n every side to challenge him,--even these
might recombine their particles before his very eyes,--might shiver
into mist and float down to the plain to mingle with the smoke of
cooking as it rose from the peasant huts. Anything might happen, or
nothing!

Kano had stopped short before a grave. For once Tatsu was glad to hear
his voice.

"Here lie the clean ashes of my young wife, Kano Uta-ko," said the old
man, without preface or explanation.

"In former days, before--before my illness, I came here often," said
the other. His eyes hung on the written words of the kaimyo. "If you
grieved deeply, it must have been great solace that you could come thus
to her grave," he added wistfully. Then, as Kano still remained
silent, he read aloud the beautiful daishi, "A flower having blossomed
in the night, the Halls of the Gods are Fragrant."

Kano drew a long sigh. "For nineteen years I have mourned her," he
went on slowly. "As you know, a son was not given to us. She died at
Ume's birth. I could not bring myself to replace her, even in the dear
longing for a son."

"A son!" Tatsu knew well what the old man meant. He lifted his eyes
and stared out, mute, into the narrowing band of light. The old man
drew his thin form very straight, moved a few feet that he might look
squarely into the other's face, and said deliberately. "So did I mourn
the young wife whom I loved, and so, if I know men, will you mourn,
Kano Tatsu. Of such enduring stuff will be your grief for Ume-ko."

It was said. The old man's promise had been torn like a leaf,--not to
be mended or recalled,--torn and flung at his listener's feet. Yet
such was the simplicity of utterance, such the nobility of poise, the
beauty of the old face set like a silver wedge into the deepening mist,
that Tatsu could only give him look for look, with no resentment. The
young voice had taken on strangely the timbre of the old as, in equal
soberness, he answered,

"Such, Kano Indara, though I be burdened with years as many as your
own,--will be the never-ceasing longing for my lost wife, Ume-ko."

A little sob, loosed suddenly upon the night, sped past them. "What
was it? Who is there?" cried Tatsu, sharply, wheeling round.

Kano began to shake. "Perhaps--perhaps a night-bird," he stammered out.

"A bird!" echoed Tatsu. "That sound was human. It is a woman, the
Presence that has hung about me! Put down your arms,--you cannot keep
me back!"

"Be still!"