and looks into the fire.  Not by the quiver of an eyelash does he give any sign, no matter how close the shots and shouts.  Inscrutable and immovable, he seems a thing utterly apart from the tremendous upheaval of his country.  And yet, for all anybody knows, he may be chief plotter of the whole movement.  His unmoved serenity is about the most soothing thing in all this Hades.  I am not really and truly afraid.  Jack is with me, and just over there, above the crimson glare of the burning city, gently but surely float the Stars and Stripes.

Good night, beloved Mate.  I will not believe we are dead till it happens.  Besides, I simply could not die till Jack and I have saved Sada San.

By the way, I start for Japan tomorrow.  The prayers of the congregation are requested!

KIOTO HOTEL, KIOTO, March, 1912.

Beloved Mate: 

Rejoice with me!  Sing psalms and give thanks.  Something has happened.  I do not know just what it is, but little thrills of happiness are playing hop-scotch up and down my back, and my bead is lighter than usual.

Be calm and I will tell you about it.

In the first place, I got here this morning, more dead than alive, after days of travel that are now a mere blur of yelling crowds, rattling trains and heaving seas.  A wire from Yokohama was waiting.  Billy had beat me here by a few hours.  At noon, to-day, a big broad-shouldered youth met me, whom I made no mistake in greeting as Mr. Milton.  Billy’s eyes are beautifully brown.  William’s chin looks as if it was modeled for the purpose of dealing with tea-house Uncles.

Not far from the station is a black-and-tan temple—­ancient and restful.  To that we strolled and sat on the edge of the Fountain of Purification, which faces the quiet monastery garden, while we talked things over.  That is, Billy did the questioning; I did the talking to the mystic chanting of the priests.

I quickly related all that I knew of what had happened to Sada, and what was about to happen.  There was no reason for me to adorn the story with any fringes for it to be effective.  Billy’s face was grim.  He said little; put a few more questions, then left me saying he would join me at dinner in the hotel.

I passed an impatient, tedious afternoon.  Went shopping, bought things I can never use, wondering all the time what was going to be the outcome.  Got a reassuring cable from Jack in answer to mine, saying all was well with him.

Mr. Milton returned promptly this evening.  He ordered dinner, then forgot to eat.  He did not refer to the afternoon; and long intimacy with science has taught me when not to ask questions.  There was only a fragment of a plan in my mind; I had no further communication from Sada, and knew nothing more than that the wedding was only a day off.

We decided to go to Uncle’s house together.  I was to get in the house and see Sada if possible, taking, as the excuse for calling, a print on which, in an absent-minded moment, I had squandered thirty yen.