“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 of talk 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 two races 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 seen
That it has ever been!”