Folding his arms, No-Kami looked down upon the supplicants, while his features were contracted by a spasm that might pass for a malignant grin. "What of these?" he glowered. "Slash the father's throat; 'tis given to garrulity and chattering. The girls? Serve them as you will. What have I to do with vermin?" CHAPTER XIV. THE MIKADO DOES BUSINESS. Since the return of Nara from his mysterious excursion, the interior of the sad prison-house of the Mikado was quite lively. The kneeling kugés chirruped like birds; their tall black headdresses waved and nodded like sable plumes in the wind. Excitement being contagious, the un-elect, who might not step within the sacred halls, laughed too and gabbled on the outer verandahs, showing their white teeth, and gossiping hopefully. They wist not why they were so light of heart; but if the privileged denizens of the lugubrious dwelling, usually so glum, were gay, it meant that the Holy Mikado was well pleased; and if the Fountain of Honour was content, it was clearly the duty of them, his lowly faithful ones, to vie one with another in sympathy. After that terrible interview when he was publicly insulted before his court, the miserable Mikado retired into darkness, declining to emerge or to be comforted. He vowed that the three deposed Emperors who were mumbling prayers in remote monasteries were far better off than he, for they at any rate were left in peace, so long as they submitted quietly, and were pitied as well as loved by the Empire. The actual Emperor, so long as he seemed to reign, was held responsible for what was done, and he, unfortunately for himself, was of a conscientious turn of mind. The peasant man who, alas, too trusting, had confided himself to the safe keeping of the Holy One, had been torn from sanctuary, ignominiously executed, together with his innocent family, and the Fountain of Honour was aware that in the eyes of the people he must be a willing accomplice, or else the meanest of puppets. His conscience was torn by pincers. He ought somehow to have saved that family. Humiliation and shame gnawed into his vitals, as rusty gyves into the wrists. No slavery, he declared, while he crouched in his dark chamber, with drops of sweat upon his brow, could possibly be worse than his. A change of masters, if master he must have, would be for the better, since his plight could not be altered for the worse. Not the lowest coolie,--the meanest Eta in his dominions, was of less account than he. If all these chattering kugés, who prostrated themselves so humbly, drawing in breath like humming insects, professing profound devotion, would only do something practical, then would he, the Fountain, sparkle with gratitude, and profusely distribute benedictions.