FROM the insinuations and threats of the Lady Evening Glory it might
seem as if Wistaria’s lover were in imminent danger, and that the Catzu
family might be expected to hasten instantly to cast him out from their
province or have him imprisoned as a trespasser and impostor. But
Japanese craft is more subtle. Besides, the right of judgment lay in the
hands of the father of Wistaria, who was her natural and legal guardian.
It was necessary, therefore, that the young man should, for the time
being, gather no suspicion of their discovery. Consequently the Catzu
family redoubled their expressions of good-will and friendship for their
guest, while the only one who could have warned him was placed where she
was helpless to do so.
With excessive sweetness, the Lady Evening Glory informed the courtier
that she had heard such good reports of him from her honorable husband
that she had risen prematurely from her bed of sickness in order to
greet him and assure him of her solicitation for his comfort and
pleasure during his stay in Catzu.
All these marks of friendship and compliment from the honorable lady of
the house, besides the increased cordiality of the Lord of Catzu, would
have been very delightful to the lover, but for the fact that almost
coincident with the return to health of her aunt it was announced that
the Lady Wistaria was unable to leave her apartments because of a sudden
illness. The lover, therefore, in an agony of apprehension for the
health of his mistress, had no heart or ears for the words of compliment
pressed upon him by her family.
He spent his time roving restlessly about the grounds of the palace in
the neighborhood of Wistaria’s casement, but the blinds were drawn
tightly, morning, noon, and night, and there was only the memory of the
girl’s exquisite face at the window to torture the lover.
The arrival of Shimadzu, the father of the Lady Wistaria, created no
stir in the Catzu palace. He came silently at night. If any of the
servants or members of the household knew of his presence they were dumb
concerning the matter. The lover, consequently, was wholly unaware of
his coming.
Shimadzu was closeted for some hours with his sister and brother-in-law.
The Lady Evening Glory was bitter against her niece. Not merely the fact
of the indelicate and unconventional manner of the courtship, nor even
the fact that the lover was a member of their rival clan, and through
his residence among them must have acquired information concerning their
province which would be of value to his prince—not these things
infuriated her so much as the thought that her son, the pride and joy of
her life, the heir of Catzu, had been led by this stranger into an
undertaking both perilous and shameful, the outcome of which was most
uncertain.
The Lord of Catzu was milder and more lenient towards the guilty
parties, possibly realizing in his inmost soul a measure of the
responsibility. He endeavored to palliate their offence.
As for Shimadzu himself, he had not one word to say. He listened to the
separate speeches of his sister and brother-in-law, and when they had
concluded he simply requested that his daughter be ordered into his
presence at once.
Wild-eyed and trembling, Wistaria was brought in. Gone from her face,
pale and drawn with the intensity of her sufferings, was all the sun.
During the three days preceding the arrival of her father she had been
locked up alone in an interior room of the palace. No one had approached
save her august aunt, who brought food with her own hands, and whose
absolute silence inspired her with a great dread. She would speak no
word, or even deign to look at the unhappy girl. Wistaria, rendered
frantic by her fears for her lover, had ofttimes thrown herself at her
aunt’s feet, piteously beseeching that she would enlighten her as to the
fate of her lover. But the Lady Evening Glory would shake her skirts
icily and contemptuously from her grasp, to retire without a word of
response.
Now Wistaria prostrated herself before the parent who had always
inspired her with such incomprehensible fear. He motioned her to be
seated, though he himself remained standing. Mutely, mechanically, she
obeyed him.
For a moment there was silence. The deep-set eyes of the father looked
out at the young girl, noting the piteous tremble of the hands, the
small, bowed head, the down-drooped eyes which dared not meet his own,
and all the other evidences of her sufferings. Whatever the thoughts of
the father, whether merciful or cruel, his impassive face revealed not
his inner feelings. In some strange way this samurai seemed steeled
against the pain of the world itself. Suddenly he spoke, his hollow
voice smiting with a shock the frail, highly strung girl.
“My daughter, had you a mother to love and guide you, you would not now
be unhappy.”
He paused to note the effect of his strange words—strange because of the
lack of emotion and sympathy that should have accompanied them. Wistaria
raised her head painfully, but she did not speak.
“Therefore,” continued her father, “I wish to inform you that it is
because of an enemy that you are now motherless, and therefore
misguided.”
“An enemy?” repeated Wistaria, dully.
