Without stirring, she remained in the unconscious pose for hours. Iriya, peeping in upon her, choked back a little sob of thanksgiving, and turned away to kneel, in her room, before the ancestral shrine. Lights burned here always, and the pleasant aroma of fresh tea was seldom absent. With hands struck very softly together, that the sleeper should not be disturbed, Iriya supplicated the gods of her home and of her nation that the child should be given clearer vision. A European would have demanded personal happiness for her daughter. The Japanese soul sees deeper, and asks, as the highest boon, power to carry out, in this life, that which has been decreed, and so, for the future, to achieve a nobler attitude. * * * * * Just at the hour of twilight Iriya returned, and kneeling, called softly, "Yuki-ko--my heart's treasure--you must awake." Yuki sat upright instantly. "Has the dempo come?" "Yes," said Iriya, presenting a pink sealed missive. "And in the guest-room waits Prince Hagané." Yuki tore the telegram apart, threw open the shoji for more light, and read: "Find it impossible to do anything with P no logic or reason pathetic but a child we all think case hopeless forever in your place would accept H whatever happens I am your loving faithful G." "It is a terribly long message to come in such an expensive way. Surely it is from a foreigner," ventured Iriya. "How long has it been here, mother?" Iriya showed embarrassment. "Since about noon, I believe. Suzumé honorably received it and gave it to her master, as she was bid. Your father would not let you have it now, but that Prince Hagané took it from his hands and sent it. He says you are to read and consider it; also that you must not hasten. What marvellous kindness he always shows, that great man!" Yuki rose slowly. "He is great and kind. Give thanks to him, my mother, and say that I shall enter within a few moments." Iriya prepared to leave. She had searched her daughter's eyes for a loving recognition, but in vain. On the threshold she wavered. "My baby,--my only one!" she cried aloud brokenly, and held out her arms. In an instant, before Yuki could respond, she closed the fusuma and ran toward the guest-room. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Prince Hagané sat in the place of honor, his back to the tokonoma, where new flowers bloomed and incense perfumed the space. His robes, of the usual magnificent quality of silk, had to-night a deep bronze color. The candles, placed one on each side of him, threw down a yellow light, which took the wrinkles from his scarred face and some of the sadness from his mouth. To Tetsujo's feasting eyes he appeared as a god; not the meek, forgiving Buddha whom women and children adore, but some splendid old war-god of Shinto tradition, young with the immortality of youth, yet old as the world in wisdom.