“Nehachibana! You must cease gabbling.”

“A-h-!” said she, with a drawled accent.

“Promise me that you will never again mention Takara’s name. Will you do this much for me?” said he nervously.

She snapped her fingers fiercely, and without taking her eyes away said, slowly:

“I shall not speak her name again.”

Daikomitsu knew that her promise would never be broken, and went his way somewhat relieved, yet overwhelmed; for he also knew that what she related as a fact must likewise be true—such an one never mistaking a truth or breaking a promise, when made or known. Nor was he alone shocked at the revelation of Takara’s dreadful secret; he felt equally pained at Kinsan’s misfortune. The former he would take time to consider, but the latter he should right at once; else suffer a great wrong to befall not only her, but Nehachibana and Tetsutaisho as well.

On the following day the prime minister sent post-haste for Tetsutaisho, asking him to come at once to his house, then approaching him kindly, advised that he forego so severe a punishment, at least until time should make its justice certain.

“And you would also interfere with our private affairs? What next may not a gentleman expect? Pray tell me,” said Tetsutaisho rather sarcastically.

“No. I thought possibly the motherhood of this child might sometime be questioned by a higher power, and in that case my friend Tetsutaisho might have serious need for this Kinsan whom he has so lightly condemned,” said Daikomitsu, in answer.

“Then you know as much?”