Part 60

“You do not appear augustly comfortable to-night, exalted princess. Are you quite well?”

Masago threw her bare arms above her head, and paced the floor like some tortured being. Suddenly she turned upon the woman, crying out in an hysterical way:—

“Why do you stand and stare at me, woman! Oh-h! My head is throbbing, and my heart beats so—”

She covered her face with her hands. Swiftly the woman withdrew. In the next room she took her stand by the dividing shoji, watching the one within.

“She would treat me like the bird,” she said, “and it is dead.”

Masago called her shrilly, harshly.

“Woman! Maid! Do you not hear me calling?”

“I am here, princess!” said the woman, quietly, stepping back into the room.

“I cannot bear this gown to-night,” said Masago. “It suffocates me. It is ill-fitting.”

The woman patiently removed the gown, then waited for her mistress to command her further.

“Take them all off,” said the girl, in an irritated voice. “These and these.”

She indicated the silk corsets and the frail shoes which gave her such unstable support. Freed of the foreign garments, she seemed to breathe with more ease and comfort.

“Now a kimono,—just a simple, plain one.”

The woman brought the plainest one of all. Soon Masago was arrayed in this.

“Do I appear well to-night?” she asked hysterically.

“Yes, princess.”

“Will not his Royal Highness be astonished at my garb?”

“Enchanted, princess.”

“Enchanted! You speak foolish words! He is a modern prince, this future Emperor of Japan. He will despise a plain kimono.”

The woman closed her lips.

“Say so,” insisted the girl, wildly. “Agree with me, woman, that when he sees me in this garb to-night, he will detest the sight of me, and insist unto his father that he must have another bride. Oh, you do not speak! How I hate you!”

She was sobbing as she left the room in a breathless, piteous way, for no tears came to give relief.

Like one in a dream Masago passed through the halls of the Nijo palace. Soon she was in the great reception hall, where the Crown Prince, guest of her father, Nijo, awaited her appearance. Her courtesy was mechanical. She took her place beside him on the slight eminence reserved for royalty alone.

Masago little cared that night whether her maidens whispered and gossiped at her whim to appear once more in the national dress. It was suggested that she wore the gown in compliment to her exalted fiancée.

As the girl surveyed the brilliant spectacle, an intense weariness overtook her. Half unconsciously she closed her eyes and put her head back against the tall throne chair upon which she sat. Then Masago became deaf—blind to all about her. Strange visions of her home passed through her mind,—her simple home, quiet, peaceful. As in fancy she saw Ohano’s sympathetic face, she felt an aching longing to hear her garrulous voice lowered to her in gossip; she saw again her happy, healthy little brothers, romping in the sunny garden. Even the thought of Kwacho, grave yet always just and kind, despite his narrow prejudices, awoke a vague tenderness.

When some one spoke the name of Princess Sado-ko, she roused herself, then shuddered at the very sound.

“You were so pale, princess, and you closed your eyes just now. I thought, perchance, that you were ill.” The Crown Prince of Japan spoke with polite solicitude to the maid Masago. Her eyes filled with heavy tears.

“Oh, I am homesick—homesick!” she murmured in reply.