"'Tis with the lady O'Tei that I must speak, and quickly," said the messenger. The sentinel, leaning over the parapet, discerned by the conical shape of the speaker's hat that he was a priest. "Oh!" he grumbled, "some wretched coolie sick? Such vermin as these don't come after the lady O'Kikú. You may come in and seek her, an you will. She's likely in her bower--we've not seen her this many a day." As the priest sped with clattering clogs across the paved courtyards, he perceived that there was feasting toward. The interior of the great hall, brilliantly illumined, threw gay streaks of yellow out across the white. Servants moved to and fro, bearers of viands; the saké cup was already passing freely. By the principal entrance loomed the unwieldy mass of my lady's kago, gay with banners and streamers, and looped curtains and lacquered poles--the same gaudy equipage belonging to O'Tei which, on her arrival, the geisha in her insolence had appropriated to herself. Hard by, in groups, stamping and clapping hands for warmth, were the two sets of bearers--sturdy coolies selected for speed and staying power--each with his head muffled in blue cotton under his hat, his grass rain-coat bound round his waist, the handle of his sword carefully protected by oiled paper, strong sandals of straw upon his feet. Some were bringing wraps and cushions; some trimming paper lanterns; all shouting with the shrill distractive hubbub so dear to low-class Japan. The geisha he could see as he went by, was surrounded by her maidens and an outer circle of braves, armed ready to attend her. Muffled to the eyes in a thick mantle of deep maroon, she stood waiting till all was ready, a saké-cup in hand. Past this noisy assemblage to the remote corner of the tower which faced the river trotted the messenger. In vivid contrast to the hall, with its warm reek of heated wine, dark and silent was the bower of the chatelaine. Was she asleep already, the sad recluse? Not so. There was a twinkling tiny light above, and like the hum of an insect there reached his ear the tinkle of a distant samisen. He knocked, and the sound ceased; a paper window was pushed aside; a maiden's head peeped forth. "Who dares at this hour," she inquired angrily, "to intrude upon my lady's privacy? A pretty pass! Was not the castle large enough for its debauched inmates that this retired eyrie might not be treated with respect?" "I come from Masago," the messenger said. "She is very sick, and has somewhat of grave import to say to the chatelaine."