"You are insane," he sighed,--"beguiled to frenzy by the glamour of this sorceress. You know, if you have power to think, that the dawn is no purer than your wife. What madness is it that has so mastered you that you would rather believe this harlot--for she is a harlot, and a shameless one, as every one in the castle knows except yourself? Rave as you will, I shall not gratify her spleen by fighting with you. Should the necessity be forced on me, I will summon the samurai to bind you, for your own protection. Cudgel your distempered brain, my brother, and see the snare. Your father was mine before you--unhappily--were born. The honour of our name is mine as well as yours, and for me it shall remain untarnished. Alas, we are under a ban, indeed! I can surety trace the finger of the Eternal; this harlot, the instrument of ruin." Foiled spite and impotent rage leapt up and invaded the calculating spirit of the geisha. That he, so hot and careless usually, should be able to school himself to prudence. How he must adore that pale-face! It was humiliating to one who justly prided herself on cunning, to be outwitted by truth and manhood. No doubt it was satisfactory to mark how firm was her hold upon No-Kami. He had hearkened to her accusation of his wife and brother, but the countercharge brought by the latter against herself had remained unnoticed. And yet Sampei had had the best of it. She was obliged to confess with self-upbraiding that, exasperated by the appearance of Nara, whose unexpected arrival seemed like to mar her plots and upset her calculations, she had been precipitate--led into a foolish error. The moment chosen was curiously ill-timed for bringing about a quarrel. Not that she would have permitted blood to flow. Not so silly as that. At the first onset she would have rushed out with clamour and shrill cries to summon the sleepy attendants,--have sworn that Sampei had attacked his feudal lord,--have created such a coil as would have led to the former's banishment. But, devoted to the paleface, he had for her sake curbed his heat. Noble and severe in bearing, his dark brow seamed by battle scars, he was just the man to master a turbulent plebeian woman of strong passions. As he stood, erect and self-possessed, O'Kikú adored yet hated him. His scathing antipathy to her he did not care to mask, and who should know as well as she how well it was deserved. A man such as this might have wrought a miracle upon her nature. She could have hugged her gyves, glorying in his tyranny. Could have! He had repulsed her,--shrunk with loathing undisguised as from a reptile, and all for love of the pale-face. The dregs of her low nature bubbled to the surface in a rising surge of abhorrence. At this moment, as she contemplated his still dignity, she could have stabbed him to the heart with joy.