THEY were bathing the young Lord Saito Taro: the Lady Saito Ichigo and a
rosy-cheeked country girl who had recently entered the family’s service.
Indeed, the coming of the child had materially altered the regimen of
the household. The servants that had been cast aside, as a pious sign
from the women that they desired to share their lord’s sacrifices during
war-time, were now restored, or their places were filled by new maids.
There was an air of activity throughout the entire estate; the maids
bustled about swiftly, the chore-boy whistled at his toil, and the aged
gateman looked up from the great Western book into which he seemed to
bury his nose at all times.
The little Taro lay upon his grandmother’s lap, and she rubbed his
shining little body with warm towels, tendered by the admiring maids.
There was a curious change in the face of Lady Saito. Almost it seemed
as if an iron had been pressed across her features, smoothing away the
harsh and bitter lines. The eyes had lost their angry luster, and seemed
almost mild and peaceful in expression as she raised them for a moment
to give an order to the nursemaid. She chuckled contentedly when the
baby grasped at her thumb and put it into his diminutive mouth, sucking
upon it with fervor and relish.
Every slight movement of its face or body delighted and moved her to an
emotion new and fascinating. Indeed, she was experiencing in the little
Taro all the maternal emotions she had sternly denied herself with her
own son.
From the moment when she had taken the warm tiny body into her arms
everything within her seemed to have capitulated; this in spite of the
fact that she did not wish to love, had not intended to love, this child
of the Spider!
Now the Spider, and all the bitter animosity and shame she had brought
into the proud family of the Saitos, were forgotten. This was the child
of her son, the Lord Saito Gonji! Its eyes were the eyes of her son—its
mouth, its chin, even its gentle expression; she traced hungrily every
seeming likeness, and proclaimed the fact that her son had indeed been
reborn to her in the little Taro.
The youngest of the nursemaids was a bright-eyed, somewhat forward girl
who had obtained employment recently by cajoling the honorable cook, now
factotum of the household. In the eyes of Ochika, wife of the cook, the
girl was an impudent minx, who should have been sent flying from a
respectable household. Ochika even penetrated from her domain of the
kitchen, to the presence of the Lady Saito Ichigo, in order to whisper
into the lady’s somewhat absent ear a tale of unseemly dances and songs
indulged in by the nursemaid for the delectation of the other servants.
Omi (the nurse-girl’s name) seemed, however, so innocent and childish in
appearance that the Lady Saito was loath to believe her guilty of
anything more than a naughty desire to tease Ochika, whose jealousy of
her good-looking husband was so notorious among the servants that it was
a never-failing source of both merriment and strife. What, however, in
Omi recommended her chiefly to the fond grandmother was the fact that
the honorable Lord Taro appeared to love her, and was never so happy as
when upon his nurse’s back.
Now, as Omi danced her hand playfully across his round and shining
little stomach, Taro roared with delight, and tossed up his tiny pink
heels in approbation. So noisy, so continued, so absolutely joyous was
his crowing laughter that the face of his grandmother melted into a
smile.
The smile, however, wavered uneasily and was soon suppressed as Ohano
silently entered the room. The girl’s face was ashen in color, her eyes
more like mere slits than ever. She stood leaning against the shoji, her
expression sullen and lowering, her attitude similar to that of a
spoiled and angry child.
“Ohayo gozarimazu!” murmured the mother-in-law, politely; and she was
angrily aware of the conciliating tone in her voice, she who was
accustomed to command.
“Ohayo!” The girl flung back the morning greeting, almost as if it were
a challenge.
“Well,” said her mother, sharply. “Be good enough to take the place of
Omi. It will do your heart good to rub the honorable body of your”—she
paused and met the scowling glance of Ohano—“your lord’s child,” she
finished.
Omi was tendering the towels; but Ohano ignored the pert little maid.
She crossed the room deliberately and slowly sank upon her knees
opposite Lady Saito and the baby. Omi was watching the scene with
absorbed interest, and she jumped at the sharp voice of Lady Saito.
“To your other duties, maiden!” admonished her mistress, conscious of
the fact that the girl was watching Ohano intently.
Alone with the child and Ohano, she began in a complaining voice:
“Now it is most uncivilized to permit one’s emotions to show upon the
honorable face, which should be a mask as regards all inner feelings. I
advise stern control of all angry impulses. Cultivate graciousness of
heart, and do not forget each day properly to thank the gods for putting
into your arms the honorable child of your lord.”
