And then Jack’s voice, hoarse with a fear he could not understand, broke in:

“Burton, what is the matter?”

Suddenly the girl sprang to her feet and rushed to Taro, sobbing and entreating in Japanese, but the terrible figure of the man remained immovable. Jack pulled her forcibly from him.

“Burton, dear old friend, what is it?”

The other pushed his hands from him with almost a blow.

“She is my sister! Oh, my God!”

Jack Bigelow felt for an instant as if the life within him had been stopped. Then he grasped at a chair and sank down dazed.

As though to break up the terrible silence, the girl commenced to laugh, but her laughter was terrible, almost unearthly. The man in the chair covered his face with his hands; the other made a movement towards her as if he would strike her. But she did not retreat: nay, she leaned towards him. And her laughter, loud and discordant, sank low, and then faded in a tremulous sob.

She put out her little speaking, beseeching hands, and “Sayonara!” she whispered softly. Then there was stillness in the room, though the echoes seemed to repeat “Sayonara,” “Sayonara,” and again “Sayonara,” and that means not merely “Farewell,” but the heart’s resignation: “If it must be.”

Jack and Taro were alone together, neither breaking by a word the tragic sadness of that terrible silence. It was the coming into the room of the maid that recalled them to life. Twilight was settling. She brought the lighted andon and set it in the darkening room.