Part 34

Silently the two sought the mats. Opposite each other they sat, each with her eyes upon the other. Each spoke at once, and each the same words:—

“You know then—”

“You know then—”

They bowed their heads. Thus both confessed their knowledge of the fact that not one of them, but both, were daughters of the Prince of Nijo, and hence sisters. Then Masago:—

“Why do you come to me, exalted princess? I am but a lowly maiden, who cannot even touch the hem of your kimono.”

“There is a bitter tone within your voice,” said Sado-ko. “Why is it so?”

Masago did not answer, and the princess continued:—

“Of your history I had learned, Masago. It matters not how or where or when. One spoke of you with—love—”

She broke off sharply to wring her hands unconsciously.

“And so I came to—to look upon you—sister.”

“You came from curiosity,” said Masago, in that same bitter tone. “It was the passing whim of a languid princess, bored with her greatness.”

“You misjudge me,” said the Princess Sado-ko, with a sigh.

“Not so,” replied Masago, the color flaming in her face; “I can but recognize that same idle fancy that also once possessed your father when he—”

She bit her lips and turned her face away. Angry tears clouded her eyes. She could not speak for her proud emotion.

“There was another reason,” said the princess, softly. “Masago, pray turn not your head in pride from me. I came not out of condescension, nor yet from idle curiosity, but because of a strange hunger of my heart, which I could not resist.”

“How can you have heart-hunger?” asked Masago, coldly.

“And why not I?” Her very voice was thrilling with its sadness. Masago would not look upon her face. She was conscious only of that raging jealousy and pain swelling up in her breast.

“And why not I?” repeated Sado-ko.

“You, who are a princess of the royal family!” cried Masago, with a sudden fierceness. “You, of whom all the poets in the realm have sung and raved! You, at whose feet the whole bright, glittering world is strewn! You, the cherished Daughter of the Sun—the bride-to-be of the—the Prince Komatzu!”

“But still a sad and wretched woman,” said the Princess Sado-ko.

Masago turned upon her fiercely.

“And if you are so sad, as you say,” she cried, “who can have pity for your sorrow? Are you, then, a statue that you do not appreciate these priceless gifts of all the gods?”

“Masago, gifts unsought are oftentimes not desired, and sometimes those which glitter in the sun do but reflect its light. What are the gilded outward wrappings of the gods to me, if inwardly still my heart breaks?”

“Your heart breaks!” Masago laughed in scorn. “What, you—who are about to marry the noblest, bravest, the most divine—” She broke off, holding her hands to her throat.

With a sudden movement the Princess Sado-ko bent forward and looked into the averted face of the maid Masago.

“You!” she cried, “you love this—” She could not finish her words.

Masago dropped her face within her hands.

“I,” she said. “Yes, I—so humble—the daughter of—”