"See that you forget it not."
For an instant longer he glared into her upraised face, then flinging
himself away he muttered, "Oh, that I had a son to offer,--one son only
to serve my land! They would not let me go." He seated himself at last;
folded his arms within the short, blue, cotton sleeves; and sank into a
brooding revery.
With a few days the first frenzy and tumult of the war were over. The
nation settled into a state of watchful and sober patriotism. Men turned
to practical work, raising money for the war fund, for all knew that it
was indeed a struggle for life or death.
Yuki had received by mail another letter. Tetsujo was present when it
came. She read and re-read it slowly, under his very eyes, and then tore
it into scraps, letting them fall in small white flecks upon the red
coals of the hibachi. Onda stared at her, fascinated, but found nothing
to say.
The note was in Pierre's most appealing vein. He urged her, for the sake
of both, to be a heroine. He forgave her, a thousand times over, her
hint of betrayal of the night before. Again he congratulated himself and
her on his foresight in compelling the stricter pledge. "You must see
now, my poor, sorrowful darling, that it is the only thing to hold us
back from despair." Yuki's heart sagged within her. She attempted no
reply. She wondered dully how so flaming a love failed to illuminate
reason. Pierre simply could not understand. Well, she must be calm and
clear enough for both. Her deepest fear, but half admitted, was that
Tetsujo, with Prince Hagané behind, would now attempt to end the matter
by marrying her to some young noble of their acquaintance. She hardly
dared face the thought of what her home life might become after her
repudiation of such an offer.
Gwendolen remained apart, and Yuki rightly guessed that it was at
Minister Todd's instigation. She never for a moment doubted Gwendolen's
loyal affection. This restraint was a proof of it, as also of Mr. Todd's
clear judgment.
Pierre began now, in his restless misery, to haunt the streets
immediately surrounding Yuki's home. Apparently he wished to establish,
as a signal, a certain little quaint air from Carmen that he loved. He
would whistle a phrase and pause, evidently expecting her to continue
with the answering melody. At twilight, one day nearly a week after "the
banquet of the Red God" (as she always thought of it), she was standing
alone beside her plum-tree, now almost bare of flowers. The sky
stretched low and heavy, as a giant tent hung with unspilled rain. No
sunlight had come with the day. The wind pinched and stung with
dampness. As she stared mournfully upon the falling petals, holding out
a languid hand to stay their flight, a few large flakes of snow came
down.
"I gathered petals, to show thee, love.
But now, in my hands they have melted--"
she quoted aloud from a classic.
Her parents had been talking together in the main corner-room, where now
a servant brought lights. On the closed paper shoji, just beside her,
the silhouettes of two beloved forms sprang into sudden vivid blackness.
Tetsujo's stern, Indian-like profile was turned, while Iriya showed only
the outlines of her coiffure, with the droop of slender shoulders and
the flower-like poise of a delicate throat. His attitude,--all dignity,
self-assertion, manliness; and hers, concessive, yielding, and full of
feminine grace,--symbolized to the girl the true relations, in Japan, of
man and wife. "And is it not better?" she thought to herself. "Are the
aggressive American women happier or more beloved?" She thought of the
domestic scandals, the unhappy marriages openly discussed at Mrs. Todd's
table. Here, at least, though such sad things did sometimes occur, they
seldom became topics of general conversation.
The bell of the front gate rang out through the gray air. Yuki, with a
sudden leap of the heart she could not account for, threw an arm about
the tree and clung to it, listening breathlessly. Through the
paper-walled house came clearly the sounds of old Suzumé as she opened
the door. "Hai! Hai! Sayo de gozaimasu. Hai, danna!" (Yes, yes. It is
augustly so! Yes, master.) Even the sharp indrawn breath was audible.
Surely it was a visitor of importance,--and not a foreigner. In an
instant a third silhouette was added to the two in the room. This bore a
small parcel in its hands, and bowed very deeply before Tetsujo.
"A messenger direct from the august Prince Hagané!" said Suzumé's proud
voice.
Yuki saw the shadow of her father snatch the package and toss aside the
cloth furoshiki in which it was wrapped. She saw the shadow open a
letter, start, bend his head nearer. She saw strong shadow-hands
tremble, and heard a voice, which strove in vain for steadiness, give
the orders: "Fold the furoshiki carefully, and return it done up in
clean paper. Give to the messenger my respects. There is no immediate
reply. Offer him fresh tobacco, tea, and cakes--the best we have."
"Hai! Hai! Kashikomarimasu" (Yes, yes! I hear and respectfully obey),
murmured Suzumé's voice. Her shadow bobbed once, twice, to the matting,
and vanished.
Yuki gripped the tree hard. A messenger from Prince Hagané! and that
deep, triumphant note in her father's voice! What could it mean?
The shadow of Iriya was now reading the note. A cry came. "O my husband!
It is too wonderful--too splendid. It will solve all difficulties. I
must not believe--"
On the cowering girl white snowflakes, her namesakes, fell now quickly,
dotting her dark hair. One, falling on a cheek as white, melted slowly,
and pretended that it was a tear.
"Call the girl!" said Tetsujo. Iriya rose in haste. Yuki sped back along
the narrow veranda to her own room. "And summon the two serving-women
also!" came Tetsujo's voice, on a higher note.
Yuki entered with what calmness she could. The two servants already
squatted like bright-eyed toads in the doorway.
"Here, girl! Read this letter from his Highness, Prince Hagané," said
Onda. "Bow, as you receive it into your unworthy hands."
