of a paper lamp; and Minokichi, watching her, said : —
“To see you sewing there, with the light on your face, makes me think of a strange thing that happened when I was a lad of eighteen. I then saw somebody as beautiful and white as you are now— indeed, she was very like you.” . . .
Without lifting her eyes from her work, O-Yuki responded:—
“Tell me about her. . . . Where did you see her?”
Then Minokichi told her about the terrible night in the ferryman’s hut, — and about the White Woman that had stooped above him, smiling and whispering, and about the silent death of old Mosaku. And he said : —
“ Asleep or awake, that was the only time that I saw a being as beautiful as you. Of course, she was not a human being; and I was afraid of her,— very much afraid, — but she was so white! . . . Indeed, I have never been sure whether it was a dream that I saw, or the Woman of the Snow.” . . .
O-Yuki flung down her sewing, and arose, and bowed above Minokichi where he sat, and shrieked into his face : —
“It was I—I—I! Yuki it was! And I told you then that I would kill you if you ever
