“My heart bids me do my part,” said she, in answer. “This burden is even more, it is a blessing. I pray for strength that I may serve well and please much. The reward is already mine.”

“Then you would mock me, heigh? Bring me the child—no; I shall send you both to the dungeon,” and he arose and stood meditating.

“I pray you, sir, send me, but save the child. It is innocent, and it has a mother. I am unworthy, yet I will pay the penalty. Pray, sir?”

He did not answer at once, but stood regarding her; he may have marvelled at her charity, possibly he was touched by her tenderness. At all events he moved closer, and whispered:

“Kinsan, I truly love you.”

She did not hear him. Her eyes rested on the child in her arms. She was thinking of a mother’s sorrow, possibly a child’s fate. He came close up and would have touched her had she not shrunk from him and cried:

“I do not comprehend. It is not his voice. It is not true.”

“Aha,” said Tetsutaisho to himself, as he leaned back in silence. “It is not I that she disdains, but it is another whom she loves.”

Then after a while he addressed her saying:

“Kinsan, I trust you will pardon my incivility. I did not mean to be rude, though I may deserve your censure. And now that it is done, I do not want you to feel that it is my heart that is wrong. Do me the honour to serve this child, and Tetsutaisho shall see to it that the reward be as you desire. I leave you free to say as much, if it is your pleasure.”