THE TRAGEDY.
After leaving Cleo Ballard, Orito had jumped into the waiting kurumma,
and had been driven directly home. There he found the two old men
waiting for him. The house was unlighted, save by the moonlight, which
was very bright that night, and streamed into the room, touching gently
the white heads of the two old men as they sat on their mats patiently
awaiting Orito's return. It touched something bright, also, that lay on
a small table, and which gleamed with a scintillating light. It was a
Japanese sword!
Orito entered the house very silently. He bowed low and courteously as
he entered the room, in strict Japanese fashion. Then he began to speak.
"My father, you have accused me sometimes of being no longer Japanese.
To-night I will surely be so. The woman of whom I told you was false,
after all." His eyes wandered to the sword and dwelt there lovingly. He
crossed to where it lay and picked it up, running his hand down its
blade.
"I have no further desire to live, my father. Should I live I would go
on loving--her--who is so unworthy. That would be a dishonor to the
woman I would marry for your sakes, perhaps. Therefore, 'tis better to
die an honorable death than to live a dishonorable life; for it is even
so in this country, that my death would atone for all the suffering I
have caused you. Very honorable would it be."
Sadly he bade the two old men farewell; but Sachi stayed his arm,
frantically.
"Oh, my son, let thy father go first," he said.
One thrust only, in a vital part, a sound between a sigh and a moan, and
the old man had fallen. Then quick as lightning Orito had cut his own
throat. Omi stared in horror at the fallen dead. They were all he had
loved on earth, for, alas! Numè had represented to him only the fact
that she would some day be the wife of Orito. Never, since her birth,
had he ceased to regret that she had not been a son. He picked the
bloody sword up, and with a hand that had lost none of its old Samourai
cunning he soon ended his own life.
About an hour after this a horror-stricken servant looked in at the room
in its semi-darkness. He saw the three barely distinguishable dark forms
on the floor, and ran wildly through the house, alarming all the
servants and retainers of the household. Soon the room was flooded with
light, and the dead were being raised gently and prepared for burial,
amidst the lamentations of the servants, who had fairly idolized them.
Relatives were sent for in post haste, and before the night had half
ended the muffled beating of Buddhist drums was heard on the streets,
for the families were well known and wealthy, and were to be given a
great and honorable funeral. And also, the sounds of passionate weeping
filled the air, and floated out from the house of death.