With the Imperial Restoration in Japan--an event, in time, just
thirty-five years before the date mentioned at the beginning of this
story--many of the nobles of Japan met with ruin. This was especially
the case with the "hatamoto," a class directly dependent for revenue and
patronage upon the favor of the usurping "Shogun." The real Emperor,
then a boy of sixteen, living in seclusion at Kioto, was still nominal
ruler and spiritual head of the government, forming a sort of "Holy
Roman Empire," translated into terms of Buddhism. When, as a result of
revolution and many sharp, fierce battles, this boy was brought in
triumph to take his rightful place as temporal ruler also, with a new
court in the great capital of Tokio, the Shogun, direct descendant of
the mighty Iyeyasu, went into dignified retirement. Over-rich
monasteries and temples, arrogant after centuries of Tokugawa benefice,
were forced to part with broad lands, and even, in certain instances,
with personal treasure. The simpler "Shinto" faith, an indigenous
nature-spirit and ancestor-worshipping creed, opposed its principles to
gorgeous Buddhist forms. The pure spirit of the younger faith and the
profundities of its philosophy did not suffer. The blow was aimed at
externals. The child-like Japanese soul to-day kneels with equal
sincerity at a wayside Shinto shrine or before the gold-hung altars of
Sakyamuni.
This revolution, then, was threefold and complete. Politics, religion,
society, shifted within their national circle and assumed new aspects.
The centre of all was the young ruler, Mutsuhito. Now the "kugé," or
court nobles of Kioto, who had willingly shared retirement and
comparative poverty with this true descendant of the gods, came again
into power. But besides these two classes, the hatamoto and other
dependent samurai, and the kugé, was still a third,--the most
important,--the daimyo or feudal lords of the empire. Some among these
had never yet given satisfactory hostages to the Shoguns, and lived
always in a state of insolent pride and suppressed insurrection. At need
of their Emperor, the true mettle of their loyalty rang out. Men, money,
lives, property, were poured out like water for this beloved cause.
Those who had been haughtiest to the Shoguns bowed now in deepest
reverence to the boy Mutsuhito, in whose veins ran the blood of their
ancient dynasty. He was to them truly divine; not in the impossible,
superstitious sense, but as a sort of human channel flowing between the
old gods and modern men. Through him were reconstruction and new
national glory to be gained. A life laid down in his cause were but
newly come alive.
Prominent among such patriots was the old Daimyo of Konda, father of the
present Prince Hagané. His title more literally translated would be that
of "Duke," or "Feudal Prince." His lands, lying far to the south, with a
rough channel to divide them from the mainland, held almost a separate
and independent existence. His chief province, and the one from which he
took his title, was Konda. "Hagané" was the family name. At the first
hint of national uprising the old daimyo, abandoning his own loved home,
came at once to Kioto, and later made the journey with the young Emperor
to Yedo. By right he assumed the place of guardian and adviser. The old
daimyo was, as it chanced, somewhat learned in foreign matters, and
this, in spite of the Shogun's rigid exclusion of all things foreign, of
the death-penalty to any Japanese attempting to leave Japan, or, having
managed to leave, attempting to return. This was a mighty armor of
self-protection to the Tokugawa policy; but, in common with most armor,
it had just one small flaw. In this case the flaw was a tiny island,
granted to the Dutch, called "Deshima." Not far from the Konda borders
lay this innocent fleck of earth, surrounded by blue native seas, and
overgrown, like other islands, with tall feathery bamboo, camellia, and
camphor trees; and yet, because of its existence, Hagané gained foreign
books,--from it he smuggled a Dutch interpreter who could read and write
not only his own language, but Japanese. Other curious minds drew near
this spring of knowledge; and, partly because of it, long before Perry's
expedition to the Far East, the Japanese people had become restless,
eager, awake, and in ferment for a national readjustment.
Hagané's one son, Sanétomo, a few years older than the boy Emperor, and
reared as nearly in friendship with him as reverence would allow, was
among the first youths of his class to travel in Europe, and to acquire
any European language. Upon his father's death, he was asked by the
Emperor to take at once the offices and semi-royal prerogatives of the
lamented elder statesman. All the daimyos had received national bonds
for the alienation of their fiefs; and thus those who had been most
powerful still enjoyed great wealth in their own right.
