The bonze was so intent upon his tale, and so long-winded in the telling of it, that he, as well as his listener, forgot all about the patient. Though deep wrapt in slumber, she moved now and again uneasily, tossing from off a surcharged bosom the multitude of futons that covered it. Then gradually the sleep-goddess relaxed her embrace, folded her arms less closely, and she of dreams spread forth the shadow of her pinions. The Abbess dreamed a dreadful dream, offspring of trouble and of fever. She thought that her own lord was alive again,--that, covered with crimson stains streaming from many a wound, he stood over dead Tomoyé. Why was Tomoyé dead? In sober truth of history past and gone, it was she who had stood over him. There he stood, however, reeling from loss of blood, his favourite katana hacked and notched from the battle. Then there appeared the boy No-Kami, also gashed and wounded. To her, the sleeper, turned her revered lord, stretching forth imploring hands. "Save _him_," he hoarsely gasped. "My time and hers is come, and it is well; but he is on the threshold of his life!" She, the dreamer, could not save him, for she was bound herself with cords, the which perceiving, her lord looked down reproachfully, and died; and then from out a crystal brook there rose a silver form that clasped the boy, and his wounds closed,--a slim shimmering form, daughter of the moon, which, shaping itself out of argent vapour, became O'Tei the chatelaine. Bedewed with sweat the old woman awoke, and for a space lay panting. What awful vision was this? All good Buddhists know that when we are asleep the soul goes forth upon its errands. If we waken a person too suddenly he will die, because the wanderer cannot return with needful quickness to his tenement. When the soul is merely out at play the dream is of no importance, and its pictures are rapidly effaced; but when the truant is on serious duty bent, the vision remains distinct, and it behoves us to accept its lesson. Waking, the portrayal of O'Tei closing No-Kami's wounds was as distinct as if the two were standing there before her; also the reproachful gaze of her dear lord ere he gave up his spirit. The gods were indeed good to speak so plainly to their handmaid. It was the honour of her dear lord's name that she desired saved at any cost, wishing for his son no ill. The geisha was to die, No-Kami to repent, and O'Tei was somehow to dissect the tangle. Masago found herself to-day more weak than usual, and much unhinged. Perchance her time was near. It behoved her to see the chatelaine, to reason with her while yet her voice was strong, her brain still clear. Then there rose upon her dimmed senses a sound of whispering, and she distinctly heard some one say, "The race of the Hojos is run."