third wall, a solid one of smoke-blue plaster, held the
niche called "tokonoma," where pictures are hung and flower vases set.
The remaining wall, opening toward the suite of chambers, was fashioned
of four great sliding doors called fusuma, dull silver of background,
with paintings of shadowy mountain landscape done centuries before by
one of the greatest of the Kanos. It was in front of these doors that
Mata now placed two lighted candles in tall bronze holders.

Outside, the garden became a blur of soft darkness. Within, the
flickering yellow light of the candles danced through the room,
touching now the old face, now the young, each set hard in its own
lines of concentrated thought. Weird shadows played about the
mountains on the silver doors, and hid in far corners of the matted
floor.

All at once the two central fusuma were apart. No slightest sound had
been made, yet there, in the narrow rectangle, stood a figure,--surely
not of earth,--a slim form in misty gray robes, wearing a crown of
intertwisted dragons, with long filigree chains that fell straight to
the shoulders. In one hand was held an opened fan of silver.

Tatsu gave a convulsive start, then checked himself. He could not
believe the vision real. Not even in his despairing dreams had the
Dragon Maid appeared so exquisite. As he gazed, one white-clad foot
slid a few inches toward him on the shining floor. Another step, and
she was in the room. The fusuma behind her closed as noiselessly as
they had opened. Tatsu shivered a little, and stared on. With equal
intensity the old man watched the face of Tatsu.

The figure had begun to sway, slightly, at full length, like long bands
of perpendicular rain across the face of a mountain. A singing voice
began, rich, passionate, and low, matching with varying intonation the
marvellous postures of fan and throat and body. At first low in sound,
almost husky, it flowered to a note long held and gradually deepening
in power. It gathered up shadows from the heart and turned them into
light.

Ume-ko danced (or so she would have told you) only to fulfil her
father's command; yet, before she had reached the room, she knew that
it would be such a dance as neither she nor the old artist had dreamed
of. That first glimpse of Tatsu's face at the gate had registered for
her a notch upon the Revolving Wheel of Life. His first spoken word
had aroused in her strange mystic memories from stranger hiding pla