Part 23

“I have forgotten,” she murmured; and added in so soft a voice, “I would forget, dear Junzo.”

“O Sado-ko, it is sweet to be together, but sadder still than sweet, for this must be the last time.”

She shook her head.

“No, no,” she said. “I will not let you go.”

“I must go,” he said sadly.

“I will command you to stay,” she said.

“I cannot longer stay. To-morrow—”

“I will implore you, then. Go not away from me, dear Junzo!”

“Have you forgotten that our tryst to-night was made to say our most sad sayonaras?”

She lifted his sleeve, and held it close against her face.

“No, no—leave me not!”

His voice was husky.

“Why, Sado-ko, to-morrow there will be an exodus from the palace. I could not stay, even if I would. Does not the Prince Komatzu journey back to Tokyo?”

“And you—you, too, will go with us,” she said.

“I?”

“I have myself asked this favor of my cousin.”

“You asked his Highness—”

“Yes. I bade him ask you to accompany us, so you might have the honorable commission to paint the pictures of the ladies of the court.”

“Paint the pictures—” repeated Junzo, stupidly.

“Yes, that will be the good excuse. Yet you must not do so. No, I would not have you work upon another’s beauty.”

“I cannot go,” he said, raising his voice. “It is impossible. I must return.”

She started back, her hands above her heart.

“I understand,” she said. “You will return to—”

He seized her hands with impulsive passion.

“My father bids me return. Can I refuse?” he cried.

“Oh, go not back!” she said, with tears in her pleading voice.

“I must return. I am but a son. Does not a son owe his first obedience in life to his father?”

“It is an ancient fancy,” she said, “and these moderns are more wise. They say a man must give his first thought to”—her voice dropped and broke—“his wife!”