Ole Cap'n Noah a-feelin' mighty blue,Kep' a sayin' to hisself, "Oh, what shall I do?"'Long come a sparrow bird, spic 'n spin,'Nhesay, "Brer Noah, do de bes' you kin.Yo' joy 'n yo' trouble is sho' gwine to bide'N las' jes' as long as yo' own tough hide.So say, Cap'n Noah, better laugh 'n grin;Perk up yo' speerits 'n do de bes' yo kin.
Ole Cap'n Noah a-feelin' mighty blue,Kep' a sayin' to hisself, "Oh, what shall I do?"'Long come a sparrow bird, spic 'n spin,'Nhesay, "Brer Noah, do de bes' you kin.
Yo' joy 'n yo' trouble is sho' gwine to bide'N las' jes' as long as yo' own tough hide.So say, Cap'n Noah, better laugh 'n grin;Perk up yo' speerits 'n do de bes' yo kin.
The insistent note of happiness in the girl's voice and the humble philosophy of the song so cheered me that, when my escort appeared on the stroke of ten, hope came riding down on the streaks of sunshine that were battling through the clouds.
While my companion had about him every mark of nervous restlessness that so often precedes a crisis or an illness he also had the air of a man at last determined to turn and face a pursuing enemy and stand, or fall by the clash. Fear was absent from face and manner. He even lightly jested as Jane, while greeting him, slipped into his pocket a tempting-looking package.
"Page, dear," she twittered, "it is only cookies and sandwiches and pickles and cake. But talking always makes people hungry. Those nice gentlemen down at the Kencho are never in a hurry. They may keep you till after lunchtime. You and Miss Jenkins can have a tea party."
Page laid a kindly hand on Jane's shoulder. "You dear little saint of a woman! How good all of you are to me, and how I thank you. Wellgood-by. When you see me again I'll be—"
With hand outstretched to open the door for me to pass, he paused. Once again the sound of a song reached us:
"Before I slept, I thought of thee;Then fell asleep and sought for theeAnd found thee.Had I but known 'twas only seeming,I had not waked, but lay forever dreaming."
"Before I slept, I thought of thee;Then fell asleep and sought for theeAnd found thee.Had I but known 'twas only seeming,I had not waked, but lay forever dreaming."
There was enough sweetness in Zura's voice to woo a man to Heaven or lure him to the other place. Page listened till the last note, then softly closed the door and walked beside me. The look on his face held me speechless. It was a glorious something he had gained, yet never to be his; a glimpse into paradise, then the falling of the shadows between; but the vision was his reward.
Usually it takes endless time in Japan to unwind the huge ball of red tape that is wrapped about the smallest official act. That morning, when Page and I presented ourselves at the Government office, the end of the tape seemed to have a pin stuck in it, so easily and swiftly was it found. Promptly announced, we were ushered without delay into a small inner office.
The walls of this room were lined with numberless shelves filled with files and papers. Any remaining space was covered by pictures of famous persons, people wanted or wanting, and a geisha girl or two.
I noticed two other things in the room. Adorning the center of the table, before which we were seated, was a large cuspidor. The fresh flowers inside matched the painted ones outside. To Japanese eyes the only possible use for such an ornament was to hold blossoms. It was neither beautiful nor artistic, but being foreign was the very thing with which to welcome American guests. Anxious as I was I felt myself smiling, if rather palely, at the many ways in which Kishimoto's prophecy was being fulfilled.
The other thing was not amusing, only significant. Page sat opposite me and I faced a heavily curtained recess, and some one was behind the drapery. I had seen the folds move. I had no way of warning the boy. Had we been alone, I doubt if I would have made the effort. Concealment for Page, unendurable suspense for those who loved him, must end. I spoke only when necessary to interpret an unusual word.
A small official with a big manner began byeulogizing Mr. Hanaford's skill in teaching and his success in imparting English. He felt it a great rudeness of manner to the honorable teacher gentleman, but the law compelled applicant for the position of Professor of English in the Normal College to answer many personal questions. For a moment he dallied with a few preliminary statements; then, throwing aside all reserve, the man began his probe as a skilled surgeon might search a victim's body for hidden bullets.