The girl bowed obediently. She read the letter through without a flicker
of change on her downcast face. Folding it with scrupulous care she
returned it, again bowing, to her wondering father.
"Well," he cried, "are your wits gone? What have you to say?"
"His Highness does our house too much honor," answered Yuki, quietly.
Iriya, watching breathlessly, saw what the puzzled Onda did not see,
that, in spite of superb self-control, a slow, sick pallor was stealing
into the girl's face. Behind Iriya the two servants, drawn closer as by
a magnet, vibrated to suppressed excitement.
Onda caught the look of their faces. "Suzumé!" he said, "your young
mistress has just been asked in marriage by his Augustness, Prince
Hagané, daimyo of our clan."
"Ma-a-a!" breathed the women in unison, and fell forward on their faces.
"You see what _they_ think of it," said Tetsujo, with a
half-contemptuous wave of his hand.
"Oh, my daughter," cried Iriya, "it is an honor so great that I cannot
yet meet the thought of it. You will be like a Princess of the Blood.
Our sacred Empress will meet you face to face as a friend."
Tetsujo broke in. "You can serve your country, girl! That's the best of
it. The opportunity is incredible. It does not need argument. Well,
Yuki! Will you write your humble and grateful acceptance in person, or
shall I convey it for you?"
"I have not accepted yet."
Tetsujo bounded in his place. Iriya caught her breath, and stretched
forth two pleading hands, one to each.
"Do not anger me, girl!" muttered the father, with visible effort to
contain himself. "I am in no mood for violence."
"Nor I, father, being already spent with much contention," answered
Yuki, wearily. "Indeed, I should attempt no speech at all, but that I
see his Highness shields me by commands against rough argument, and the
condition that I be given full time to decide."
"Bah," cried Tetsujo. "Even a god must have some small weaknesses. Pity
to women has always been his.--Well, when shall your answer
go--to-night, in the morning, on the first rays of the sun? Speak! for
my choler trains me hard!"
But Yuki did not hasten to reply. Behind her rigid calm a thousand
frightened fancies sped. No thought could be followed to a conclusion in
this first whirl of atoms. They went by her in a soundless
hurricane,--torn bits of hope, filaments of fear, thin flakes of
readjustment. She saw that time must be gained--time, and the
opportunity to think. An unqualified refusal would bring upon her
immediately consequences and new conditions which she was neither
physically nor mentally able to combat. She must achieve an armistice.
After an interval that seemed long to her but interminable to the
quivering Onda, she raised her face, saying quietly: "After a space of
three days, at the hour of twilight, I will myself deliver an answer to
Prince Hagané. Will you kindly convey this message?"
"She will answer in three days! Lord of Hell! she will condescend to
answer my daimyo in three days! This bit of spoken offal--must I present
to a deity who burdens himself with you--that your family may be
honored, and your cheap foreign attainments used! His magnanimity is
inconceivable. To a lesser man it would seem impossible. To marry you
openly,--make you a princess,--you, a shivering wench he could have for
the taking!"
"He could _not_ have me for the taking, and you know it!" said Yuki's
low voice, that held an undercurrent of his own. "You shame yourself and
me by such raving. If you insult me further I will refuse at once."
"Come, Yuki! Come quickly!" whispered the terrified Iriya, dragging at
her daughter's sleeve. "Your honored father will strangle in his rage.
Never, never, in all our married life have I seen his eyes glare thus!
Hasten!"
"Yes--hasten--drag her away!" gasped Tetsujo, throwing back his head and
clutching his collar. "She is not my daughter! Would that my bones had
crumbled--" His words broke off in a gurgle.
In her little room Yuki stood gazing down moodily upon the convulsed
form of her mother. "I know I ought to feel more pain to see you weep so
bitterly, my mother," she said at length. "I tell myself that I should
feel, but I cannot feel. Somehow I seem to be wearing armor inside
instead of outside. Think of it, mother, what it means to me! I love a
man who loves me honorably. I do not ask a sudden marriage,--I would
wait patiently until the war is over, and perhaps your heart and
father's would be softened toward my hope. I will work for you,--I will
go out and be a servant, a teacher,--anything to relieve you of my
burden. All I ask is to remain uncompelled toward other marriage. Yet
here my father, and an old man older than my father, are trapping
me,--they condescend to trap me! Prince Hagané cannot possibly wish me
for his wife. He has seen me but twice since I was a child. A man like
Hagané does not know love in the sense I have been taught it. Oh, I am
like a bird ensnared in chains--in chains so heavy--that I can scarcely
stir a link! Being a samurai's daughter I cannot even die."
"Yuki! Would you indeed disgrace us by marrying--a Russian?"
"Not so long as it seems to you a disgrace. But that will not last
forever, mother. This war is to change many things. Can I not belong to
myself, just for the time of this war, mother? Will you not plead with
father for this boon?"
"I dare not! I dare not!" shuddered Iriya. "I fear your father, for the
first time in my life.--There! He is calling. I must go." She caught one
of the girl's dangling hands and pressed it convulsively against a
tear-wet cheek. "May Kwannon soothe your bewildered heart, my loved
one!" she murmured, and was gone.
"I prefer you to have as little as possible to do with that hardened and
ungrateful wretch!" came Tetsujo's voice, as Iriya entered to him. Yuki
knew that it was raised purposely for her to hear. Iriya evidently
attempted some conciliatory reply, for he burst out angrily, "Don't
defend her, woman! It is disrespect to me. I tell you she shall consent,
whether she wishes it or not!"
Yuki smiled the smile that leaves a taint upon the soul. "There are a
few things that even a father--even a Japanese father--cannot do!" she
said aloud.