SHE was the daughter of the damyuraisu (foreign sailor) and of the
Nii-no-ama (Noble Nun of second rank). Bit by bit he drew forth her
history from the students, who remained with him throughout the night.
There was little enough they could tell him, beyond the fact of her
parentage. Her father had betrayed his friend and benefactor, an Echizen
prince; her mother had broken her vows to the Lord Buddha. And the
creature herself! Now the Tojin-san could see for himself that the tales
told about her were by no means chimerical.
She was free to go, for he had cut the ropes that bound her. Though
blind, she could have found any exit of the chamber unaided. She made
not the slightest move to go. Crouched back there against the farthest
wall she stayed, with her wild flushed face peering out from between her
parted hair, the eyes wide open, unblinking, scarcely moving. If she
understood what they spoke, she made no sign; yet her face had a
strained, listening look—as though she heard strange sounds that both
baffled and troubled her.
The dawn crept into the chamber, murky and sunless, and found them still
there on guard as it were, with the distance of almost the entire room
between them and the fox-woman, but watching her with unabated emotion.
It was the Tojin-san who at last approached her. She sensed his coming
and shrank back farther, if that were possible against the wall. Now he
stood directly before her, studying her in a profound silence.
Slowly, cautiously she raised herself to her knees, and then to her
feet. Now she stood fairly facing him, her back against the wall. A
thin, searching little hand felt blindly before her, touched him. With a
quick, animated movement her fingers now flew from his hand, up along
his arm and shoulder, paused upon his pitted cheek, moved to his lips
and rested there, soft as a feather, fragrant as a flower.
Never in all the days of his life had he looked upon such a face as
hers. Every quivering, sensitive feature seemed alive with the
quickened, subtle sense of the blind. Even the little feeling fingers,
how mortally alive they were, as they swept with their light, electrical
touch across him!
When he put his great, firm hands upon her shoulders, he felt the shock,
the startling tremble that agitated her. She stood poised for flight,
uncertain, fearful, with the wild defiance of her nature only in part
checked; but as his deep, compassionate voice addressed her, she became
gradually passive and very still.
“You may not understand my words,” he said, “but you will their meaning.
I want to help you. I am your friend.”
Her eyes became curiously blue, and the misty look faded like a shadow
from their depths. Across the tremulous, scarlet lips a smile crept like
the dawn. She moved a step nearer to him, and as he regarded her,
fascinated, thrilled, the student, Junzo, broke the spell of silence. He
had thrust himself forward with an impetuous, imploring motion.
“Sensei!—honored sir, teacher—!”
She turned her head craftily in the direction of the new voice, then
slowly back to the Tojin-san. There was a low, accusing note in her
voice:
“To-o-jin-san! Thou too!” she said.
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