Page, outwardly calm, answered steadily at first, but his knotted fingers and swelling veins showed the strain. Once his lips trembled. I had never seen a man's lips tremble before. It's no wonder mothers can die for sons.
Inquiries as to quantity and quality of ancestors, place of birth, age, calling now and formerly came with the precision of a marksman hunting the center of the target. "How long have you been in this country?"
"About a year."
"From where did you come to Japan?"
Page hesitated, then stammered: "Don't remember."
The high-lifted brows of the official were eloquent, his voice increasingly sarcastic: "So!Your memory makes absence. Repeat your name once again."
"Page Hanaford."
"Hanaford? So! Now your other name?"
"I have no other name."
"Your other name!" was the sharp demand.
"My name is Page Hanaford, I tell you." He spoke with quick anger as he arose from the chair.
"Your other name!" sternly reiterated his inquisitor.
A wave of confusion seemed to cover the boy. Desperate and at bay, he rather feebly steadied himself for a last defense. "What do you mean? Can't you hear me? I tell you for the last time my name is—"
"Ford Page Hamilton," supplied the voice of Kobu, cool, suave and sure as he came from behind the curtain. "I arrest you as fugitive. See what paper says? You take moneys from bank." He exposed a circular printed in large type. It read:
"$5,000 reward for information of one Ford Page Hamilton, dead or alive. Last seen in Singapore, summer of 1912," followed by a detailed description and signed by a Chicago banking firm.
"It's a lie!" shouted Page as he read.
"No lie. See? Page Hanaford San, Ford Hamilton San all same." Kobu held close to the pitiful white face a photograph which undoubtedly could have been Page Hanaford in happier days.
The boy looked, then laid his shaking arm across his eyes. With a moan as if his soul had yielded to despair he hoarsely whispered: "Oh, God! A thief! It's over!"
He sank to the floor.
In old Nippon the flower of kindness reaches full perfection when friend or foe suffers defeat. Page Hanaford might be a long-hunted prize in the police world, but to the group around him as he lay on the floor, his head upon my lap, he was a stranger far from home and very ill. Justice could wait while mercy served. Pity urged willing messengers to bring restoratives, to summon doctors who pronounced the sick man in the clutches of fever. Hospitals in Hijiyama are built for the emergencies of war, and solicitude for Page's comfort was uppermost when, after a short consultation among the officials, permission was granted to remove him to my house with an officer in charge.
A policeman headed the little procession that moved slowly up the steps to The House of the Misty Star, and one followed to keep at a distance the sympathetic, but curious crowd. Four men carried a stretcher beside which I walked holding the limp hand of Page, who was still claimed by a merciful unconsciousness.
The news spread rapidly. As we reached the upper road I saw Zura at the entrance, waiting our coming, so rigid she seemed a part of the carving on the old lodge gates. Her face matched the snow beneath her feet.
"Is he dead?" she demanded, as we came closer.
"No. But he's desperately ill—and under arrest," I hurriedly added.
"Oh, but he's alive; nothing else matters. Come on; my room is ready."
Before I could protest, she had given orders to the men, and Zura's bedroom was soon converted from a girlish habitation into a dwelling place where life and death waged contest.
Later the two physicians asked for an audience with me and delivered their opinion: "Hanaford San's illness is the result of a severe mental shock, received before recovery from previous illness; cause unknown; outcome doubtful."
"Oh, God! A thief! It's over!""Oh, God! A thief! It's over!"
From the sick-room orders had been issued for absolute quiet. Every member of the house crept about, keenly aware of the grim foe that lurked in every corner. When night came down the darkness seemed to enter the house and wrap itself about us as well.
As Red Cross nurse on battlefields in the aftermath, I had helped put together the remnants of splendid men and promising youth; in sorrowing homes I had seen hope die with the going-out of such as these. But for me, no past moment of life held gloom so impenetrable as that first night when Page Hanaford lay in my house, helpless. The dreaded thing had come. The boy who had walked into our hearts to stay was a fugitive with only a small chance to live that he might prove he was not a criminal.
