He did so, and she impressed him more than ever with the melody of her song. Probably it was because of the clear, crisp air of a winter’s night’s inspiration; more likely it had been a consciousness of her master’s growing gentleness, or the hope within that some day her heart would soften and her mind cease its vigil. Whatever it may have been, she poured out that lofty sentiment that ever eases a lonely, earnest soul. She sang sweetly, and the rising notes wafted out upon the still air, reaching and piercing another who had grown to hate with the vengeance and covet with the fury of a maddened fiend.

Nehachibana listened. She could bear it no longer, and with bated breath and snapping fingers stole upon them. There in the bright light she saw them, and stopped as if drunk with envy. He sat with his face upturned; Kinsan stood at one side, looking far, far away, and her voice trembled with a pathos that stayed even her destroyer. Nehachibana crouched, then sprang at her, shrieking:

“Geisha! Adulteress! Murderer!”

The sudden fright overcame Kinsan; she ceased singing, then choked for breath and stood trembling, with her head drooping; she coloured, then turned ashen.

Tetsutaisho arose and advancing toward his wife said in a calm voice:

“What do you mean, Nehachibana?”

“That joro is the murderer of your child, Sodachinojoi! I saw it with my own eyes.”

Turning upon Kinsan, but without advancing, Tetsutaisho said harshly:

“Is this true?”

Kinsan made no answer, nor did she raise her eyes, but stood nervously toying with the folds of her obie. Perhaps she did not hear him, heeded only his neglect. Why did he not turn to her as he had so often done, and soothe her with his kind words and shield her from her accuser? The question burned at her already aching heart, and no one answered.