It left a livid mark, the rest of the visage purple, the veins swollen and congested. With a hoarse growl like an animal at bay, No-Kami sprang to his feet, seized his katana, and attacked the aggressor with set teeth. Glaring one at the other, with starting eyeballs and foaming lips, the two--the old man and the young--fought on in the small space and the dim light. Both were too furious for caution, and hacked each at each, smearing walls and floor, without a sound but labouring breath and clashing steel. The old man, taller, with longer arm, was getting the mastery. He had step by step driven No-Kami to the corner, where stood an idol of bronze, against which he leaned. Uncovering himself to deliver the final blow, he slipped in the blood upon the floor, and received the point of the Hojo right through his breast, below the nipple. Dropping his weapon, and flinging up his arms, he fell with a sob upon his back. No-Kami withdrew his sword and wiped it carefully, then sat him down to think. O'Tei murdered! By whom? what for? It must be true, or the crafty old lord would never have been driven to such frenzy. It was quieted now, that same frenzy, however. He lay still enough, his skin as grey as was his hair. "Not my fault," No-Kami murmured, with compunction; for, debauched though he was, the Hojo had respect for bravery. "He has brought his end upon himself. Now, what of me? Who will believe me if I say that one who was the soul of caution came and smote me like a rat? Within the prohibited distance, the Mikado's favourite counsellor, and I so ill, so spectre-ridden." Clasping his burning forehead in his hands, No-Kami looked hungrily at the dirk which seemed to invite him from its rack, and thought, as he had once done before, that it would be well to make an end on't. Not yet. He was taken by an uncontrollable desire to know more of the tragedy at home. O'Tei murdered! The words seemed burnt into his brain; and as he contemplated them, with her father dead at his feet, an ineffable sadness--a cold sense of extreme loneliness--crept over his soul. The past rose up before his vision. For a little while they had been happy, he and the fair O'Tei. She had been cold and haughty and repellent, despising him always, and that had maddened him. And was she not right to do so--fully justified? She was better than he,--far above his level, and it was this that had made him hate her. But did he hate her? No! Now that she was gone, he became aware of a singular sensation. Down in the deeps of his being there was a profound pity for her fate. Why did he feel so lonely? Why did he shudder at the shadows whose chills encompassed him about?