“And it is to take my revenge upon this enemy that I am now about to
impose a certain duty upon you which may at first seem repugnant. Before
I do so, however, I wish to remind you that you come of a proud and
heroic race, my daughter, no member of which has ever faltered in his
duty. I would therefore, my daughter, much rather see you strong and
fearless than weak and trembling, as you now appear.”
Raising herself bravely, with a superhuman effort the girl grasped at
her strength of will.
“My weakness, honorable father, is but physical. Speak your august will
with me,” she said.
“That is well,” returned the samurai, briefly. “I have a few questions
first of all to put to you. I need not say that I expect truthful
answers, and will tolerate no prevarication.”
The girl bowed her head with a certain dignity of submissiveness.
“Of what rank is your lover?”
Wistaria trembled.
“I do not know,” she replied, in a low voice.
“He has not mentioned his rank to you?”
“Only that he was of honorably insignificant rank.”
“Humph! Well, that is but a natural reply. What is his appearance?”
For a brief moment a gleam of strange pride came over her face. She
pressed her little hands passionately together.
“Oh, my father, he is honorably noble, I do assure you. He possesses—”
“I did not ask for a rhapsody upon his merits,” interrupted the samurai,
coldly. “However, I am satisfied as to his rank.”
A tear fell softly upon her little hand. Feeling, rather than seeing,
her father’s irritation, she brushed it away impatiently, trying vainly
to appear brave.
“Now,” resumed Shimadzu, half to himself, “if he is of noble rank it
follows that he is close to the Mori family. Very good.”
He turned to his daughter.
“He is a good Imperialist?”
“He is honorably loyal,” she replied.
“Loyal to his prince, you mean, or his party?”
“Surely to both. He could not be otherwise. He is a brave and true
gentleman, my father.”
“Very well, I have no more questions to ask you. I shall now outline to
you the duty I have prepared for you. You are ready to obey my will?”
“In all things, honored parent.”
“That is well. I commend you for your filial words. First of all, I
desire all possible information concerning the young heir of Mori.”
“But—” she faltered, “how is it possible for me—?”
“Your lover,” said her father, quickly, “is a Mori courtier. There is no
doubt he will give you all the information I require.”
“Oh, then, my father,” she cried, clasping her hands together, “you will
be lenient towards him, will you not? You will permit him to see me?”
“I have nothing against your lover,” said her father, with slight
irritation.
“Oh, father!” In a moment her face was aglow with hope and happiness.
“I advise you to listen to me,” he rejoined, coldly.
“Speak! speak, august father! I will follow your commands faithfully,
joyfully.”
“I wish to know the nature of this prince, his habits, his mode of life,
and the esteem in which he is held by his people. Once you have learned
these facts, you must secure for me specific details concerning his
political schemes against the Shogun.”
Gradually Wistaria had risen to her feet. She had grown strangely pale.
Her eyes were frightened and apprehensive.
“You desire,” she repeated, slowly, as though she scarce comprehended
the words—“you desire to know the secrets of—of his honorable party?”
“Exactly.”
“You desire,” she began to repeat, “to know the secrets—”
“More than that.”
“More. You—you—my father, you would not injure his—his party?”
“Your apprehension, my lady, for a hostile party, is strange for one of
your training. Are you, then, turned Imperialist?”
“No. I have no fear for myself, my lord. But he—he—You must understand,
my lord, he believes in—loves his honorable party—whether right or
wrong. I would not injure it because of his sake.”
“I have had enough of this weakness, my daughter, and you must admit I
have been patient. To relieve your mind, however, of one thing, I will
inform you that I have no designs against either this young man or his
party.”
“Oh, you lift from my heart, my honored parent, a weight too heavy for
me to bear.”
“Pugh! It seems you are determined not to listen to my orders.”
“Speak at once. I will not again interrupt you.”
“Very good. While I have said I have nothing against this Imperialist
party, I am, nevertheless, desirous of knowing all their plans and
secrets. It will be your duty, therefore, to ascertain these for me. Do
not interrupt—” as she made as if to speak. “You would say your lover is
too loyal to betray his party secrets, even to you. Then you will use
your wit to compel him to do so.”
“I—I will do so,” she replied, drearily.
“That is not all. I wish you to force your lover into betraying some
scheme or intrigue of his prince which would, if brought to the
attention of the Shogun, implicate him criminally. Now I have arrived at
my chief desire—in other words, I wish to accomplish the ruin—the death
of the Prince of Mori.”
