Part 65

“The gods are witness of this fact. You are the only one that I have ever loved.”

Smiling, she sighed with happiness.

“Poor Sado-ko!” she said.

His voice was earnest.

“I loved you in her, Masago.”

She smiled in sweetest confidence now.

“That is true,” she said. “I do believe it, and to-morrow—”

“To-morrow will be a golden day upon the august calendar of our lives. I love you! Men of our country do not always marry for their love, Masago, but the gods are kind, and favor us!”

“How sad,” she said, “it must be to marry one for whom we do not care!”

“It is the fate of many in our land.”

“The times change, Junzo-san. Are not conditions happier to-day?”

“True. In the years to come they will still improve, and if the gods grant us honorable offspring—”

“What is that?” she cried, starting from him suddenly. “I thought I heard one moving—and see, oh, look, there is a shadow on the shoji wall!”

“Where?”

“Over there! See, it is moving now. Some one is upon our balcony. Oh, Junzo!”

She clung to him in a shivering panic of fear.

“Do not tremble so, Masago. Some foolish listening servant, that is all! One moment, we will see!”

He started to cross the room to the opposite side, but she clung to him with nervous apprehension.

“No, no—I am fearful!” she whispered.

“But some one is without. I too saw and see the shadow of the form. Why should our simple courtship be spied upon? Let me see who it is, Masago?”

They were speaking in whispers. The girl was trembling with fright.

“It is an evil omen on this night,” she whispered pitifully. “Do not, pray you, do not seek to find the cause.”

“Your fear is most incomprehensible. Let us go to another room, then. We will join your honorable parents.”

She clung to him fearfully as they made their way across the room together. The shadow on the shoji moved upward from its crouching position, and through the thin walls the lovers saw an arm, with the long sleeve of a woman falling from it, extended to push aside the doors.

Upon a sudden impulse Junzo strode toward the doors and opened them. The figure on the balcony stood still, silhouetted in the silvered light of the night. Between the parted shoji she stood like one uncertain. Then suddenly she swayed, as if about to faint. She grasped the door for support.

The lovers watched her in silence as eloquent as though they gazed upon a spirit. Then suddenly the man broke the spell of tense silence, and stooping to the andon raised it up and swung its light upon the woman’s face.

A cry escaped his lips—a cry simultaneously echoed by the stranger. She stepped into the room, and with her hands behind her drew the sliding doors closed. Now against them she stood, looking about her with vague eyes.

“Who are you?” hoarsely sounded the voice of Junzo.