Yuki leaned forward eagerly.
"Oh, it is of my honorable father you speak?"
"Yes, it is of your father I speak," said the man in a low, bitter voice. "Since his death the gods have not favored our house; we have lost position, money, everything. But at last—at last our prayers to the gods have been answered. The enemy of our house is delivered into our hands—into your hands."
Yuki looked bewildered.
"My hands? What do you mean, my honorable Uncle?"
"Yuki San, we have learned the name of the man who struck your father!" he exclaimed in a low, tense voice.
Yuki looked at the tragic face before her a moment, then she said: "At last, at last you know?"
"Yes," replied her uncle. "At last, after all these years of patience, revenge is in our hands. Oh, Yuki San, the foreigner, your husband, is the man who killed your father."
Yuki drew back, her face pallid, her body trembling.
"Morris, my Dana San?"