Part 21

“And you, my lady?”

“I, too,” she rejoined.

He moved restlessly, and even in the dim light her watching eyes saw the uneasiness in his face.

“Let us watch for her together, artist.”

“I would not take you from your pleasures within, my lady.”

“Nay, the pleasures without overshadow those within.”

Again she saw the anxious glance upward toward the hills, and in the darkness the Lady Fuji smiled behind her opened fan. Junzo moved downward a few steps; he paused irresolutely.

“The garden is fragrant, Lady Fuji-no. I would enjoy it for a little while.”

“And I,” said she, and went a step downward.

“But the air is chill, my lady.”

“Balmy sweet, Sir Artist.”

“Lady, your august neck and arms are bare to the night,” he said.

She drew herself up slightly, and looked down a space at her low gown.

“The musicians and the geishas in the booths,” he said, “would dishonor you with their rude glances.”

Without replying she clapped, her hands. A page came at the signal.

“A wrap, if you please,” she ordered.

Junzo, now at the foot of the steps, stirred uneasily. The moon was in full view. The sight for which he had watched so anxiously filled him now only with agitation and despair. He thought of one waiting in the darkness of the private gardens beyond. Anxiety rendered him reckless. He bowed deeply to the Lady Fuji-no.

“Lady, I implore your august pardon, but the night has claims upon my desires. I wish to wander with it alone.”

She stooped down toward him. Her words, though whispered, were perfectly clear.

“You have a moon tryst, Sir Artist. Oh, beware!”

He turned about sharply and faced her.

“The Moon,” she said,—“you will become her plaything, artist. Be cautioned!”

Uncertain and irresolute he stood a moment, then turned upon his heel and swiftly strode down along the path, disappearing into the shadows of the trees.

* * * * *

Sado-ko wandered through the dewy gardens, beneath the drooping bamboos and the towering pines. Her little feet were swift and willing, as she hastened along with beating heart; but when she approached the end of the grove, though there was light beyond, she could not see even the shadow of that one who was to have kept the tryst with her. Her steps faltered; she went less swiftly.

“The moon is late,” she said. And then, “It was the light of the stars I saw.”

She walked so slowly now, that her little feet became entangled in her flowing gown, which she had absently let fall to the ground. The end of the grove was now reached. She could see the bright silver light without.

In the shadow of the last bamboo the princess stood and trembled. She did not need to peer into the distance, for all was clear outside the bamboo grove, as far off as the dividing line of the boxwood shrub and the small white gate. How long she stood in silent waiting she could not have told. Every passing summer breeze made her shiver. Once she raised her hand to her face, and something wet was wiped away.