“Papa, Papa!” she shrieked, seizing the lantern and waving it wildly back and forth.

“Halloo!” yelled Nicholas, and then there came an answering shout, a really human cry this time, and after several breathless moments of waiting Mr. Campbell staggered into the temple.

Nicholas and Mary turned their faces away at sight of his emotion when he found his daughter in his arms.  He actually buried his face on her shoulder and wept like a child.

“I was beginning to think I was never going to see you again, sweetheart,” he said brokenly.

It gave Mary a lonesome, remote feeling.  She drew away from the others into a corner of the temple and rested her chin on her hands.

“I wonder how it would feel to have some one big and strong and—­and handsome to love and protect one like that,” she thought contemplatively.

Just then a figure staggered into the circle of light cast by the lantern.  It was Mr. Buxton.

“Good evening,” he said.  “Delightful weather, isn’t it?  Suppose we shed a little light on Carlton’s path,” he added calmly, holding the light to the door.  Reggie was close behind his friend, however, and with feelings of enormous relief, the little company proceeded to sit down on the floor and relate their experiences.

“It all really happened,” remarked Mary, after Billie had confessed the cause of all the trouble, “because we tried to count the four hundred statues of Buddha and never got the same answer twice, and he naturally didn’t like it, and I suppose he put us to sleep and summoned the Storm King—­”

“No, child,” interrupted Mr. Buxton, “I am sorry to disabuse your romantic young mind, but it really happened because the pressure of the coming storm had a stupefying effect.  Buddha was a very high-minded gentleman.  He would never have taken offence over such a trivial matter.”

“Don’t contradict her, Buxton,” said Mr. Campbell.  “You have no imagination to comprehend the supernatural, anyhow.”

“It would be supernatural for two women to count alike,” answered the incorrigible bachelor, who would have the last word.

Gradually the storm spent its fury, and by midnight they were able to return to the little villa.  Except for a few scratches and bruises, the only important result of the Storm King’s visit was Nancy’s determination to write a letter to Mme. Fontaine.

CHAPTER XVII.

A VISIT OF CEREMONY.

The most unhappy person in the whole of fair Japan was Miss Nancy Brown one lovely morning in July.  At least she thought she was; which is very near to being the same thing.  She had dispatched a letter to Mme. Fontaine and received an answer that the brass vase by the writing desk was now empty—­a curious way to put it, Nancy thought, and one which did not quiet her uneasiness in the least.  In return for this bit of information the Widow of Shanghai asked a strange favor of Nancy, one which puzzled and troubled her considerably.  But it was a simple request and Nancy could not see any reason for declining to grant it.