Said Ohano in a breathless whisper, while her bosom heaved up and down
tempestuously:
“He is the child of the—Spider! Take care lest he sting thy breast too,
mother-in-law!”
The older woman drew the warm towels about the baby, almost as if for
protection.
“He is my son’s child,” she said, hoarsely. “Envy and malice are traits
we women are warned repeatedly against in the ‘Greater Learning for
Women.’”
“He is the Spider’s child!” almost chanted Ohano, and she put her lame
hand to her throat as though it pained her. “His eyes are identical with
hers!”
“Nay,” said her mother-in-law, gently; “then you have not looked into
the eyes of the little one. I pray you do so, Ohano. It will soften your
heart, for, see, they are duplicates of the eyes of your lord!”
She turned the child’s head about so that its smiling, friendly glance
met Ohano’s.
For a moment the latter stared at him, her lips working, her eyes
widened. The baby had paused in his laughter and was studying the
working features of his stepmother with infantile gravity. Almost
unconsciously, as if fascinated, she bent lower above him, and as she
did so he reached up a little hand and grasped at her face. A smile
broke over his rosy features, displaying the two little teeth within and
showing every adorable dimple encrusted in its fair features.
The breath came from Ohano in gasps. All of a sudden she threw up her
arm blindly, almost a motion of defense. Then with a wordless sob she
put her face upon the floor. She wept stormily, as one whose whole
forces are bent upon finding an outlet. For a time there was no sound in
the chamber save that of the moaning Ohano.
The child had fallen asleep, and Lady Saito kept her eyes fixed upon his
round, charming little face. She would let Ohano’s passion spend itself.
These daily outbursts since the coming of the child were becoming
intolerable, she thought. She had been too lenient with Ohano. It would
be necessary soon to teach the girl her exact position in the household.
As she looked at the beautiful, sleeping child the sudden thought of
parting with it seized horribly upon her. Her face twitched like some
hideous piece of parchment suddenly animated with life. Nothing, she
told herself fiercely—neither the clamoring voice of the wild mother,
nor the sulky jealousy of Ohano—should cause her now to relinquish her
hold upon the descendant of the illustrious ancestors. Let the Spider do
her worst! Let the vindictive jealousy of Ohano betray to the world the
truth! She, the Lady Saito Ichigo, would defy them all. The gates of
Saito should be sealed and guarded as rigorously as if these were feudal
days. As for Ohano! She looked at the girl with a new expression.
Between her and the little one resting upon her bosom there could be but
one choice.
“My girl,” she said to Ohano, finally, “dry your face, if you please. It
is unseemly for one of gentle birth to abandon one’s self to passion.
Come, come, there is a limit to my patience!”
Ohano sat up sullenly, drying her eyes with the ends of her sleeve. The
Lady Saito was choosing her words carefully, and her stern glance never
wavered as she bent it upon Ohano’s quivering face.
“Without my lord’s child, Ohano, you are but a cipher in the house of
the ancestors. It would become necessary to serve you as once we served
an innocent one before you!”
Ohano’s hand clutched at her bosom. She appeared to be suffocating, and
could hardly speak the words:
“You do not mean—you dare not mean—that you would divorce me!”
“The law is clear in your case, as in that of your predecessor,” said
her mother, coldly.
“I will speak to my uncle Takedo Isami. I will address all of my
honorable relatives. I will tell them with what you have threatened me,
the daughter of samourai! You have compared me with a geisha—a Spider!
It is intolerable—not to be borne!”
“Nay,” vigorously defended her mother-in-law. “You speak not now of a
geisha, Ohano, but—of—the mother of the last descendant of the
illustrious ancestors.”
A silence fell between them, broken only by the breathing of
Ohano—short, gasping, indrawn sobs which she seemed no longer able to
control.
Presently, when she was quieter, her mother-in-law put a question
roughly to the girl.
“What is it to be, Ohano? Will you accept the child of the Lord Saito
Gonji, proclaiming it to be your own, defying the very world to take it
from you, or—?”
Ohano’s face was turned away. Her head was swimming, and she felt
strangely weak. After a moment she said in a very faint voice, as if the
last trace of resistance within her had been victoriously beaten out by
her mother-in-law:
“I serve the ancestors of the Saito—and my Lord Saito Gonji!”
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