Koto had told NumÈ nothing of her visit to Sinclair. The girl had been so stunned by the deaths of her father, Orito, and Sachi, that Koto had not the heart even to tell her good news; for when our friends are in sorrow the best comfort one can give is to weep and sorrow with them;—so the Japanese believe. Besides, she wanted Sinclair's coming to be a surprise to the girl.

SITTING TOGETHER HAND IN HAND.

In NumÈ's great sorrow and illness she would have no one by her save Koto, and once in a while Koto's friend, Matsu, who was visiting them. Koto had had her come to the house because she played the harp so beautifully, and she knew the music would please NumÈ. Both the girls tried in every way to make up to the grieving orphan for the sorrows that had suddenly come to darken her young life. Often the three would sit together hand in hand, NumÈ between her two friends, speaking no word to each other, but each feeling strangely comforted and refreshed with the others' love and sympathy. After the funeral ceremony, NumÈ had awakened somewhat out of her apathy, and tried to take interest in things about her; but it was a pitiful effort, and always made Koto weep so much that one day Matsu had suggested to her that she go to the city and see the American and tell him the truth. For NumÈ had told Koto of what Mrs. Davis had caused her to do; and Koto, in her turn, had told Matsu.

"You have become too secluded and proud, Koto," the city geisha girl told her. "It is an easy matter to go to the city and perhaps you will do NumÈ and the American a great service. I will stay with NumÈ-san while you are gone, and will wait on her just as if I were indeed her maid instead of your being so." It was in this way Koto had been induced to visit the American.

NUMÈ AND HER TWO FRIENDS KOTO AND MATSU.

The next morning, as she and NumÈ sat together, she said:

"NumÈ-san, did you know why Orito killed himself?"

"No."

"It was because he loved the honorable American lady."

NumÈ did not interrupt her. Koto continued: "The beautiful one that was betrothed to Mr. Sinka."

NumÈ's little hands were clasped in her lap. She did not speak, still.

Koto went on: "You see, she was not worthy, after all, that you sacrificed the pretty American gentleman for her, for Matsu says that all the Americans say at the hotel that she tell Orito sometime that she love him just for fun—and she not love—so Takashima Orito kill himself."

Still NumÈ did not reply. Her little head had fallen back weakly against the pillow. She was looking away out before her. After a time Koto put her arms about her, and they clung together.

"Koto," NumÈ said, vaguely, "will you leave me now? Or will you stay with me forever? NumÈ is so lonely now."

Koto evaded the question.

"I will stay with you, NumÈ-san, until you do not need me any longer."

"That will never be," the other said, tenderly.

That afternoon Koto fetched her samisen and played very softly to NumÈ. After a time she laid her instrument aside and went to the door, shading her face with her hand as she scanned the road. It was about the hour Sinclair had told her to expect him. She heard the beat of his runners before they were within a mile of the house.

"I am going to leave you all alone, for a little while," she told NumÈ.

She went down to meet Sinclair, and admitted him into the house. She pointed to the room where NumÈ was and then left him.

Sinclair pushed aside the shoji and passed into the room.

NumÈ raised her head languidly at the opening of the screens. At first she thought she was dreaming, and she sat up straight on the little couch on which she had been resting. Suddenly Sinclair was beside her, and had taken her bodily into his arms.

"NumÈ! NumÈ!" he whispered;—and then, as she struggled faintly to be free, he said, blissfully, "Oh, I know the truth, little sweetheart, though it is too good for me to understand it yet. Koto has told me everything, and—and oh! NumÈ!" He kissed the wistful eyes rapturously.

He scarcely knew her, she had grown so quiet and sad. In the woods she had chattered constantly to him;—now, he could not make her say anything. But after a while, when Sinclair had chided her for her silence, she said, very shyly:

"Do you luf me, Mr. Sinka, bedder than the beautiful Americazan lady?"

Sinclair raised her little face between his two hands.

"Sweetheart—do you need to ask?" he said. "I have never loved any one but you."

The girl smiled—the first time she had smiled in weeks. Her two little hands met round his neck, she rose on tiptoe. "NumÈ lig' to kees with you," she said, artlessly. There is no need to tell what Sinclair answered.

When the shadows began to deepen, he and NumÈ still sat together on the small lounge, neither of them conscious of time or place. They were renewing their acquaintance with each other, and each was discovering new delights in the other.

It was Koto who broke in on them. She had been in the next room all the time, and had watched them through small peep-holes in the wall.

She made a great noise at the other side of it to let them know it was now getting late. They looked at each other smiling, both comprehending.

"Koto is our friend foraever," NumÈ said.

"We will be Koto's friends forever," Sinclair answered.