With the Emperor once firmly established, etiquette and the restrictions
of court-life began to prove irksome to Sanétomo. One could have
continued to practise fine manners under the Shoguns. Here to-day was
something better. A new army was to be formed; after that a new navy.
Hagané advised adaptation of tactics from the German military school,
its unbending automatonism appearing to him a safe restriction for
enthusiastic beginners. From the first, however, his mind had been fixed
upon the administrative methods of that marvellous small heart of an
enormous empire, England. Japan should be to the Far East what England
had become to the West. What one island had accomplished, that also
could another do.
The Japanese nation as a whole went reeling drunk with over-potations of
foreign ideas. For a while it seemed that everything Japanese was to be
swept away. The small opposition party, frenzied by the apparition, took
hideous revenge in murder, assassination, and suicide. Hagané's faith
did not for a moment waver. After excess comes nausea, reaction. So had
his countrymen, in more than one epoch now long past, drunk in the new.
In time they would reject the unneedful, and infuse new power in what
they had adopted. The thinkers of his empire could afford to wait.
When the new constitution was promulgated in February, 1889, there was
rejoicing such as this old earth seldom sees. Hagané was created
Minister of War. This position he had continued to hold, with varying
intervals. He was now the incumbent. Much of his time was spent,
perforce, in the "foreign" official residence, well within sight of the
Imperial moats. Most of such edifices in Tokio are depressing. This was
particularly cheerless. The house of brick, wood, and plaster, chiefly
plaster, stood full two stories high, was of ample dimensions, and had a
huge, square, blue-tiled roof. Though planned and built by the most
artistic nation now alive, it had not one line of beauty, nor one
successful effort after fine proportion. In these early days it seemed
an accepted creed among the Japanese that anything to be truly "foreign"
must necessarily offend the eye; yet, thought the ingenuous pupils,
since ugliness apparently goes in the company of wealth, power, material
welfare, and political recognition,--why, by all means, let us be uglier
than the foreigners themselves!
Around the house lay something called a garden, a watery emulsion of
American flower beds and a Japanese landscape creation. The effect of
the whole place was amorphous, unstable, depressing, with the one
redeeming feature of bigness.
Onda Tetsujo, speeding toward this haven in his hired jinrikisha,
rattled along the uneven stone of the street, and then turned into the
one great entrance of the imposing shell. The garden wall had a secret
gate or two, but these were generally kept bolted. The storm of the
early morning was abating. A drizzling, discouraged rain, with irregular
gusts of wind through it, persisted in efforts to exclude all cheer.
Onda knocked at one of the rear doors of the Japanese wing, and was but
little surprised to hear, from the man who opened for him, that his
Excellency the Prince, having transacted all official business for the
day, had now retired to his "besso" (villa) on the high land of suburban
"Tabata."
Onda re-entered his vehicle and gave the curt order, "Tabata." In the
street he added, "Call an atoshi, and pull up the hood and oil-cloth."
An atoshi, or "Mr. After," was summoned, the oil-cloth hood of the
jinrikisha drawn far over and held in place by a single black cord
knotted to one shaft. A sort of oil-cloth lap-robe, hung up in front
and hooked to the inner lining of the hood, afforded complete
immunity from wetting. Within the careful adjustment sat Tetsujo,
blinking and scowling. The day had brought him a new and unwelcomed
experience,--defiance from a woman. He wondered, as he was dragged along
the viscid street, whether, in the happy, vanished feudal days, any
warrior of his clan had known a similar indignity. There was on record
the case of a wilful bride who, married against her wishes to an Onda
chief, had disguised herself in a suit of armor grown too small for him,
and sought heroic death in battle. But even this was better than open
insult and defiance. Well, Yuki must be watched closely. Her education
and beauty were not to be thrown away on a foreigner who, likely as not,
would tire of and desert her. She must marry a young Japanese already
well along on the way to official or military promotion. When this
Russian war came, Japan would need all her people, men and women. His
only child should not be given over to the loose affections of a
foreigner. He scowled anew at the thought, and gave so savage a sound
that his coolies stopped short in the road to inquire whether the
honorable master were in pain.
"No," growled Tetsujo, in return, "a warrior does not feel pain; that is
for babes and women."
