CHAPTER XXVIII

“THE GODS KNEW BEST!”

IT wanted but a few hours before the noon wedding when Sado-ko, appearing on her balcony, looked down into the garden, where her lover waited. Down the little flight of stairs straight to him she went, silently accepting from his hands flowers. Her eyes were fixed upon his face lovingly, but anxiously.

“You look so pale,” she said. “Did you not sleep last night, my Junzo?”

“I did not sleep,” he said. “Come, let us walk where it is more secluded. I wish to speak with you alone.”

In a dreamy, pensive fashion she walked beside him. They crossed the little garden bridge to a quiet, shady spot. Once out of sight of the house, Junzo stopped short and, turning, faced her.

“Last night,” he said, “one told a nightmare story, which you denied. The morning is come. Tell me the truth.”

A flush spread over her face, as though she were half angered with him. She would not raise her eyes to his. His voice was firm—stern:—

“Answer me.”

“I cannot,” she replied, “when you speak in such a tone.”

Her heaving bosom told him she was on the verge of tears. Gently he took her hands in his and held them. His voice was tenderness itself.

“Now tell me all,” he said.

She tried to meet his eyes, but could not. Then she sought to draw her hands from his, while she averted her face.

“I would not speak of sad matters on my wedding-day. There is naught to tell.” She added the last sentence with swift vehemence.

“There is much to tell,” he said gravely. “I am your lover—soon your husband. Before that time, tell me the secret which rests between us now. If there is no truth in that woman, reassure my doubts.”

“Can love and doubt exist together?”

“If you loved me, you would trust me,” he replied gravely, ignoring her question.

She threw her head back with a swift, brave motion.

“Do you truly love me?”

“With all my heart.”

“You love Sado-ko?”

He did not answer.

“Ah, how blind you have been,” she said, “that Sado-ko could make you think she were other than herself. It was a strange test of your love, Junzo.”

“Then it is true!” he said, making a movement of recoil from her.

“It is true that I am Sado-ko,” she said.

He stared at her blankly. Then suddenly he covered his face with his hands and groaned.

“The gods have pity on us both!” he said.

“Why should the gods have pity?” asked the Princess Sado-ko. “They have already blessed us. We are happy, Junzo.”

“Happy!” he repeated. “Guileless one, do you not see our happiness is so slight and dangerous a thing we cannot hold it?”

“But why may we not?”

“You are the Princess Sado-ko, and I—an artist-man.”

“You are my Junzo,” she replied, “and I am your Sado-ko. This we know, but it is a secret. The world will call me Masago, and once I am your wife—”

“Our union is impossible.”

Pressing her hand to her breast, she gazed imploringly at him.

“It is not impossible,” she said steadily. “You cannot now refuse to marry me. The gods have given us to each other. They did so from the first. We will be happy.”

“There are others of whom we both must think,” he cried.

“No, no,” she said. “Upon this day we will not think of others.”

“This is folly that we have been dreaming, O princess!”

He moved away from her for a time, pacing up and down with moody, bent head. He came back to her impetuously, and spoke accusingly, yet mournfully:—

“You did a cruel act last night. That poor girl came to her true home. You denied her, Sado-ko!”

“_You_ reproach me for that!” she cried, her eyes flashing resentfully. “How can _you_ say that to me, since it was for your sake I did deny her, and for hers too, though she had been most eager and well content to change her lot with mine at first. Yet last night I thought upon the consequences of her act and mine. I did not think of myself at all.”

He did not interrupt her, and she continued in defence with impetuous swiftness.

“Think on the matter but a little while, Junzo. Would you have loved this other one? No, in your face I read the answer. Do not speak it. Could I give her to you, then, in place of me? I am but a woman and cannot reason harshly, and so I thought last night with pity and tenderness of you.”

“My Sado-ko!” he said.

“A little while ago,” she said, “you called me Masago. How easily you change the name. First it was Sado-ko,—the sweetest, most peerless name on earth. Then it was Masago,—the purest, simplest name for maiden; and now—”

“I never loved you for your name,” he said.

She laughed for the first time, and caught at his hand, pressing it against her face.

“Now you are my Junzo once again. We will not speak of these sad things.”

“Sado-ko, we cannot but do so. Try and see the matter as it is. You are—”

“Masago—your betrothed. A little while and I will be—your wife!”

“It cannot be,” he said sadly, “for you are not Masago. We must think of her besides ourselves. We cannot rob her of her rights.”

“But it is to protect her that I must still be Masago. Why, think what would be the fate of a common citizen if she confessed that she had practised deceit upon the royal court! True, I was jointly guilty, but princesses do not have the punishment bestowed upon a simple citizen. Why, there is no doubt, if this were told, the maid Masago would be punished by the government so cruelly she would not have the strength to live. Is it not a crime of treason—”

Junzo held up a hand, for some one was coming toward them.

The woman who approached was bowed, but when she lifted her face, they saw the undried tears upon it. Sado-ko recognized at once Natsu-no. The latter came hastily toward her, dropped upon her knees, and hid her face in the folds of the girl’s kimono.

“Do not kneel,” said Sado-ko. “They will see you from the house. Stand up. Now tell me, why do you come here?”

“Sado-ko!”

“Hush! Do not call me by that name. Why are you here?”

“To offer my poor services again, sweet mistress.”

“You have left the Nijo service?” inquired Sado-ko, swiftly.

“The gracious princess granted me my freedom, and so I came—”

Sado-ko put her arm about her old servant.

“Do not tremble so, good maid,” she said, “but tell us in a breath all there is to know.”

“She is to marry Prince Komatzu. All is well with her to-day. In her happiness she was generous and gracious; and so this morning granted me my freedom.”

Sado-ko turned a beaming face toward her lover. For the first time he was smiling.

“Your coming is a happy omen, good maid,” he said.

“Hark, listen!” said Sado-ko, her eyes gleaming. “They are calling me. They wish to put my wedding gown upon me. I must go. Natsu! Come and dress me for the last time in my maidenhood. Junzo! For but an hour’s space, sayonara!”

“Sayonara,” he repeated with deep emotion.

He watched her until he could not see her further. Then with sudden, swift, and buoyant step he followed the path she had taken, and entered the wedding house.

“The gods knew best!” he said.

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● Transcriber’s Notes: ○ “She turned her toward a slender, pebbled path” was changed to “She turned toward a slender, pebbled path” ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book. ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).