All were asleep in the castle, except the sentinels pacing to and fro; the fallen ramparts were replaced by living walls. At the moment Omiti touched her goal, she feared she had not the strength to take the few steps necessary to reach the fortress-gate. Soaked with snow, spent with fatigue and excitement, the cold morning air made her shiver from head to foot. Everything swam before her; her pulses throbbed; there was a singing in her ears. She hurried to the gates; the sentinels crossed their lances, to bar her way. "No passing here!" they said. "Yes! I must pass at once,--I must see the King, or you shall be severely punished!" cried Omiti, in broken accents. The soldiers shrugged their shoulders. "Stand back, woman; you are drunk, or mad. Begone!" "I beseech you, let me in. Call some one; I feel as if I were dying. But first I must speak with the King! I must! You hear? Do not let me die before I have said my say." Her voice was so sad and so full of entreaty that the men were moved. "What ails her?" said one. "She is pale as the snow; she might die, as she says." "And if she has something to tell!" "Let us take her to the Prince of Nagato; he can decide whether it's worth hearing." "Well, come in!" said one of the soldiers; "we pity you." Omiti took a few tottering steps; but her strength deserted her. She hurriedly snatched from her bosom a withered flower and held it to the soldiers; then, with a stifled cry, she fell backwards. The embarrassed and uneasy soldiers looked at each other, consulting one another with a glance. "If she is dead," said one, "we shall be accused of killing her." "We'd better throw her into the river." "Yes; but how are we to touch a corpse without making ourselves impure!" "We will purify ourselves according to prescribed laws; that will be better than being sentenced to have our heads cut off." "That's so; let's be quick. Poor thing! it's a pity," added the fellow, leaning over Omiti. "But then it's her own fault: why did she die like that?" Just as they were about to raise her and carry her to the river, a clear young voice was heard singing:-- "Is there aught on earth more precious than saki? If I were not a man, I would fain be a tun!" The soldiers sprang back. A lad came forward well wrapped in a fur-trimmed robe, his head buried in a hood tied under his chin. He proudly rested his velvet-gloved hand upon the hilts of his two swords. It was Loo returning from a nocturnal revel alone and on foot, that he might not be denounced to the Prince of Nagato by his suite; for Loo had a suite of his own, now that he was a Samurai. "What's going on here? Who is this woman stretched motionless on the ground?" he cried, casting a terrible, glance from one soldier to the other. The soldiers dropped on their knees, exclaiming: