ISTARIA” said the Prince Keiki, with a very firm clasp of her hand, “just now I insisted that the samurai Genji should cease his futile deception by useless prevarication. And now I ask you, I beg you, not to hide under a cloak of levity any secret trouble which you may have, and which I, as your future husband, am entitled to know.”

The mirror slipped from the girl’s hand. She stared at it hopelessly.

“Now answer me,” continued her lover, insistently. “Is it not true that you are in trouble?”

“Yes,” she said, in a low voice; “yes, but—” Her voice broke, and she turned her face from his gaze. “But, alas, I cannot tell it to you, my lord.”

“Nay, do so,” he entreated, with such pleading in his voice that she came back to his arms and nestled against his breast with a little wounded cry.

“I am waiting,” he said, softly.

“I cannot tell you,” she murmured against his breast.

“Why not?” he inquired, quietly.

In her nervous restlessness she broke away from his arms again. Her hands noiselessly clapped each other repeatedly. She could not remain still.

“Why not?” repeated the Prince.

“There are many reasons,” she said, in a low voice, still maintaining the distance between them.

“Nay, think a little while, and see whether your heart will not suggest to you that the mere telling of your troubles to me may be their solution. Remember I shall be your honorable husband very soon”—he smiled a trifle sadly—“and then I shall command you to tell me the truth, you know.”

Wistaria sat very still now. Ever since Genji had come upon her that first day with the wounded Prince in her arms Wistaria had been a prey to the utmost despair and anguish. The infinite faith and trust of her lover filled her continually with a greater horror of her deceit, for she could not forget, not for one moment, the part she had been forced to play in the undoing of the Prince. How could she add to her other iniquities by inveigling this noble and generous-hearted Prince into a marriage which would not fail to debase him? And yet she had no alternative, for otherwise his life would be the forfeit. Was it possible for her to tell him all this? Would it be, as he had said, a solution of her misery to confess her own deceit and warn him of the danger in which he stood, that of marrying into an outcast family?

As she thought thus sadly, the gentle voice of her lover brought the tears to her eyes. But she held them back, almost feverishly placing a greater distance between herself and the Prince. In that moment when his tender eyes held hers in their gaze, while he trustfully waited for her to speak, she was ready to tell him everything.

“You are about to tell me all,” he said, as though he understood her unspoken volition. “Do not mistrust me. Believe in my adoration for you. Give me thy heart completely.”

A sudden shivering took possession of Wistaria. Instead of speaking, she drew her sleeve across her face, a characteristic habit with her when in despair. Gradually her head sank forward, until she knelt at his feet in an attitude of humility.

“Nay, do not kneel,” he cried, “nor hide thy face from me. Do not so, I beseech thee.”

Having permitted his assistance in rising, she freed herself from his encircling arm.

“Look at me, my lord,” she cried. “Tell me, what do you see?”

“A maiden as beautiful as the sun-goddess and as good—”

“Nay, then, do not speak so. Look at me again, my lord. Have you then found such pleasure in my beauty that you have not even remarked my garments?”

“Your garments?”

Bewilderment was in his face.

“Yes. Are these the silks, my lord, worn by the ladies of your rank?”

“Nay, but though I cannot conceive why you should be garbed in cotton, yet I see no disgrace in the fact. Perchance the samurai Genji is honorably poor, and you are so courteous as to dress in homely garments while a guest of his honorable household.”

“I am not a guest of his household, my lord.”

“But—”

“I know it has been told you so. Nevertheless, this is the house of my father.”

“I do not understand,” he exclaimed.

He added immediately, “If it is that your honorable father is poor—”

“You are wrong, my lord. My father is in the service of the government. His remuneration is ample.”

“Then do explain to me the reason why you are so garbed and situated.”

“Because it is so enacted by the law,” she said.

“The law!”

“I am an Eta woman.”

“An Eta! Impossible!”

“That was the offence for which my father was banished—because of his marriage to an Eta maiden.”

The Prince stared at her aghast. She stood as still as if made of stone. Her lover’s silence was due to his repugnance at this revelation, she thought. Seeing his effort to speak, she prayed a little prayer to the gods that he would spare her. The Prince found his voice.

“Then by the royal blood of my ancestors, I swear,” he cried, “that I shall be guilty of the same offence as thy honorable parent, and for thy sweet sake I, too, shall become an Eta.”

With a little, trembling cry she started towards him.

“But thy cause! Oh, my lord, thy noble cause!”

“The cause!” He threw back his head and laughed with buoyant joyousness.

“Fuji-wara,” he said, “do you not perceive that a new life is about to dawn for this Japan of ours?”

“A new life,” she repeated, breathlessly, hanging upon the words that escaped his lips.

“A new life,” he said, “with our country no longer broken up into factions, when men shall have equal rights and privileges.”

He smiled at her rapt face, and possessed himself of both her little hands.

“Dearest and sweetest of maidens,” he said, tenderly, “in marrying me you do not wed a prince. I am pledged to the welfare of the people. Know you not that the great cause of the Imperialist will bring about that Restoration which will overturn all these crushing tyrannies and injustices which press our people to the earth? Repeat with me, then: ‘Daigi Meibunor! Banzai the Imperialist!’”

Suddenly she remembered the blow she had dealt the cause. Her head fell upon their clasped hands.

But over her fallen head the voice of the Prince Keiki was full of joy.

“And now I have heard the great trouble, and have I not burst it like a bubble? Henceforward, then, let there be only happiness and joy in these eyes and these lips.” Reverently he pressed her eyes and lips.

Genji was heard outside the door. His face was very grave and his whole appearance perturbed when he entered.

Bowing deeply to the Prince, he addressed him hastily:

“Your excellency, the Lord of Catzu has arrived at my insignificant house and is below. It is his wish that the marriage of his niece should be celebrated without further delay. I come to you, therefore, to beg that you will consent to its immediate consummation.”

“I comply with gladness,” replied the Prince, “but may I inquire the reason for this haste?”

“The Lord Catzu Toro is in critical peril in your august father’s province.”

“Enough!” interrupted the Prince, impulsively. “You desire my immediate mediation in his behalf?”

He turned to Wistaria with an exclamation of delight. “Now,” said he, “we shall see all our troubles melt into thin air like mist before the sun.”

“But I have not told you all—there is more still to tell. I pray you—” Wistaria began.

“There is no time,” interrupted Genji, severely, “and I beg your highness will convince the Lady Wistaria of the necessity for haste.”

“That is right,” said the Prince. “There is a whole lifetime before us yet in which thou canst tell me thy heart. Come. Let us descend to the wedding-chamber.”