; it is a--what you say?--a folk
story of the Japanese. These men are of ignorance. But we gentlemen
know it is of absurdness, and most untrue. It is a story of great
unscientificness."

Ichi rolled the last word off his tongue with difficult triumph.
"Unscientificness," was evidently the club his Western education gave
him, with which to combat the inbred superstition of centuries. But
Martin saw it was a straw club.

But if Ichi were frightened, he mastered his fear.

"It will, perhaps, be some time till the next shake," he told Martin.
"We must haste. You shall follow me, please? And recall, as we walk,
that Moto is but a pace behind you, and in fine readiness."

He chattered peremptory words to his followers. One of the sailors
picked up a lantern, Moto stepped behind Martin, and Ichi lifted the
other lantern and stepped toward the cave mouth.

"You might look well at the sky, dear Mr. Blake," he leered over his
shoulder at Martin. "Who may say when you will see it again?"

But Martin was in no mood to be frightened. Indeed, if he had put his
hot thoughts into words, he would have replied to the sinister hint by
inviting Ichi to take _his_ last look at daylight. He did look at the
sky, but it was for another purpose than bidding farewell to sunlight.
He brought his gaze down to the waters of the bay.

The _Cohasset_ was quiet, lying peacefully on the easy water. Figures
on her deck were plainly visible. Martin saw the bow-legged lieutenant
standing on the poop, staring at the group on the beach. He saw more.

The tide had swung the vessel around during the past few moments. She
now lay broadside on to the beach. From a cabin port, he saw a bit of
fluttering white. A lump rose in his throat. It was Ruth, he knew,
waving him good-by. Dear Ruth! Yes, it was farewell! Farewell to
life, perhaps, and to love, to this wonderful love that made him almost
happy in his misery. The thought of his sweetheart cooped up in that
little room with the stricken blind man, with only her resourceful wit
and high courage to combat the leaguering terrors, steeled his resolve.
He would play his part, he vowed to himself, no matter what the price
he payed. God grant that his shipmates be enabled to play their part!

"Ah--we wait, Mr. Blake!" came Ichi's voice, and he was suddenly
conscious that Moto's hand was pressing his shoulder.

Ichi was already inside, lantern held high. As Martin stepped for the
ope