promised to show me a priceless original of Hokusai. I asked
if I might see it then. He was so elated that without calling a
servant to do it for him he disappeared into a deep cupboard to
find his treasure.

For a moment, helpless and desperate, I was swayed with a mad
impulse to lock him up in the cupboard; but there was no lock.

It was so deadly still it hurt. Then, coming from the outside, I
heard a low whistle with an unmistakable American twist to it,
followed by a soft scraping sound. My heart missed two beats. I
did not know what was happening; nor was I sure that Sada was
within the house; but something told me that my cue was to keep
Uncle busy. I obeyed with a heavy accent. When he appeared with
his print, I began to talk. I recklessly repeated pages of
text-books, whether they fitted or not; I fired technical terms at
him till he was dizzy with mental gymnastics.

He smoothed out his precious picture. I fell upon it. I raved
over the straight-front mountains and the marceled waves in that
foolish old woodcut as I had never gushed over any piece of paper
before, and I hope I never will again. Not once did he relinquish
his hold of that faded deformity in art, and neither did I.

Surely I surprised myself with the new joys I constantly found in
the pigeon-toed ladies and slant-eyed warriors. Uncle needed
absorption, concentration and occupation. Mine was the privilege
to give him what he required.

No further sound from the garden and the silence drilled holes into
my nerves. I was so fearful that the man would see my trembling
excitement, I soon made my adieux.

Uncle seemed a little surprised and graciously mentioned that tea
was being prepared for me. I never wanted tea less and solitude
more. I said I must take the night train for Hiroshima. It was a
sudden decision; but to stay would be useless.

I said, "Sayonara," and smiled my sweetest. I had a feeling I
would never see dear Uncle Mura on earth again and doubtless our
environment will differ in the Beyond.

I went to the gate. It faced two streets. Both were empty. Not a
sign of Billy nor the jinrickshas in which we had come. I trod on
air as I tramped back to the hotel.

HIROSHIMA, Five Days Later, 1912.

_Mate dear_:

I am back in my old quarters--safe. Why should n't I be! A
detective has been my constant companion since I left Kioto,
sitting by my berth all night on the train, and following me to the
g