The evening household dinner remained untouched. The servants hung about the doors, eager to be of service, refusing to believe the sick man was anything but a prince of whom the gods were jealous. Only old Ishi was happy. In festal robes he was stationed at the lodge gates with a small table before him ready to do the honors of the house in the ancient custom of receiving cards.
Up the steps came a long procession of students, officials and civilians, my friends and Page's, every caller in best kimono. From one hand dangled a lighted lantern with the caller's name and calling shining boldly out through the thin paper, in theother he held a calling-card which was laid upon the table in passing. The long line testified to their liking and sympathy for the sick man. To each caller Ishi had a wonderful tale to tell. The marvel of it grew as his cups of saké increased. At a late hour I found him entertaining a crowd with the story of how the silly foreign girl had cut off the heads of his ancestors which were in the flowers. Now the gods were taking their vengeance upon the one she loved best. Of course only an American girl would be so brazen as to show her liking for any special man. I took him by the shoulder.
"Ishi, you are drunk. And at such a time."
"No, Jenkins San, I triumph for Hanaford San. He die to escape Zura San. 'T is special 'casion. All Japanese gentlemens drink special 'casions. I assist honorable gods celebrate downfall of 'Merca and women."
Having locked up the gates and Ishi, I went back to the living-room, where I found Jane and Zura. It was my first opportunity to tell them in detail what had happened at the Kencho—of Kobu's charge, the arrest and Page's collapse.
Zura was called from the room by some household duty. Jane and I were left alone. Thoughmy companion looked tired and a little anxious, she seemed buoyed up by some mental vision to which she hopefully clung.
"Miss Jenkins, please tell me just what the poster said," asked Jane.
The printed words I had read that morning seemed burned into my brain. I repeated them exactly.
"Well, it didn't even give a hint that Page was that nice cashier gentleman from Chicago, did it?" she inquired.
"No, Jane, it didn't; only it was signed by the Chicago Bank. But Kobu told me he was sure Page was the man. He has cabled the authorities to come."
"He has cabled, has he? He knows, does he? Kobu has himself going to another thought. Isn't that what Zura says? Page Hanaford is no more the man wanted for borrowing that bank's money than I am a fashion plate wanted in Paris." Her words were light, but very sure.
Her apparent levity irritated me. "How do you know? What are you saying, Jane?" I asked sharply.
"Oh, I just have a feeling that way. Page is too good-looking," answered my companion.
"For the love of heaven, Jane Gray, that's no reason. Good looks don't keep a man from sin."
"Maybe not, but they help; and Page loves poetry too," she ended with quiet stubbornness. Then after a pause: "That program did not say what particular thing our boy was wanted for, did it?" Neither in joy nor sorrow did Jane's talent desert her for misusing words.
"No, the circular did not state the details. But if you think there is any mistake about the whole thing go to the room and look at that policeman pacing up and down before the door. And if you think the boy's not desperately ill, look inside and see those two doctors and that speck of a trained nurse watching his every breath. You can read the paper yourself, if you don't believe me."
"Miss Jenkins, don't pin your faith to a program; they tell awful fibs. Once I wrote one myself for a meeting and I said, 'The audience will remain standing while collection is taken,' and it made me say: 'The remains of the audience will be collected while standing.'"
"How can you?" I asked. Hot tears stung my eyes.
Instantly Jane was by my side. "How can I? Because it's best never to believe anything youhear and only half of what you see. I know the dear boy is ill. But he's not guilty. The idea of that sweet boy, with such a nice mouth and teeth, doing anything dishonorable! It's all a mistake. I know guilt when I see it, and Page hasn't a feature of it."
Jane Gray exasperated me to the verge of hysteria, but her sure, simple faith had built a hospital and changed the criminal record of a city. The thought that she might be right, in spite of the circular and Kobu, gave me so much comfort that the tears flowed unchecked.
My companion looked at me critically for a moment, then left the room. She returned shortly bearing a heaped-up tray, which she arranged before me. "Honey, you can't be hopeful when you are hungry. You told me so yourself. I don't believe you've eaten since morning. Here's just a little bite of turkey and mince pie and chicken salad. Eat it. There's plenty more, for nobody's touched that big dinner we were going to celebrate Page's new position with. Now turn around to the lamp so you can see. What a funny fat shadow you make! But how sweet it is to know if we keep our faces to the light the shadows are always behind us! Now I must run and get a littlesleep. Zura says I am to go on watch at three."
I thought her gone, when the door opened again and I could see only her gray head and bright, though tired face. "Miss Jenkins, please don't let that layer cake fool you. It is not tough. I just forgot to take the brown papers from the bottom of the layers when I iced them. Do as I tell you, eat and sleep."
"What if to-morrow's care were hereWithout its rest?I'd rather He'd unlock the dayAnd, as the hours swing open, say,'Thy will be best.'"
"What if to-morrow's care were hereWithout its rest?I'd rather He'd unlock the dayAnd, as the hours swing open, say,'Thy will be best.'"
"Good-night, dear friend."
Then she was gone. The tables were turned in more ways than one. Jane was counselor and I the counseled, she the comforter and I to be comforted.
In the daughters of Japan lies a hidden quality ever dormant unless aroused by a rough shake from the hand of necessity; it is the power to respond calmly and skilfully to emergencies. In this, as never before, Zura Wingate declared her Oriental heritage. On the tragic morning when I had gonewith Page to the Kencho I had left her a singing, joyous girl, her feet touching the borderland of earth's paradise. I returned and found her a woman, white lipped and tense, but full of quiet command. The path to love's domain had been blocked by a sorrow which threatened desolation to happiness and life. Not with tears and vain rebellion did she protest against fate or circumstances, nor waste a grain of energy in useless re-pinings. With the lofty bearing her lordly forefathers wore when going forth to defeat or victory this girl stood ready, and served so efficiently that both nurse and doctors bestowed their highest praise when they told her she was truly a Japanese woman.
So frequent were the demands from household and sick-room that I feared for her strength. I knew she suffered. Rigid face muscles and dark-rimmed eyes so testified; but aside from these some tireless spirit held her far above weariness. Alert to see and quick to perform, under her hand, after a few days, the house settled down into a routine where each member had a special duty. In turn we watched or waited while the heavy, anxious days dragged themselves along until they numbered ten.
In the last half of each night Zura and I watchedby Page and wrestled with the cruel thing that held him captive. They were painful, but revealing hours. I was very close to the great secrets of life, and the eternal miracle of coming dawn was only matched in tender beauty by the wonder of a woman's love. It was Zura's cool, soft hand that held the burning lids and shut out the hideous specters Page's fevered eyes saw closing down upon him. It was her voice that soothed him into slumber after the frenzy of delirium.
"Ah," he'd pant, weary of the struggle with a fancied foe, "you've come, my lovely princess. No! You're my goddess!" Then with tones piteous and beseeching he would begin anew the prayer ever present on his lips since his illness. "Beloved goddess, tell me—what did I do with them? You are divine; you know. Help me to find them quick. Quick; they are shutting the door; it has bars. I cannot see your face."
"I am here, Page," Zura would answer. "If the door shuts, I'll be right by your side."
In love for the boy each member of the house was ready day or night for instant service, but vain were our combined efforts to help the fevered brain to lay hold of definite thought long enough for him to name the thing that was breaking his heart.From pleading for time to search for something, he would wander into scenes of his boyhood. Once he appealed to me as his mother and asked me to sing him to sleep. Before I could steady my lips he had drifted into talk of the sea and tried to sing a sailor's song. Often he fancied himself on a pirate ship and begged not to be put off on some lonely island. He fiercely resisted. But his feebleness was no match for Zura's young strength, and as she held him she would begin to sing:
"Before I slept I thought of thee;Then fell asleep and sought for theeAnd found thee:Had I but known 'twas only seeming,I had not waked, but lay forever dreaming."
"Before I slept I thought of thee;Then fell asleep and sought for theeAnd found thee:Had I but known 'twas only seeming,I had not waked, but lay forever dreaming."
"Dreaming, dreaming," the boy would repeat. "Sweetheart, you are my dearest dream."
Inch by inch we fought and held at bay the enemy. We lost all contact with the outside. To us the center of the world was the pink-and-white room, and on the stricken boy that lay on the bed was staked all our hope.
The long delayed crisis flashed upon us early one morning when the doctors found in what we had feared was the end only a healing sleep from which Page awakened and called Zura by name. Eventhen it was a toss-up whether he could win out against despair. Uppermost in his mind was ever the torturing thought of the thing that had made him a fugitive.
An icy hand was laid upon our joy at the signs of returning health when we remembered a certain ship that was right then cutting the blue waters of the Pacific nearing the shores of Japan, bearing authority to make a prisoner of Page if he lived. They were not happy days, and it was with undefined emotions that I saw life and strength come slowly to the sick man.
By daily visits Kobu kept himself advised of the patient's condition, and kept us informed of the swift approach of the Vancouver steamer and its dreaded passenger. One day, when Page was sleeping and our anxiety as to what was coming had reached the breaking point, the detective came. He announced that he had received information that the steamer had docked at Yokohama that morning. In the afternoon the Chicago Bank representative would arrive at Otsu, our nearest railroad station. Kobu said he would bring the guest to our house at once and his kind wish that Page San's "sicker would soon be healthy" did not wholly hide the triumph of his professional pride.
He went his way to the station, leaving behind him thoughts sadder than death can bring.
When I told Jane what we were to expect her pale eyes were almost drowned. She looked frail and tired, but from somewhere a smile made rainbows of her tears.
"Don't give up, Miss Jenkins. No use crying over cherry blossoms before they wither. Kobu's human enough to be mistaken. Detectives aren't so smart. Sometimes they tree a chipmunk and think it's a bear."
It was the nearest I'd ever heard Jane come to a criticism, and I knew she felt deeply to go this far.
Zura listened quietly to what I had to tell. But her eyes darkened and widened. "You mean they are coming to take Page away?"
"Yes; as soon as he is strong enough."
"Then I am going with him."
"Go with him? You, a young girl, go with a man who is in charge of an officer? It's impossible. I pray God it's not true, but if the law can prove that Page has sinned, he will have to pay the penalty in prison. You can't go there."
"No, but I can wait outside, and be ready to stand by him when he is released. No matter howguilty the law declares him, he is still the same Page to me. He's mine. I belong to him. Did not my own mother think home and country well lost for love? She knew her fate and smiled while she blindly followed. I know mine, and there is no other path for me but by the side of Page. Whatever comes I've known his love."
It was not the raving of a hysterical girl; it was the calm utterance of a woman—one of the East, who in recognizing the call of her destiny unshrinkingly accepts its decrees of sorrow as well as of joy. By training, environment and inclination Zura Wingate might be of the West; but her Occidental blood was diluted with that of the East, and wherever is found even one small drop, though it sleep long, in the end it arises and claims its own as surely as death claims life.
It was only a little while since Kobu had left us to go to the station to bring the unwelcome visitor from America.
The hills had scarcely ceased the echo of the shrieking engine, it seemed to me, when I heard the tap of the gong at the entrance. I started at once for Page's room where Zura and Jane were on watch.
Kobu and his companion were ahead of me.The brilliant light of a sunny afternoon softened as it sifted through the paper shoji, suffusing room and occupants in a tender glow. Through it, as I reached the door, I saw Zura half bending over the bed, shielding the face of the sick boy, Jane at the foot with lifted, detaining hand, Kobu's face as he pointed to the bed, saying, "There, sir, is the thief—I mean prisoner," and his startled look as the tall, gray-headed stranger went swiftly to the bed and gathered Page into his outstretched arms.
"A thief!" he cried. "Somebody's going to get hurt in a minute. He's my son. Oh! boy, boy, I thought I'd lost you!"
Jane was the first in that astonished group to recover, and her voice was as sweet and clear as a trumpet-call of victory, singing her gladness and trust: "I knew it! I knew it! But who are you, sir? Page said his father was dead."
"I? My name is Ford Page Hamilton, and this is my boy. I've been looking for him for months."
Page's eyes intently searched his father's face, as alternate fear and joy possessed him. The moment was tense; we waited breathlessly; at last Page asked: "But, Father, what did I do with them?"
"With what, son?"
"The bags of money—the collection I was to turn over to the firm."
"You delivered them sealed and labeled, then you disappeared off the map, just as if you had melted."
The word "melted" seemed to open in the brainof the invalid a door long closed. A sleeping memory stirred. "Wait! It is all coming back! Give me time!" he pleaded.
It was no place for a crowd. I took Zura by the hand, pulled Jane's sleeve, motioned Kobu toward the door, and together we went softly away.
An hour later, when Mr. Hamilton came in, the happiest spot in all the Flowery Kingdom was the little living-room of "The House of the Misty Star."
Page was asleep through sheer exhaustion, and the father, with lowered voice and dimmed eyes, told the story.
The explanation was all so simple I felt as if I should be sentenced for not thinking of it before. For had I not seen what tricks the heat of the Orient could play with the brain cells of a white man? Had I not seen men and women go down to despair under some fixed hallucination, conjured from the combination of overwork and a steamed atmosphere—transforming happy, normal humans into fear-haunted creatures, ever pursued by an unseen foe? In such a fever-racked mind lay all Page's troubles.
For the last four years he had held a place ofheavy responsibility with a large oil concern in Singapore. His duties led him into isolated districts. Danger was ever present, but a Malay robber was no more treacherous an enemy than the heat, and far less subtle. One day, after some unusually hard work, Page turned in his money and reports, and went his way under the blistering sun.
It was then that the fever played its favorite game by confusing his brain and tangling his thoughts. He wandered down to the docks and aboard a tramp steamer about to lift anchor. When the vessel was far away the fateful disease released its grip on his body. But in the many months of cruising among unnamed islands in southern seas, it cruelly mocked him with a belief he had purloined the money and taunted him with forgetfulness as to the hiding place.
When Page left the ship at a Japanese port memory cleared enough to give him back a part of his name, but tricked him into hiding from a crime he had not committed.
My remorse was unmeasurable as I realized the whole truth, but my heart out-caroled any lark that ever grew a feather. The boy's soul was as clean as our love for him was deep.
"Oh! boy, boy, I thought I'd lost you""Oh! boy, boy, I thought I'd lost you"
"You see," continued Mr. Hamilton, "Page'smother died when he was only a lad, and my responsibility was doubled. When his regular letters ceased I cabled his firm for information. They were unable to find any trace of him. He had always been such a strong, sturdy youth I could not connect him with illness. Fearing he had been waylaid or was held for ransom I offered the reward through my Chicago bankers. The months at sea of course blocked us. The suspense was growing intolerable when the information came from Mr. Kobu; that brought me here."
All this time the detective had been silent. But no word or look of the others escaped him. At last the thing was forced upon him. He had missed the much-wanted cashier whose capture meant a triumph over the whole detective world. And he had been so very sure Page was the man! Descriptions and measurements were so alike. Both from the same city, one with the name of Hamilton, the other with that of Hammerton.
As Page's father remarked when he heard the story: "Mr. Kobu, those names are enough alike to be brothers, though I'm glad they are not."
But Kobu was not to be coaxed into any excuse for himself. Any one who knew him could but know the humiliation he would suffer at mistakingthe prize. Even a big reward was slight balm to the blow at his pride. Intently he watched and listened until the details were clear to him. He could not understand all this emotion and indulgence in tears which were good only to wash the dust from eyes. But Kobu was truly Japanese in his comprehension of a father's love. He masked his chagrin with a smile and paid unstinted praise to the man who had tirelessly searched for his only son. With many bows and indrawings of breath the detective made a profound adieu to each of us and took his leave.
As the sound of the closing lodge gates reached us something in Jane's attitude caught my attention. In her eye was the look of a mischievous child who had foiled its playmate.
"Jane, what is the matter with you?" I asked.
"I was just feeling so sorry for Mr. Kobu. He is awfully nice, but I could not tell him. I knew!"
"What?" I demanded.
"Oh, I knew dear Page was not the gentleman who borrowed the bank's money."
"Knew it! How did you know?"
"Because a little while ago that nice cashier gentleman from Chicago sought shelter in the Quarters. I heard his story. He was the hungriest man for home cooking I ever saw. I gave him plenty of it, too, and a little Testament besides, before he left."
"Why, Jane Gray! you knew this and did not tell?"
"Yes, Miss Jenkins; that is what I did. You see I am a sort of father confessor. I simply cannot furnish information about the dear people who confide in me. I would have saved Page, but when I came home and found him ill something told me to give both men a chance. I knew Page was not guilty. The same thing that made me sure of my hospital made me certain he would get well. The other man—well, you know, I am only a messenger of hope. I wanted to give him time to read that little book!"
I was dumb with astonishment.
"Upon my word," remarked Mr. Hamilton after an eloquent pause, "as a soul diplomat you give me a new light on missionaries! Everything is all right now. I have found my son, and, if I know the signs, a daughter as well. She is a picture in her nurse's dress. Tell me about her."
I turned to look for Zura, but she was no longer in the room.
Leaving the delighted Jane in a full swing oftalk about Zura, I withdrew and crossed the passageway. The paper doors of the sick chamber were wide apart, and once again I saw outlined against the glow of the evening sky two figures. The girl held the hands of the man against her heart, and through the soft shadows came low, happy voices:
"Ah, Zura, 'I sought for thee and found thee!'"
"Belovedest," joyously whispered the girl, bending low. Darkness, tender as love itself, folded about them, and I went my peaceful way.
Two long-to-be-remembered months passed swiftly. On the wings of each succeeding hour was borne to Page the joy of returning health, to the other members of my household the gladness of life we had never before known. Mr. Hamilton remained, waiting to take back with him, as one, Page and Zura. In the fullness of her joy Zura was quite ready to forgive and be forgiven, and said so very sincerely to her grandfather.
Kishimoto San replied in a way characteristic. He said the whole tragedy was the inevitable result of broken traditions and the mixing of tworaces which to the end of eternity would never assimilate. He had washed his heart clean of all anger against her, but his days were nearing a close. He had lost the fight and for him life was done. Oblivion would be welcome, for after all
"What of our life! 'T is imaged by a boat:The wide dawn sees it on the sea afloat;Swiftly it rows away,And on the dancing waves no trace is seenThat it has ever been!"
"What of our life! 'T is imaged by a boat:The wide dawn sees it on the sea afloat;Swiftly it rows away,And on the dancing waves no trace is seenThat it has ever been!"
Jane's hospital was soon completed, and I could no longer resist the sincere pleadings for her to be allowed to live in the quarters once again. "My people are calling, and, though I am a frail and feeble leader, I must give all my time to them and help them to find the way back home and sell their souls for the highest price."
Without protest I let her go. I had no word of criticism for Jane. Every soul is born for a purpose—some to teach, others to preach, and all to serve. Miss "Jaygray" more than justified her calling and her kind. Her simple faith had made many whole.
Once again the Spirit of Spring held the old garden in a radiance of color. Once again thebird from the spirit land called to its mate and heard the soft thrill of the answer. The singing breeze swayed the cloud of cherry bloom, sending showers of petals to earth, covering the grim old stone image, making giant pink mushrooms of the low lanterns.
How lonely a thing would have been the Spirit of Spring had it not walked hand in hand with the Spirit of Love!
In the white moonlight sifting through the pines I saw Page and Zura in my garden on their last night in old Japan—destinies, begun afar, fulfilled beneath the shadows of the smiling gods.
"But think what love will do to them both," had once said the foolishly wise little missionary.
And now it has all come to pass.
Once again I am alone, yet never lonely, for my blessings are unmeasured. I have my work. I have love, and The House of the Misty Star holds the precious jewel of memory.
Transcriber's notes: Quotation marks normalised.