A few minutes later the redoubled grunts and groans of his
bearers--evidently sharing shamelessly the weaker prerogatives of the
other sex--told Tetsujo that they had begun the ascent of the Tabata
slope. At the eastern edge, where the hill goes down like a cliff, and
one looking far out over rice-fields sees the Sumida River finding a
shining road to Tokio, and the great twin peaks of Tsukuba-yama standing
guard over the other half of the world, spread the broad eaves of Prince
Hagané's villa.
Onda gave a sigh of relief as he stepped out under the door-roof.
"O tanomi moshimasu!" (I make request) he called, rapping on the closed
shoji panels with his knuckles.
"Hai!" came almost instantly from within, and a housemaid was on her
knees pushing the panels softly aside, a hand on each.
"The august one--is he within?" asked the visitor.
"Hai! Illustrious Sir. Deign to mount the step, and, seating yourself on
the hard mats, be refreshed by our tasteless tea and worthless cakes,
while I hasten to announce your joy-giving appearance."
Tetsujo dismissed his kuruma men, shook off his shoes, and remained
seated on the mats, still with folded arms, still deep in thought. The
little maid, returning quickly, murmured that "the noble master would
receive his honorable guest at once."
* * * * *
Prince Hagané sat alone in the great room, immediately surrounded by
boxes and trays with tea, writing, and smoking outfits. There was one
beautiful hibachi, or firepot, of hammered brass. An English book on
International Law lay on the floor beside him among newspapers in
Japanese, Chinese, English, French, and German. Passages in these papers
had been heavily marked by the blue and red pencil still held in the
reader's hand. He did not rise or bow as Tetsujo entered, merely turning
his face toward the opened fusuma and saying, "Most welcome, good
Tetsujo. Enter and forget the storm."
"I fear I have brought the storm in with me, your Highness," Tetsujo
could not refrain from crying. He fell on his knees just within the
door, bowed many times, and drew in his breath loudly. Hagané lifted an
unread newspaper and made several markings while Tetsujo continued his
genuflections. Having at last completed a number satisfactory to his
sense of propriety, he sat upright. Hagané folded this last paper, and
put it into a heap with the others.
"Draw nearer," he said with a smile. "It is a day for a chat between old
friends. No, be not so humble--nearer yet--I insist. Now--that is better
and more companionable. Pour yourself some tea."
"Honors are heaped upon your unworthy servant," rejoined Onda, pouring
tea, first for the prince, then for himself. "I have just come from the
official residence of your Highness. How cold and un-homelike appear all
foreign houses; while this--" he paused to look slowly around--"this
warms a man's heart to see."
"Though insignificant, it has a certain restfulness," admitted the host.
"Lacking a mistress, it cannot seem in reality a home."
Tetsujo's face clouded. "Speak not to me of mistresses, Lord," he
mumbled sourly.
Hagané gave him a queer glance, but said nothing. He understood well the
nature of his own kerai. So angular a thought as now distressed him must
soon work its way to the surface of speech. "To-day I am in mind of the
Chinese sage who taught us that all women are mere manifestations of
demoniac force. They are sent here to tempt us--to test--to torment.
Would that I could reach a heaven of warriors, untainted by their
sex--!"
"Surely, my Tetsujo," interrupted Hagané, gravely, "those of your
household bring no torment. I have never known a better wife than
Iriya."
"I complain not of Iriya," said the other, a hint of excitement creeping
into his voice; "but, Lord, had you seen that ingrate that I must call
my daughter! Had you seen Yuki an hour since, you would have perceived
what the Chinese mean by she-demons."
"Yuki!" echoed Hagané, this time in genuine surprise. "Is there not some
mistake? Yuki is spirited; but I cannot picture her as a--demon!"
"I will honorably relate the event. My heart, with the memory, seethes
and bubbles as a small cauldron." In a voice often shaken from control
by passion, with a dark countenance slowly deepening into a bronze red
of agitation, Tetsujo imparted the story of his child's defiance. Not
once did Prince Hagané lift his head, not even when Tetsujo, beating the
matted floor in his rage, roared out, "Her eyes flashed, my Lord, like
those of a dragon-maid in battle! They scorched me like sparks! They
would not fall though I sent out the whole volume of my will to quench
them. It was defiance--defiance--naked and unashamed! The very air
around me turned to flame. Murder dried my tongue. Had I worn my short
swords as of old,--"
Hagané gave an exclamation and looked up. "What then! Are you yourself a
demon, Tetsujo,--or a father? Scorn to you, thus speaking of a maid! It
was your own strong spirit darting upon you from her bright eyes. Gods!
the look of her must have been magnificent!"
"Magnificent! Yes, as hell, perhaps, is magnificent! Think you not,
Lord, that she deserves death for such impiety?"
"My poor Tetsujo," said Hagané, "I pray you, quaff more tea and be calm.
You alone cannot walk backward, when the rest of the nation races to the
fore. Yuki's death for such a cause would certainly mean your hanging,
and, in my opinion, a fate that you would well deserve. Come now, let us
reason like men, not squirm and crackle like live devil-fish thrown upon
coals. The point of the matter is, that your daughter wishes to marry
one of her choice, and not one of yours. Naturally, you oppose this."
"Oppose!" echoed Tetsujo, straining in his seat, "I forbid it! I defy
her to attempt it! Should she persist, she shall have my curse and that
of my ancestors--"
"Nay, nay, my Tetsujo, be calm. Anger is the worst leak in a man's store
of self-respect. I cannot talk further until you grow calm." He paused
and slowly poured for himself a cup of tea, as if to give the old
warrior time for self-recollection.
Tetsujo drew a tenugui from his sleeve, mopped his damp brow, pulled his
kimono collar into smoother folds, and settled, by degrees, into an
appearance of tranquillity. Now and again a small convulsive shudder
still passed over him, a movement involuntary and uncontrollable, such
as is seen in a runaway horse brought suddenly to a stand.
"Now let me question," began Hagané's deep tones again. "Answer nothing,
my friend, but what I ask. Are you certain that this man, whom our
little Yuki thinks she loves, is, indeed, a foreigner?"
"I am not honorably certain, your Highness, even of so much. But I think
he is a foreigner. No Japanese, not even a street scavenger of Yedo, as
I told her--"
Hagané raised a hand for silence. "You should, first of all, have
ascertained his race, his name, and his profession. He may be a hired
Russian spy for all we know."
Tetsujo almost bounded from his place. "A Russian spy! God of
Battles,--I thought not of that!"
"And did you bethink you to inquire whether the--person--had already
followed her to this country?"
Tetsujo's eyes rolled fearfully. He found no ready words. "My Lord--my
Lord--" he gasped.
"You now perceive, Tetsujo, there are better things for a man to do with
his wits than ignite them, and, with the burning bits, play a foolish
jugglery. Our first concern is to find out whether or not that man is
here."
Tetsujo bowed over to hide his chagrin. "Your wisdom is that of D[=o]-ku
and Benkei Sama in one," he murmured.
Hagané stuffed and lighted a small pipe. "When you met your daughter on
the hatoba at Yokohama were there young males of the party?"
"Hai, master. I recall now two strange and alert ones who appeared to be
young."
"Was one of a pink color, like buds of a kaido bloom, and eyes a
deep-blue color?"
"All were red and hideous. The one who tried to speak with me had
rice-straw on his head in place of decent hair."
"Ah," said Hagané, puffing at his pipe.
"Yes, your Highness, and in our conversation she informed me that the
Todds were well aware of her shameful passion, and that the women upheld
it."
Silence fell between the men. Tetsujo bit his finger-nails in his
impatience.
"In three more days," began the other, slowly, "Mr. Todd will be
formally presented to his Sacred Majesty; after that ceremony he will
not, I think, permit his women to aid Yuki in a marriage which is
against your wishes and--mine."
Onda gave a joyful start.
"Wait," said Hagané, "there is more to be said; I must take a moment's
counsel with myself." At these words he fell into a reverie so profound
that his spirit seemed to be absent from his breathing body.
Tetsujo controlled himself as best he could. The whole affair was
galling to his pride. He resented even Hagané's knowing of the
indignity; yet he had no recourse but Hagané. The rain-water, trickling
with a sound of dull clinking coins down the tin corner-spouts,
irritated him to madness. He hated the little wet sparrows who sat up
under the eaves and exchanged uncomplimentary remarks about the weather.
Hagané's power of concentration was in itself reproof and another source
of irritation. The great man came to himself without a start.
"Listen, Onda Tetsujo, I will offer advice, but it must be taken entire.
I will have no variation, mind you, or personal addition."
"I shall receive it humbly, on my head," grumbled the kerai.
Hagané controlled a smile. "Upon your return, treat the maiden gently.
Defiance is her best armor. We must not be harsh. Win her confidence by
renewed kindnesses. If possible, bend your haughty will to the point of
expressing regret for this morning's anger."
"Excuse myself to a woman--to my own daughter!"
"I shall not insist upon that point. I said only if it were possible.
Some things are not possible, even to a Buddha."
"And this is even such," cried Tetsujo.
"Let it pass. My purpose may be accomplished without. It is
indispensable, however, that you be kind. Give to her, unsolicited,
permission to invite the women of the Todd family to your home."
"This, too, is difficult," muttered Tetsujo; "but with the aid of Fudo
Bosatsu (Bodhisàttwa of the Fiery Immovability) I can achieve it."
"Excellent," said the other; "now for my part. I will, on the day of Mr.
Todd's presentation, arrange for a banquet here at Tabata, to which I
will invite the family of Mr. Todd and also the two young men whom you
saw at Yokohama. If Yuki's foreign lover is here at all, he is of that
party."
"I am not worthy of such deep thought and consideration at your hands,
Lord," said Tetsujo, gratefully.
"Be not deceived. It is for Yuki's sake as well. Since her early
childhood I have watched with deep interest the growth of her fine
intellect and the development of her unusual beauty. Lacking children of
my own, I have felt something of a father's affection for her. I too
wish to keep her for Japan. I approve not the thought of a foreign
marriage."
Tetsujo lifted his head. "One question more, your Highness. Is it your
belief that Yuki will surely betray herself, if indeed the foreign devil
whom she--she--well, the foreign devil,--should arrive?"
"I think she cannot utterly deceive us both," said Hagané,
diplomatically.
Still Onda looked doubtful. "Yesterday I should have said the same; but
since this defiance--this exhibition of unwomanly strength--"
"My life has been one long school of human character. Yuki will not
deceive us both," reiterated the Prince.
"I am content. I will now remove my worthless body from your sight,
having claimed already far too much of your august consideration."
Tetsujo bowed and rose. The other rose also, following him half across
the room.
"There is yet one bit of counsel," said he. "For the next three days,
until the banquet, Yuki must not leave the house alone. Let her go where
she will, Tetsujo, but be you always near. If a foreigner should force
entrance, or stop your daughter on the street, allow no private speech
between them; and if he persist, as mad foreigners will, call the
nearest guard, and make free use of my name."
"Your mercy is as wide as Heaven, Lord," murmured the kerai, as he
finally took his departure.
* * * * *
Through the gentle and most willing mediator, Iriya, Tetsujo transmitted
his willingness to receive Yuki's foreign friends. This sudden clemency,
riding on the very back of fury, turned to the girl a masked face of new
fear. She knew her father incapable of such sudden reversion, or of the
subtlety implied. A stronger power was behind him. She was to be watched
and experimented upon. Yet, in spite of this intuitive belief, she could
not put aside the opportunity of seeing her friend, of hearing from her
lover.
A messenger bore her carefully worded note to the American Legation.
Mrs. Todd and Gwendolen responded almost instantly. The former
overwhelmed her with endearments and reproaches, an exhibition
embarrassing to the girl and terrifying to Iriya. The servants peeped in
through chinks in the hall shoji, and at this sight Maru clapped a hand
to her mouth to keep from shrieking, and, fleeing to the backyard,
rocked to and fro, sobbing, "The big foreign lady is eating our young
mistress; oh, what terrible creatures are the foreigners!"
Meanwhile Mrs. Todd, happily unconscious of the effect she was
producing, continued her volley of ejaculations. "My dearest child!
_Such_ relief when your note came. Gwendolen and I were almost
distracted, weren't we, Gwendolen? Of course Cyrus called us geese, and
said we were making mountains out of mole-hills; but Cy is always
disagreeable when we get into a twitter. But I can assure you, my dear,
there is one man at least who does not think us silly; he has been worse
off than either of us, hasn't he, Gwennie?"
"Be careful--be careful," said Yuki, in a low voice.
Iriya was in the room, a very figure-head of a hostess with her
reserved, timid ways and lack of fluent English. She managed now by
gestures, and a very careful use of certain phrases learned by rote from
a book of foreign etiquette, to invite her guests to be seated. When
this was accomplished, not without many suppressed grunts from the stout
lady, Gwendolen managed to get near her friend, and to put out a cool,
slim hand, with a pressure of re-assuring love. Yuki clasped the hand
quickly, but did not forget another warning look. She leaned next toward
the great cluster of hot-house flowers which the American girl wore at
her belt, and, under cover of examining them, whispered, "My father is
already opposed to me. I do not know what to do. Even writing a letter
is impossible. Only tell him to be patient, and have faith."
"He's beside himself," returned Gwendolen, in the same suppressed voice.
"He carries on like a girl at a matinée; but this word from you will
help him. Of course all of us knew that something was going wrong."
Mrs. Todd, to divert attention from the whisperers, engaged Iriya in
vociferous conversation. "Yuki back again! You very happy?" she asked in
a loud voice, as if her hostess were deaf.
"Yes," rejoined Iriya, timidly, in English, "we are quite hap-pee."
"Why, she understands beautifully!" cried Mrs. Todd to the two girls, in
triumph, as at a personal achievement.
"Mother reads English well, and even in talking she understands things,
when one is thoughtful to speak slowly and emphatic, as you have done,
dear Mrs. Todd. But she is bashful about the trying," said Yuki.
"She needn't be, I'm sure!" cried the matron. "She pronounces real well.
But it's a never-ending marvel to me how these people pick it up. Why,
there's hardly a shop in the Ginza where they don't talk it! I'm sure
I'll never catch on to your queer language, Yuki-ko, if I live here a
hundred years."
"Come look at my dear plum-tree that I used to talk about in America,"
said Yuki to Gwendolen, rising as she spoke. Iriya looked up in
consternation. Her artless face showed perfectly that she had been
forbidden to let Yuki from her sight. Behind a certain closed fusuma
panel, the one opening directly into Tetsujo's study, came a very low
sound, as if of a stifled cough. Yuki threw a sad little smile back over
her shoulder to Iriya. "I am not going from the veranda, mother," she
said in English.
"Good heavens!" whispered Gwendolen, as they reached the further side of
the room, "are you a condemned prisoner already?"
"No," said Yuki, "but I am a watched one. It is too humiliating."
"Are they afraid Pierre will run away with you?"
"They know nothing of Pierre, only that I wish to choose for myself the
man I am to marry. They do not even certainly know that he is a
foreigner. I must keep them from knowing, or they will be more angrier
yet."
"Your father is not exactly a lover of foreigners, is he?" asked
Gwendolen, dryly.
Yuki gave a sorry little smile. "And a Frenchman, Gwendolen,--a
Frenchman with the Russian mother! It is going to be a long, hard fight,
like the coming war itself. But I must be brave. My promise I have given
to Pierre."
"Poor darling," cried Gwendolen, clasping her closer, "I almost wish you
hadn't; but, of course, when one is in love,--I have a letter for you
here. Shall you dare take it?"
Yuki flushed and looked miserable, as she said, "Yes, I shall take it,
though I must use the deceit. I will for the first time deceive. When we
go back, put it on the floor in your handkerchief, and I will take it
up. I feel to be sick at the thought of such treachery to my parents;
but what am I to do?"
Neither had much thought for the beautiful plum-tree now opening
optimistic blooms after the storm of yesterday. As the girls came into
the room together, Mrs. Todd said to Yuki, "Your mother tells me that
you are all invited to the banquet of Prince Hagané for next Friday."
"Yes," said Yuki, smiling and seating herself near the speaker, "we have
accepted; but at the last moment mother will find some good excuse for
staying away. She always does. Is not that true, Mama San?"
The substance of the loving gibe being translated, Iriya blushed and
tittered, and put her face to her sleeve, like any schoolgirl.
"Naugh-tee Yuki-ko," she managed to say, "make bad talk of Mama San!"
