“Sensei!—honored sir, teacher—!”
She turned her head craftily in the direction of the new voice, then slowly back to the Tojin-san. There was a low, accusing note in her voice:
“To-o-jin-san! Thou too!” she said.
XII
The Palace Matsuhaira, wherein the courteous Prince of Echizen had housed the foreign teacher, had lost all but two of its tenants. The odorous kitchens where but lately the army of servants had happily and noisily labored were now quite empty. So were the vast, cool halls, and the great, bare chambers. Like an army of rats, one and all, they had deserted the place, leaving the Tojin-san alone, save for that unseen one, who alternatively teased and entreated him.
Even the faithful students, who had brought about her capture, had ceased to visit the Shiro, having vainly implored the Tojin-san to abandon the place. With a grim and stubborn patience, he kept doggedly to the course he had set himself.
All over the house he found traces of her. Now she had slept in this chamber, now in that. Here she had prepared her diminutive, stolen meal of fruit, honey, and rice.
He was aware of her constant nearness, and had he so desired, at almost any moment, he could have again seen her; but he was taking a more subtle means this time to entrap her. She must come forth of her own free will; then he would know he had her confidence, that she knew him for a friend. He found himself talking to her, sometimes sternly, in the chiding, coaxing tone one uses to a child. He would move from screen to screen as he talked, until he knew behind which one she pressed; but he made no effort to force her from her hiding-place.
Never a word would she speak in response until he was seated far removed from the sheltering screens, then she would begin reiterating the one appealing, accusing sentence: