Every day, all unknown to Yuki, her husband looked in her little jewel-box. The pile of bills grew larger. He no longer refused her requests for money. The fund was quite large now. The last time he had counted it there were four hundred dollars. He took a whim to make it five hundred, and that same day gave her a clear hundred dollars.

She had given him a solemn promise never to leave him again without his knowledge and consent, and for a whole month she had kept steadfastly at home. It was the happiest month in his life, a month that spelled naught else but joy and sunshine.

But the day after he had given her the hundred dollars she came to him and begged very humbly to be permitted to visit her old father and mother and seventeen little brothers and sisters. She still kept up this deception. He refused her almost gruffly. He had grown selfish and spoiled under her care. All the day, however, he watched her suspiciously, fearful lest she should slip away. And he was right. In the evening, when she had left him for a moment, he saw her leaving the house. He took his hat, and, keeping at a good distance from her, but never losing sight of her for a moment, he followed her.

Twilight was falling. Softly, tenderly, the darkness swept away the exquisite rays of red and yellow that the departing sun had left behind, for it was crossing the waters, until, far in the distance, it dipped deep down as though swallowed up by the bay.

Yuki was walking rapidly towards Tokyo. It was only a short distance, but nevertheless the thought of her little tender feet treading it alone, and at such an hour, unnerved her husband. Whatever her mission, wherever she was going, he would follow her. She belonged to him completely. She should never escape him now, he told himself.

She seemed to know her way, and showed no hesitation or fear when once in Tokyo, but bent her steps quickly and with assurance, until finally they were before the great terminal station at Shimbashi. They had now come a long distance. The girl looked tired: weary shadows were under her eyes, as she passed into the railway enclosure and bought a ticket for a town suburb a short distance from Tokyo.

Her husband went to the window, inquired where the girl was going, and bought a ticket for the same place.

Then began the long journey in the uncomfortable train, where there were no sleeping accommodations whatever. Yuki found a seat, and sat very quietly staring out at the flying darkness. After a time she put her head back against the seat and, despite the jolting of the train, fell asleep.

Her husband was close to her now—in the next seat, in fact. He could have touched her, as he so longed to do, but would not for fear of disturbing or frightening her.

When they reached the little town, the banging of the doors, the blowing of whistles, and shouts of the conductors awakened her. She came to life with a start, gathered her little belongings together, and left the train, her husband still following her.

It was a refined and beautiful little town they had arrived at, apparently the home of the exclusive and cultivated Japanese. Its atmosphere was grateful and pleasing after the crowded city of Tokyo, with its endless labyrinth of narrow streets and grotesque signboards, and ceaseless noises.

Yuki had not far to walk. Only a few steps from the little station, and then she was before one of those old-fashioned, pretentious palaces once affected by the nobles. There were signs of neglect about the house and gardens, which had fallen out of repair. No coolies or servants were in sight. At the garden gate Yuki paused a moment, leaning wearily against it, ere she opened and passed through, up the garden walk, and disappeared into the shadows of the palace.

Her husband stood for a long time as though rooted to the spot. Then very slowly he retraced his steps to the railway station, bought his ticket, and returned to Tokyo. He felt sure she would come back to him.

And she did, hardly two days later. He was very gentle to her this time. There were no more questions asked, and she vouchsafed no explanation.

But she came back to him strangely docile and submissive. All the old mockery and folly had vanished. She was angelic in her sweet tenderness and solicitude. But once he found her in tears. She protested they had come there because she had laughed so hard. Another time, when he offered her money, she refused passionately to accept it. It was the first time since she had lived with him. Thereafter she refused to take even the regular weekly allowance agreed upon. He looked in her little jewel-box, and found the money all gone.

Her docility and gentleness strengthened his confidence in her. He was sure she would never leave him again. He even told her of this belief, and she did not deny it. But her eyes were tearful. With boyish insistence he teased her.

“Tell me so—that you will never leave me again.”

“Never?” she said, but the word slipped her lips as a question.

“Repeat it after me,” he demanded.

“Say: ‘I—shall—never—never—leave you again.’”

“Ah, you makin’ fun ad me,” she protested, begging the question.

But he still persisted, and made her repeat slowly after him, word by word, that she would remain with him till death should part them.

One day he found her laboriously occupied at her small writing-desk. Her little hand flew down the page, rapidly drawing the strange characters of her country’s letters.

“What are you doing? You look as wise and solemn as a female Buddha.”

Yuki carefully blotted and covered her letter. She did not answer him. Instead she held up her little stained fingers, to show him the ink on them. He sat down beside her, kissing the tips of her fingers.

“To whom were you writing, fairy-sage?” he said.

“To whom? My brudder.”

“Your brother! Ah, you have a brother, have you? And where is he?”

She still hesitated, and he watched her keenly.

“He live ad Japan,” she said, after a long moment.

“Japan is quite a big place,” remarked her husband, suggestively. “He has rather large quarters for one fellow, don’t you think?”

“Japan liddle bit country,” she argued, trying to change the subject. “America, perhaps, grade big place, big as half the whole worl’—”

“Not quite,” interposed her husband, smiling.

“Well, big’s one-quarter of the worl’, anyhow,” she declared. “Bud Japan! Mos’ liddle bit insignificant spot on all the beautiful maps.”

“What part of Japan does your family live in?”

“Liddle bit town two hundled miles north of Tokyo.”

“Indeed.”

She had spoken the truth, he knew.

“Why doesn’t your brother come to see you?”

Now that he had commenced it, he stuck to his catechism doggedly.

“He don’t know where I live,” she said.

“Don’t know! That’s strange. Why doesn’t he?”

“I ‘fraid tellin’.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid he disowning me forever.”

“Why should he do that?”

He was getting interested. He disliked wringing her secrets from her in this wise. He wanted her confidence unsolicited; but his curiosity had the better of him. “Why should he disown you?” he repeated.

“Because I marrying—” she paused, somewhat piteously, holding one of his hands closely between her own small ones, and entreatingly pressing it as though begging him not to pursue his questions.

“Well?” he said—“because you married—”

“You,” she finished.

“Oh!” His ejaculation was rueful. Then he laughed, and squared his shoulders, and shook his finger at her.

“What’s the matter with me? Am I not good enough?”

“Too honorably good,” she declared, humbly.

“Then why does your family object to receiving me into its bosom, eh?”

“Because you jus’ barbarian,” she said, apologetically, and then swiftly tried to make amends. “Barbarian mos’ nize of all. Also I am liddle bit barbarian. I god them same barbarous eyes an’ oogly hair—”

“Loveliest hair in the world,” he said, stroking it fondly. “But never mind, dearie. Don’t look so distressed. It’s not your fault, of course, that your people disapprove of me.”

“They don’ dis’prove,” she interrupted him, her distress deepening. “They don’ never seen you even.”

“But I thought you said—”

“I jus’ guess. Tha’s why I don’ tell thad brudder. Mebbe he dis’prove you when he see you grade big barbarian. Tha’s bedder nod tell unto him.”

“But where does he think you are all the time?”

“He?” She lost her head a moment. “Likewise,” she continued, “he also travel from home. Perhaps he also marrying with beautiful barbarian leddy. Tha’s whad I dunno.”

“I don’t quite understand,” said her husband. “But never mind. If you don’t like the subject, and it’s plain you don’t, you sha’n’t be bothered with it.”

“Thangs,” she said, gratefully.

On another day, as she sat opening his American mail with her small paper-knife, a picture of a young American girl fell from the envelope. Yuki picked it up, and regarded it with dilated eyes and lips that quivered. It was the first shock of jealousy she had experienced. One of his own country-women then must love him. No Japanese girl would send her picture to any man save her lover.

Her first impulse was to tear the picture across. She did not want him to see it. Perhaps even the pictured face might win him back, she thought jealously. But she did not destroy it. She hid it in the sleeve of her kimono, and for a whole week she tortured herself with drawing it forth from its hiding-place and studying the face whenever she was alone a moment, comparing it with her own exquisite one in her small mirror.

Then conscience, or perhaps natural feminine curiosity to know who her rival was, prompted her to make humble confession to her husband of her theft.

He took the matter gayly, and seemed exuberantly happy at the idea of her being jealous, for she could not well hide this fact from him. He gloated over this apparent evidence of her love for him.

“Isn’t she lovely?” he asked, enthusiastically, pointing to the picture, and then pretending to hug it to him.

“No,” said Yuki, proudly. “Mos’ oogly girl in all the whole worl’. Soach silliest things on her haed. I don’ keer tha’s hat or nod. Flowers, birds, beas’, perhaps, an’ rollin’ her eyes this-a-way—”

“This is my sister,” said Jack, gravely. “I am sorry you don’t like her, Yuki. She’d be just the sort of girl to love you.”

Her little spurt of temper flickered out pitifully.

“Ah, pray forgive me,” she implored. “I mos’ silliest mousmÈ in all Japan. She jus’ lovely, mos’ sweet beautiful girl in all the whole worl’. Jus’ like you, my lord.”