At this moment the bell of the entrance gate gave a jangle unusually
loud and abrupt. Immediately bare feet of servants were heard scurrying
about the floors of the house. Iriya drew her head erect to listen. "It
is another honorable visitor," she murmured, and half arose, sinking
back, as she remembered her husband's injunction.
Yuki's heart had begun to beat. There was something most un-Japanese in
the harsh, sudden clamor of the tiny bell. Masculine footsteps,
unmistakably in foreign shoes, came around by the kitchen side of the
house through rows of green "na," and crunched the gravel of the paths.
Yuki's face went white. This was a breach of etiquette possible only to
a foreigner, and to one newly arrived in Japan.
As the group of four women gazed outward, not knowing what to expect,
Pierre Le Beau's high-bred, sensitive face, a little worn by the
suspense of the past three days, came around the corner, and stared at
them across the narrow, polished veranda. Yuki and Iriya were alike
incapable of speech. A sulphurous, low growl was heard behind the
fusuma.
"Shake off your shoes and join us," came Mrs. Todd's loud, jovial
command.
"If Miss Onda repeats the invitation," said he, with eyes upon the
shrinking girl.
Iriya bowed without realizing what she did. It was against all decency
for women to receive, alone, a male visitor. She longed to call her
husband, but did not dare. For once in her courteous, quiet life, Iriya
Onda was at a loss what to do. Yuki made up her mind quickly. Though her
heart longed, burned to have him near, she knew that he must be sent
away. If he came in, Tetsujo would realize instantly who it was, and
would transmit the knowledge to his shrewder and more far-sighted
monitor. She was helpless, alone, unarmed, but none the less determined
to fight the battle of a love to which she had promised fidelity. With
effort she raised herself to a stiff, upright posture, and, keeping her
voice clear and cold, she said, "Sir, if my honored father were at home
he would doubtless entreat you to enter, but in his absence, neither my
mother nor myself have authority to take that pleasant duty upon
ourselves. If you will pardon my great rudeness, sir, we shall need to
be excused from receiving you at all."
For an instant the young man stared. Slowly his face grew white. He gave
one glance of concentrated love, pain, and resentment, and then passed,
without a word, along the edge of the veranda, and under the out-leaning
plum-tree. Yuki, watching him with a dying heart, felt that never again
could she look upon her favorite tree without seeing that fair, bowed
head beneath the branches. Mrs. Todd gaped, incredulous, at the girl.
Gwendolen alone realized the situation. She sprang to her feet
instantly. "Mother!" she cried, "the young man came for us, of course.
We have trespassed too long on Mrs. Onda's hospitality; now let us join
our unfortunate visitor at the gate and have him ride home with us, I
have something of importance to say to him."
Yuki gave a little sob of gratitude and relief. Mrs. Todd, partly
comprehending, heaved upward to her feet. "Yes," she said to Gwendolen,
but with a disapproving glance poured, full-measure, upon the Japanese
girl, "let us ask him to ride home. The poor fellow looked as if the
earth had crumbled under his feet."
Yuki felt the reproach. She could have laughed aloud at the irony of it.
Mrs. Todd walked in what she supposed a stately fashion across the room.
Her feet pressed into the soft matting as into a stiff dough, leaving
behind her a track of shallow indentations.
At parting Gwendolen whispered in her friend's ear, "I understood. Your
father has been watching all along. I will make things clear to the
other."
When the panelled gate was closed once more, and the little bell cold
after long reverberation, Yuki felt a great physical shudder. Her nerves
demanded of her the respite of tears, but still she held herself in
check. The luxury of weeping and the hidden letter alike must wait until
a night hour when the rest of the house was asleep.
She went out into the sunshine of the garden, well within sight of the
house. She tried not to think, or to allow forebodings. Against the old
plum-tree she leaned, catching idly the white drifting petals. Each
might have been a separate poem, so freighted is Japanese lore with
fancies and exquisite imagery drawn from this favorite flower. The
transience of life, its sweetness, fidelity to natural law, wifehood and
womanly tenderness, rebirth, immortality,--all these thoughts and more
came to her softly as the petals came. Through each mood, like the clang
and clash of brass through low melody, recurred the vision of Pierre--of
his yellow hair beneath the old plum-tree. But with the petals fell
uncounted moments, heaped less tangibly into hours. So passed the day
and succeeding days.