The following day a host of accumulated duties and various
preparations for the first ceremonious visit of the groom-elect kept
Yuki San's hands and mind busy, and if sometimes a sob rose in her
throat, or her eyes strayed wistfully from her task, she resolutely
refused to let herself dwell upon the past.
The marriage, which had been dutifully accepted as a matter of course
and looked forward to as a financial relief to the entire family, had
never held any particular interest for her, but now even the
preparations, which had hitherto excited her interest and enthusiasm,
found her listless and indifferent.
She would be mistress over a great mansion and many servants, and her
days were to be spent in arranging for the physical comfort of Saito
and the entertainment of his friends.
The arrangement had seemed so simple, and so right, and she had been
gratified that a desirable husband had been found. But now she could
neither understand nor explain to herself her new and strange
resistance. She only knew that for the first time in her life there
was rebellion against the inevitable.
As she rested her tired body before beginning her toilet for the
afternoon, she remembered an American teacher at school who had been
_in love_ with the man she was soon to marry. She remembered how she
had hidden behind the trees to see this young teacher run to the gate
to meet the postman, and her own failure to see why these letters
should bring such joy. She, with other girls, had spent a whole recess
acting this scene amid peals of laughter. Now it all came back to her
with new meaning, and it seemed neither strange nor amusing.
She leaned her head against the open _shoji_ and looked out into the
garden, radiant and beautiful in the high noon of a perfect autumn
day.
The working world paused in a brief sleep and the music of the garden
was hushed, while the insects sought the shadow of green leaves. Peace
was within and without, save in the girl's awakening heart.
"Ah, Sensei," she murmured through her trembling lips. "Then I make
fun for your letter of love. Forgive my impolite. Now I the
understanding have."
Yuki San chose her toilet for the coming visit with due regard for all
convention. There must be no touch of purple--that being the color
soonest to fade made it an evil omen. She selected an _obi_ of rare
brocade, the betrothal gift of Saito, the great length of which
expressed the hope of an enduring marriage.
As she dressed, her mother flitted about her, chatting volubly and in
such high spirits that Yuki San's heart was warmed. The elaborate
trousseau had caused the little household many a sacrifice, but the
joy in the hearts of the old people more than justified them.
Presently the clatter of the jinrikisha in the courtyard announced the
arrival of the guest. Yuki San heard the long ceremonious greeting of
her father. She saw her mother hasten away to do her part and, left
alone, she sat with troubled eyes and drooping head.
The strange feeling in her heart, one moment of joy and one of pain,
bewildered and frightened her. No thought of evading her duty crossed
her mind, but her whole being cried out for a beautiful something she
had just found, but which it was futile to hope for in her new life.
At the call of her mother, Yuki San silently pushed open the screen
and made her low and graceful greeting. Custom forbidding her to take
part in the conversation, she busied herself with serving the tea,
listening while Saito San recounted various incidents of the
picturesque court-life, or told of adventures in the recent war.
After all the prescribed topics had been discussed and the farewells
had been said, Yuki San retained a vague impression of a small,
middle-aged man, with many medals on his breast, who looked at her
with kind, unsmiling eyes.
It was not till after the simple evening meal that Yuki San found the
chance to slip away to the little upper room which had been Merrit's
for two months. Nothing there had been touched, for the old mother
claimed that to set a room in order too soon after a guest's departure
was to sweep out all luck with him.
The girl entered and stood, a ghostly image, in the soft and tender
light of the great autumn moon as it lay against the paper doors and
filled the tiny room. Through the half-light Yuki San saw many touches
of the late inmate's personality. A discarded tie hung limply from a
hook on the wall, a half-smoked cigar and a faded white rose lay side
by side on the low table.
From the garden the sad call of a night-bird, with its oft-repeated
wail, seemed to voice her loneliness, and with a sob she sank upon her
knees beside the cot. Long she lay in an abandonment of grief, beating
futile wings against the bars of fate. At last, throwing out her arms,
she touched a small object beneath the pillow. Drawing it toward her,
she took it to the open _shoji_, and by the bright moonlight she saw a
small morocco note-book. She puzzled over the strange figures on the
first few pages, but from the small pocket on the back cover she drew
forth a picture that neither confused nor surprised. It was the girl
Merrit had told her about--the girl to whom he was going so joyously.
It was a face full of the gladness of life and love, whose laughing
eyes looked straight into Yuki San's with such a challenge of
friendship and good will that the girl smiled back at the picture and
laid it gently against her warm cheek.
She sought out each detail of hair and dress as she held it for closer
inspection, then replacing it in the pocket she said softly:
"He have the big, big love for you. You give him the happy. I close my
heart about you."
On the back of the book in letters of gold she spelled out the strange
word, "Diary." She puzzled for a moment, then she remembered where she
had seen it before. The young American teacher had written in just
such a book, and when she asked its meaning, the teacher had said it
was her best friend, her confidant, to whom she told her secrets.
For a moment Yuki San stood with the book in her hand, then she said
impulsively:
"Diary! I make diary, too. I speak my thoughts to you. I tole you all
my secrets. Maybe my lonely heart will flew away."