Part 41

Her little signal sounded sharp and clear. Masago started and trembled at its sound. Then she turned toward the opening doors. She heard the low voice of the princess whispering close beside her.

“Speak to her. Say, ‘Maid, take up the light.’”

Masago walked with faltering steps toward the doors. Her voice shook a moment, then raised in nervousness, it sounded oddly harsh.

“Take up the light!” she said.

But at her voice the sleepy Natsu-no started, turned, and looked up at her face in wide-eyed surprise and growing fear; then her eyes went slowly to that other one, now with her back toward her near the shadow of the shoji, the bright outline of her huge obi bow alone in the light. Natsu-no, shaking and trembling, advanced a pace toward her, glancing fearfully meanwhile at that object standing there in her mistress’s habiliments, yet in so strange and unfamiliar aspect.

Masago moved to cover her intense nervousness. The maid’s voice quavered.

“Exalted princess, I—I—” She stammered over her words. Self-confidence asserted itself in Masago. She raised her head imperiously.

“Take up the light and follow me!” she said.

Trembling, dumb, and horror-stricken, the maid obeyed, for she had caught one quick, clear glimpse of that sweet other face.

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CHAPTER XVI

A FAMILY COUNCIL

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CHAPTER XVI

A FAMILY COUNCIL

THE Kamura house was built on a hill slope. Of all the houses of the suburb, it was nearest to the palace Aoyama. Shortly after the Restoration the elder Kamura had been a retainer of a kuge in the service of his late Majesty. Thus he received permission to build his house near to the summer chariot (throne) of the Sons of Heaven (Imperial family).

It was a restful dwelling, its lower story surrounded by verandas, while small, flower-laden balconies were upon the upper story. The gardens were artistic in their arrangement, showing the youthful labors of Junzo and his younger brothers. In his earlier years Junzo had been ambitious to become an artist gardener,—a most honorable calling in Japan,—and so upon the few acres of land belonging to his father he had spent the first passion of the artist.

With the aid of his brothers he had carried from the river heaps of white pebbles, which were placed at angles of the flower beds; while between the pebbles the fine embroidered ferns pushed up their fresh green heads. A trellis-work arched the garden gate, weighted down by vines and wistaria. The arms of the pine were trimmed; a stately camphor tree shaded the house verandas. At intervals through the garden, cherry, plum, peach, and quince trees contributed their share of blossoms, fruit, and fragrance.

From the upper story the outlook was picturesque. To the eastward were the Aoyama parks and the white walls of the palace gardens; on the north, beyond the wooded parks, were mountain ranges; on the west the village, Kamakura, close to the shore of the playful yet mist-dangerous Hayama; while to the southward, over the hills and through the valleys, the great white highway led to Tokyo.

On the afternoon of the family council the guests were ushered upstairs, where all the shojis had been removed, thus making a cool pavilion of the story. Every male relative of the Kamura family had dutifully accepted the invitation, since they were old-fashioned and most punctilious in the observance of family and social etiquette.

After the usual exchange of salutations, Madame Kamura and her young daughter, Haru-no, brought tea and tobacco for the men. Then with graceful prostrations they made their excuses, and, taking Ohano with them, retired to another portion of the house. The women’s retirement was the signal for the council’s beginning.

Kamura, the first to speak, showed apparent reluctance, while at the same time he nervously tapped his pipe upon the hibachi.

“Honorable relatives,” he said, bowing to the company, and then turning toward Yamada Kwacho, “and most esteemed friend and neighbor, it gives me pain to be forced to make apology for the absence of my son Junzo.”

He paused, and, to cover his discomposure, solemnly filled and lighted his pipe again, while the relatives masked their surprise with polite, impassive expressions.

“My son,” continued Kamura, “arrived last night from Tokyo. I doubt not for a moment, but that it was his honorable purpose and intention to attend our council, which you all know was called to arrange the preliminaries of the wedding ceremony of my son, Kamura Junzo, and the most virtuous and estimable Masago.”

Again the old man paused to glance in a half-appealing way at his son Okido, the next in age to Junzo, who sat at his left side. On Kamura’s right the seat was vacant. This was Junzo’s place.

“Last night,” continued Kamura, “my son was certainly ill in health; he was pale of face and absent in both look and speech. I set it down to the most natural mood of youth about to wed. We all, good sirs, have felt that happy sense of melancholy peculiar to this stage of our careers.”

Some of the guests smiled, and nodded their heads, assenting to this fact; others looked at one another somewhat dubiously.