on the point of starting. This is the daughter--the only child, you know--of the new American minister to Japan." "I know of her, and you, and the Frenchman, and much else," said Onda, with a disconcerting warp of the lips meant for a smile. "Go! If you love me, make quick goings," whispered Yuki, with her arms around Gwendolen's neck. "With nothing settled--no appointment for you and--" "It is hopeless," put in Yuki, instantly. "Mention no name! They will guard me now much closer. Oh, it's my father's doing, not Hagané; he is noble!" "Then I will see--the other, and tell him clearly. How shall I let you know?" "A telegram. No one will keep that from me. Send it in English,--in hard words, you understand! And, oh, Gwendolen, send it to-morrow before twilight. Pray for me!" Ignoring Tetsujo's increasing rage, Yuki followed her friend to the very door, pausing for a last embrace. "You are my good friend--my golden friend! Nothing between our hearts can ever come. Ne?"