LOVE!
Summer in the woods--summer in Japan! Ah! the poet Hitomaru sang truly
over a thousand years ago, when he said: "Japan is not a land where men
need pray, for 'tis itself divine." It seemed as if the Creator had
expended all the wealth of his passion and soul in the making of Nippon
(Japan) the land of beauty. It pulsated with a warm, wild, luxuriant
beauty; the sun seemed to shine more broadly over that fair island,
kissed and bathed it in a perpetual glow until the skies and the waters,
which in their clearness mirrored its glory, became as huge rainbows of
ever-changing and brilliant colors. Color is surely contagious; for the
wild birds, that sang deliriously, wore coats that dazzled the eye; the
grass and flowers, the trees and blossoms were tinged with a beauty
found nowhere else on earth; and even the human inhabitants caught the
spirit of the Color Queen and fashioned their garments to harmonize with
their surroundings. So, also, the artists of Japan painted pictures that
had no shadows, and the people built their houses and colored them in
accord with nature.
What spirit of romance and enchantment lurked in every woodland path,
every rippling brook or stream! Sinclair was intoxicated with the
beauty of the country. It is true he had lived there nearly three years
now, but never had it struck him as being so gloriously lovely. Why was
there an added charm and beauty to all things in life? Why was there
music even in the drone of the crickets in the grass? Sinclair was in
love! Love, the great beautifier, had crept into his heart, unseen. Numè
knew it--knew that Sinclair loved her. From the first he had never even
tried to battle against the growing love for Numè which was consuming
him, so that he thought of nothing else, night or day. His letters to
Cleo Ballard grew wandering and nervous, or he did not write at all to
her. He would neglect official business to meet Numè on the banks of the
Hayama, and spend whole days in her company, with no one by them save
the wee things of nature, and within call of Koto and Shiku. Neither did
Numè struggle against or make any resistance. With all the force of her
intense nature she returned his love. And it was the awakening of this
love in her that had taught her to be discreet. She had taken the lesson
well to heart that Mrs. Davis had taught her--to tell no man she loved
him even if she did love him.
"Orito is coming home neg's weeg," she told him one morning.
Sinclair drew his breath in sharply.
"It will mean, then, the end of our--our happy days in the woods."
Numè was feeling perverse. Why did not Mr. Sinka tell her he cared for
her--did he love the beautiful American lady more than he did her?
"Oh, no--_not_ the end, Mr. Sinka," she said; and added, cruelly,
"Orito can come, too."
It was the first time she had ever seemed to trifle with him. Hitherto
she had always been so gentle and lovable. He felt a pain at his heart,
and his eyes were quite stern and contracted.
"Numè," he said, almost harshly, "you--you surely hold our meetings more
sacred than that. You know they would lose their essence of happiness
and freedom, with the intrusion of a third party."
The girl was filled with remorse, in an instant.
"Ess, Mr. Sinka," she said. "Please forgive bad Numè."
"Forgive you, Numè!" He turned his eyes reluctantly from the girl's
flushed face. "Oh! little witch," he whispered, holding her hands with a
passionate fierceness. "You tempt me so--tempt me to forget everything
save that I am with you."
She let her hands rest in his a moment. Then she withdrew them and rose
to her feet restlessly. Sinclair rose also, looking at her with yearning
in his face.
"Why do you speag lig' thad, Mr. Sinka?" she asked.
"Numè, Numè, don't you understand--don't you know?"
"No! Numè does _not_ onderstand Americazan. Mrs. Davees tell me thad the
Americazan genleman mag' luf to poor liddle Japanese women, but he nod
really luf--only laf at her."
A cold anger crept over Sinclair.
"So she has been telling you some more yarns?"
"No; she telling thad yarns long, long time ago."
He recovered himself with an effort.
"I won't make love to you, Numè," he said, bitterly. "You need not
fear."
In his misery at his helplessness and inability to tell the girl how
much he loved and wanted her, he was doubting her,--wondering whether it
were indeed the truth that a Japanese woman had no heart. A feeling of
utter misery came over him as he thought that perhaps Numè had been only
playing with him, that her shy, seeming pleasure in being with him was
all assumed. He looked down at the girl beside him. Perhaps she felt
that look. She raised her little head and smiled at him, smiled
confidently, almost lovingly. His doubts vanished.
"Numè--Numè!" was all he said; but he kissed her little hands at parting
with a vehemence and passion he had never known.