Wistaria’s head swam in vertigo. She scarce could think or feel. Only
one horrible thought hammered itself into her mind. By the cajolery and
arts of a false woman she was to assist in the betrayal of the prince to
whom her lover had sworn allegiance. It was revolting, cruel, horrible.
The mere thought of it made her head whirl in dizziness.
When she attempted to speak, her words escaped her slowly in gasps.
“I can—not—do—that!”
A terrible expression came into her father’s face.
“You dare defy my authority?” he shouted.
“Oh, my father, put upon me any other task but this. It is base, cruel,
cruel. And I—I am only a weak woman—”
“That is true. Do not, then, I advise you, attempt to pit your weakness
against my strength. If you are so lacking in all those qualities
admirable in a woman and a daughter of a noble race, I shall take means
to force you to do your duty.”
A sudden wave of courage swept over her. She ceased to tremble, though
the samurai was fierce and menacing. There sprang into her eyes a light
of defiance.
“You have reminded me, my father, that I come of a race of proud and
heroic men. Then let me tell you that I, too, am conscious of possessing
the intrepid blood of my ancestors, and that you can force me to do
nothing against my will.”
As she spoke she had backed slowly across the room, away from her
father, as though retreating from a blow. Now she stood against the
wall, her arms spread out on either side, the hands clutching the
partition.
“In ten minutes I shall show you, my lady,” said her father, between
angry, clenched teeth, “the fate of one who dares defy her honorable
parent.”
“Do so,” was her astonishing response. “Kill me, break all my honorable
bones, my lord. We all must suffer and die!”
“You are too quick to choose your method of punishment, my lady. I have
a more subtle means of teaching you the duty of a child to its parent.
Do not imagine that I shall kill your body. It is your mind and heart I
shall crush.”
“What do you mean, my lord?”
“You will understand, my lady, when your lover is paying with his life
for—”
“Oh no, no, no, no!” she cried, wildly, her hands groping through
blinding emotion as though she would push away from her some horror too
awful for utterance. “No, no, no!”
She fell down at her father’s feet, burying her face in the folds of his
hakama, her hands clutched about it frantically. “Oh, my father—no, no,
no!”
She could say no more.
“You will obey my commands?” inquired the father, bending over her.
“Yes, yes—oh, my lord—anything on earth you may command. Only spare him,
I beseech you, I pray to you, as I would to a god!” She fell to moaning
and crying with the weakness of hysteria, no longer brave, defiant.
He raised her not ungently. Holding her hands firmly, he looked sternly
into her face.
“Listen to me, my daughter. The task may seem to you horrible. It should
not be so. It is a righteous, holy cause you serve. I have sworn to the
dead, pledged myself, to encompass a certain vengeance, which must not
escape me now. I have lived for no other purpose. If I have seemed a
cold, unfeeling father, stern, unsympathetic, and unloving, it is
because I have a mission in life greater than that of a father. It is
you who must help me to attain this ambition. Vengeance—honest,
righteous vengeance—for a wrong done me and mine is a holy cause. No
Japanese girl can regard it otherwise. The Prince of Mori is our bitter
enemy. We must accomplish his undoing—his death!”
“Yes, yes,” she said, between her chattering teeth; “and you will not
harm _him_?”
“I repeat I have nothing against this man. It is his prince whose proud
spirit I will break! Kill!”
“Yes, yes—only _his_ prince—the old prince. You wish me to kill him?
Yes, I will do so.”
“No; it is the young prince who must die—the son of the Prince of Mori.
Do you not understand that I accomplish a more complete revenge by
compassing the death of him who is the salt of his life?”
“Yes, yes; I see it clear. I must kill the innocent. Ah-h! Oh, it is
cruel, cruel!”
She was weeping brokenly, piteously at his feet again, her physical
strength quite gone.
The samurai leaned over her.
“Soon, my daughter, you will have regained your strength and will. From
your attitude of a little while ago I am made aware that you are
possessed of such qualities as might impel you to attempt to betray your
father. Be assured that you shall be given no opportunity for doing so.
For your own good I would advise you to lay the honorable force of
repression upon your disturbed spirits, and bring yourself to do that
which I have set for you with completeness and swiftness. In this way
you will render a service to your father and family, and save the life
of this man you love.”
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[Illustration: Decoration]