nderful garden where grasses stood for tall bamboo, and a saucer of
water, surrounded by moss and pebbles, made a shining lake across which
a bridge led through a _torii_ to a diminutive shrine above.

He would watch her deft fingers fashioning the minute objects, and
listen to her endless prattle in her soft, unknown tongue, and for a
little space the pain-racked body would relax and the cruel furrows
vanish from between his brows.

But there were days in which the story and the song and the play had no
part. At such times O Sana San slipped in on tiptoe and took her place
at the head of the cot where he could not see her. Sitting on her heels,
with hand folded in hand, she watched patiently for hours, alert to
adjust the covers or smooth the pillow, but turning her eyes away when
the spasms of pain contorted his face. All the latent maternity in the
child rose to succor his helplessness. The same instinct that had
prompted her to strap her doll upon her back when yet a mere baby
herself, made her accept the burden of his suffering, and mother him
with a very passion of tenderness.

Longer and sultrier grew the days; the wistaria, hanging in feathery
festoons from many a trellis, gave way to the flaming azalea, and the
azalea in turn vanished with the coming of the lotus that floated
sleepily in the old castle moat.

Still the soul of the young Russian was held a prisoner in his shattered
body, and the spirit in him grew restive at the delay. Months passed
before the doctor told him his release was at hand. It was early in the
morning, and the sun fell in long, level rays across his cot. He turned
his head and looked wistfully at the distance it would have to travel
before it would be afternoon.

The nurse brought the screen and placed it about the bed--the last
service she could render. For hours the end was expected, but moment by
moment he held death at bay, refusing to accept the freedom that he so
earnestly longed for. At noon the sky became overcast and the slow
falling of rain was heard on the low wooden roof. But still his fervent
eyes watched the sun-dial.

At last the sound of _geta_ was heard without, and in a moment O Sana
San slipped past the screen and dropped on her knees beside him. Under
one arm was tightly held a small white kitten, her final offering at the
shrine of love.

When he saw her quaint little figure, a look of peace came over his face
and he closed his eyes. An interpreter, knowing