ispered. As if the few words had taken his last store of strength,
he sank to the floor. Mata sprang to him. He had swooned. His face,
young and beautiful in spite of the centuries of pain upon it, lay
back, helpless, on her arm. She stared strangely down upon him,
wondering where the old antipathy had gone, and striving (for she was
an obstinate old soul, was Mata) consciously to recall it,--but the
core of her hate was gone. Like a true woman she began to make
self-excuses for the change. "It may have been because of this poor
boy and his unhappy karma that my nursling had to die," said she.
"But, look what love has done to him! Death is only another name for
paradise compared with the agony sunken deep into this young face!"

She placed him gently, at full length, upon the padded floor. She
chafed the flaccid wrists, the temples, the veins about his ears, and
then, leaning over, blew on the heavy lids. "Ume-ko, my wife, my
wife," he whispered, and tried to smile.

A wave of pity swept from the old dame's mind the last barrier of
mistrust. "Yes, Master, here is Ume's nurse," she said in soothing
tones. "Not Ume-ko,--she has gone away from us,--but the poor old
nurse who loves her. I will serve you for her sake. Here, put your
head upon this pillow,--she has often used it,--and now lie still until
old Mata brings you rice and tea." She bustled off, her hands
clattering busily among the cups and trays. As she worked, thankful,
through her great agitation, for the familiar offices, she fought down,
one by one, those great, distending sobs that push so hard a way upward
through wrinkled throats.

Tatsu was still a little dazed. His eyes followed her about the room
with a plaintive regard, as if not entirely sure that she was real.
"Did you say that you were--Ume's--nurse," he asked.

"Yes. Don't you remember me, Master Tatsu? I am Mata, the old
servant, and your Ume's nurse. I--I--was not always kind to you, I
fear. I opposed your marriage, fearing for her some such sorrow as
that which came. But it is past. The gods allowed it. I will now,
for her sake, love and serve you,--my true master you shall be from
this day, because I can see that your heart is gnawed forever by that
black moth, grief, as mine is. Old Kano does not grieve,--he is a man
of stone, of mud!" she cried. "But I must not speak of his sins, yet;
here is the good tea, Master, and the rice." She fed him like a child,
allowing