LOVERS AGAIN.
Koto had told Numè nothing of her visit to Sinclair. The girl had been
so stunned by the deaths of her father, Orito, and Sachi, that Koto had
not the heart even to tell her good news; for when our friends are in
sorrow the best comfort one can give is to weep and sorrow with
them;--so the Japanese believe. Besides, she wanted Sinclair's coming to
be a surprise to the girl.
[Illustration: SITTING TOGETHER HAND IN HAND. PAGE 202.]
In Numè's great sorrow and illness she would have no one by her save
Koto, and once in a while Koto's friend, Matsu, who was visiting them.
Koto had had her come to the house because she played the harp so
beautifully, and she knew the music would please Numè. Both the girls
tried in every way to make up to the grieving orphan for the sorrows
that had suddenly come to darken her young life. Often the three would
sit together hand in hand, Numè between her two friends, speaking no
word to each other, but each feeling strangely comforted and refreshed
with the others' love and sympathy. After the funeral ceremony, Numè had
awakened somewhat out of her apathy, and tried to take interest in
things about her; but it was a pitiful effort, and always made Koto weep
so much that one day Matsu had suggested to her that she go to the city
and see the American and tell him the truth. For Numè had told Koto of
what Mrs. Davis had caused her to do; and Koto, in her turn, had told
Matsu.
"You have become too secluded and proud, Koto," the city geisha girl
told her. "It is an easy matter to go to the city and perhaps you will
do Numè and the American a great service. I will stay with Numè-san
while you are gone, and will wait on her just as if I were indeed her
maid instead of your being so." It was in this way Koto had been induced
to visit the American.
[Illustration: NUMÈ AND HER TWO FRIENDS KOTO AND MATSU. PAGE 203.]
The next morning, as she and Numè sat together, she said:
"Numè-san, did you know why Orito killed himself?"
"No."
"It was because he loved the honorable American lady."
Numè did not interrupt her. Koto continued: "The beautiful one that was
betrothed to Mr. Sinka."
Numè's little hands were clasped in her lap. She did not speak, still.
Koto went on: "You see, she was not worthy, after all, that you
sacrificed the pretty American gentleman for her, for Matsu says that
all the Americans say at the hotel that she tell Orito sometime that she
love him just for fun--and she not love--so Takashima Orito kill
himself."
Still Numè did not reply. Her little head had fallen back weakly against
the pillow. She was looking away out before her. After a time Koto put
her arms about her, and they clung together.
"Koto," Numè said, vaguely, "will you leave me now? Or will you stay
with me forever? Numè is so lonely now."
Koto evaded the question.
"I will stay with you, Numè-san, until you do not need me any longer."
"That will never be," the other said, tenderly.
That afternoon Koto fetched her samisen and played very softly to Numè.
After a time she laid her instrument aside and went to the door, shading
her face with her hand as she scanned the road. It was about the hour
Sinclair had told her to expect him. She heard the beat of his runners
before they were within a mile of the house.
"I am going to leave you all alone, for a little while," she told Numè.
She went down to meet Sinclair, and admitted him into the house. She
pointed to the room where Numè was and then left him.
Sinclair pushed aside the shoji and passed into the room.
Numè raised her head languidly at the opening of the screens. At first
she thought she was dreaming, and she sat up straight on the little
couch on which she had been resting. Suddenly Sinclair was beside her,
and had taken her bodily into his arms.
"Numè! Numè!" he whispered;--and then, as she struggled faintly to be
free, he said, blissfully, "Oh, I know the truth, little sweetheart,
though it is too good for me to understand it yet. Koto has told me
everything, and--and oh! Numè!" He kissed the wistful eyes rapturously.
He scarcely knew her, she had grown so quiet and sad. In the woods she
had chattered constantly to him;--now, he could not make her say
anything. But after a while, when Sinclair had chided her for her
silence, she said, very shyly:
"Do you luf me, Mr. Sinka, bedder than the beautiful Americazan lady?"
Sinclair raised her little face between his two hands.
"Sweetheart--do you need to ask?" he said. "I have _never_ loved any one
but you."
The girl smiled--the first time she had smiled in weeks. Her two little
hands met round his neck, she rose on tiptoe. "Numè _lig'_ to kees with
you," she said, artlessly. There is no need to tell what Sinclair
answered.
When the shadows began to deepen, he and Numè still sat together on the
small lounge, neither of them conscious of time or place. They were
renewing their acquaintance with each other, and each was discovering
new delights in the other.
It was Koto who broke in on them. She had been in the next room all the
time, and had watched them through small peep-holes in the wall.
She made a great noise at the other side of it to let them know it was
now getting late. They looked at each other smiling, both comprehending.
"Koto is our friend _foraever_," Numè said.
"We will be Koto's friends forever," Sinclair answered.