d speak of something else," he continued. "Soon you go to the
Duke's house. You will meet there the people who are in authority over
this country. When you leave it, everything is finished. Tell me, is the
way homeward safe for you?"

"Wonderful person!" Prince Maiyo said, smiling.

"No, I am not wonderful," the Ambassador declared. "All the time I have
had my fears. Why not? A month ago I sought your aid. I knew from our
friends in New York that a man was on his way to England with letters
which made clear, beyond a doubt, the purpose of this world journey
of the American fleet. I sent for you. We both agreed that it was an
absolute necessity for us to know the contents of those letters."

"We discovered them," the Prince answered. "It was well that we did."

"You discovered them," the Ambassador interrupted. "I have taken no
credit for it. The credit is yours. But in this land there are so
many things which one may not do. The bowstring and the knife are
unrecognized. Civilization has set an unwholesome value upon human life.
It is the maudlin sentiment which creeps like corruption through the
body of a dying country."

"I know it," the Prince declared, sighing. "I know it very well indeed."

"Dear Maiyo," the Ambassador asked, "how well do you know it?"

"My friend," the Prince answered, "it were better for you not to ask
that question."

"Here under this roof," the Baron continued, "is sanctuary, but in the
streets and squares beyond, it seems to me--and I have thought this over
many times,--it seems to me that even the person of the great Prince,
cousin of the Emperor, holy son of Japan, would not be safe."

Prince Maiyo shrugged his shoulders. There was gravity in his face, but
it was the gravity of a man who has learnt to look upon serious things
with a light heart.

"I, also," he said, "have weighed this matter very carefully in my mind.
What I did was well done, and if the bill is thrust into my face, I must
pay. First of all, Baron, I promise you that I shall finish my work.
After that, what does it matter? You and I know better than this nation
of life-loving shopkeepers. A week, a year, a span of years,--of what
account are they to us who have sipped ever so lightly at the great cup?
If we died tomorrow for the glory of our country, should we not say to
one another, you and I, that it was well?"

The Baron rose to his feet and bowed. Into his voice there had crept a
note almost of reverence.

"