Part 72

“You reproach me for that!” she cried, her eyes flashing resentfully. “How can you say that to me, since it was for your sake I did deny her, and for hers too, though she had been most eager and well content to change her lot with mine at first. Yet last night I thought upon the consequences of her act and mine. I did not think of myself at all.”

He did not interrupt her, and she continued in defence with impetuous swiftness.

“Think on the matter but a little while, Junzo. Would you have loved this other one? No, in your face I read the answer. Do not speak it. Could I give her to you, then, in place of me? I am but a woman and cannot reason harshly, and so I thought last night with pity and tenderness of you.”

“My Sado-ko!” he said.

“A little while ago,” she said, “you called me Masago. How easily you change the name. First it was Sado-ko,—the sweetest, most peerless name on earth. Then it was Masago,—the purest, simplest name for maiden; and now—”

“I never loved you for your name,” he said.

She laughed for the first time, and caught at his hand, pressing it against her face.

“Now you are my Junzo once again. We will not speak of these sad things.”

“Sado-ko, we cannot but do so. Try and see the matter as it is. You are—”

“Masago—your betrothed. A little while and I will be—your wife!”

“It cannot be,” he said sadly, “for you are not Masago. We must think of her besides ourselves. We cannot rob her of her rights.”

“But it is to protect her that I must still be Masago. Why, think what would be the fate of a common citizen if she confessed that she had practised deceit upon the royal court! True, I was jointly guilty, but princesses do not have the punishment bestowed upon a simple citizen. Why, there is no doubt, if this were told, the maid Masago would be punished by the government so cruelly she would not have the strength to live. Is it not a crime of treason—”

Junzo held up a hand, for some one was coming toward them.

The woman who approached was bowed, but when she lifted her face, they saw the undried tears upon it. Sado-ko recognized at once Natsu-no. The latter came hastily toward her, dropped upon her knees, and hid her face in the folds of the girl’s kimono.

“Do not kneel,” said Sado-ko. “They will see you from the house. Stand up. Now tell me, why do you come here?”

“Sado-ko!”

“Hush! Do not call me by that name. Why are you here?”

“To offer my poor services again, sweet mistress.”

“You have left the Nijo service?” inquired Sado-ko, swiftly.

“The gracious princess granted me my freedom, and so I came—”

Sado-ko put her arm about her old servant.

“Do not tremble so, good maid,” she said, “but tell us in a breath all there is to know.”

“She is to marry Prince Komatzu. All is well with her to-day. In her happiness she was generous and gracious; and so this morning granted me my freedom.”

Sado-ko turned a beaming face toward her lover. For the first time he was smiling.

“Your coming is a happy omen, good maid,” he said.

“Hark, listen!” said Sado-ko, her eyes gleaming. “They are calling me. They wish to put my wedding gown upon me. I must go. Natsu! Come and dress me for the last time in my maidenhood. Junzo! For but an hour’s space, sayonara!”

“Sayonara,” he repeated with deep emotion.

He watched her until he could not see her further. Then with sudden, swift, and buoyant step he followed the path she had taken, and entered the wedding house.