THE following morning Masago, irritated and nervous, sat in a chamber of the palace Aoyama. Impatiently she chided Madame Bara, the chaperon.
“I am tired of your voice,” she said. “Do not speak further, or better still, leave me, if you please.”
The woman, bowing deeply, left her mistress alone. Then Masago called:—
“Natsu-no! Where are you?”
Upon the instant appeared the waiting-woman of the Princess Sado-ko. Masago instructed:—
“Look out once again and tell me if he comes.”
There was silence for a moment, as the maid passed into the adjoining room and leaning from the casement looked toward the front part of the palace. Soon her voice, raised and mechanical, answered the impatient query of Masago.
“He comes not yet!” she said.
“Look again,” said Masago; “do not leave the casement until he comes.”
Natsu-no was no longer young. She shivered at the open casement through which came the morning air; her eyes were blue with cold, and tired for sleep, for Natsu-no had spent the night in secret tears. After all these days she knew now where her mistress was, yet fate—a thing she was too insignificant to fight against—chained her like a slave to this girl-autocrat.
When, from the direction of the palace reserved for the men of the household, Komatzu appeared, the woman drew the shutters. Then, shuffling to the other room, she announced, “He comes!”
Masago sprang to her feet. She held out both her hands toward Komatzu when he entered, but he did not touch them. His eyes were dark, drawn into a heavy frown.
“Have you heard the joyful news?” she cried.
“What news?”
“Word came this morning by the divine barbarian wires from Tokyo that my betrothal with the Crown Prince had been peremptorily annulled. Why, you do not appear glad at the news!”
“I have heard it,” he said; “there are other things which trouble me. Princess, I ask an explanation of your Highness. Nay, I demand it. Some months ago a rumor coupled your name with a low artist-man. You start and blush. Was the rumor only malice?”
Masago looked at him reproachfully. She said:—
“Purely so.”
“Then, cousin, give me an explanation of your last night’s conduct. You have recovered from your indisposition, which still had a cause. Why did you journey in such haste to Kamakura?”
Tears fell. Masago’s voice broke and trembled. “I was homesick,” she replied in a low voice; “that is the truth, Komatzu. The gods are my witnesses.”
“Homesick for the merchant’s home, friends of the artist-man?”
She averted her face, not hesitating in her deceit.
“Your jealousy is misplaced, Komatzu. They told you truly last night. I was—as women often are—witless. Who would not be at such a shock?”
“You speak of your betrothal?”
“I do. Do you not understand, Komatzu?”
She went closer to him. “The thought of union with another than yourself unnerved me.”
He spoke impetuously, and as though a weight was lifted from his mind:—
“Princess, could I believe your words, I would be the happiest prince in all the land.”
“Believe them,” she pleaded. “It is the truth I speak; I swear it by all the eight million gods of heaven, and by our ancestor, the Sun-god. I went to Kamakura, rashly, blindly, wildly, because of love for you.”
He looked searchingly into her eyes. Then as if satisfied he stooped and kissed her lips, a habit they had recently adopted at court.
“I have suffered, Sado-ko, more than I ever dreamed possible. I thought this artist-fellow was alone responsible for your action.”
“Komatzu, he is already betrothed to the merchant’s daughter, a simple maid, who bears a small resemblance to me.”
He made a gesture of denial.
“That is impossible, princess. What, you compare one of her class with you! It is most gracious. No one in all the land can equal you in beauty.”
She smiled in happiness.
“Your journey was a fortunate event, though a morsel for the gossips, princess. Do you know that this latest caprice so moved the young and easily shocked Crown Prince, that in disgust he hastened to his father, and on his knees besought him to grant another wife?”
They laughed.
“What happened next?”
“One hour after you left Tokyo, Sado-ko was humiliated, her betrothal being publicly annulled. It made a noisy story for a space.”
“And next what happened?”
“Next, I too presented myself before his Majesty, who, being uncle as well as father, was ready to condone offence unfitted for a future Empress. Consequently, when I begged him to grant me your hand in marriage, he graciously consented.”
“And you followed me at once?”
“At once.”
When Komatzu had left her, Masago stood for some time looking from the casement of the palace.
“To think,” she murmured, “of the folly I was near to committing but last night. The court is cold and heartless, yet it is my true, true home, for there is the only one on earth who loves me.” She sighed. “I am an outcast from my childhood’s home—even my stupid mother denies me. It was fitting!”
The voice of the waiting-woman, Natsu-no, broke upon her meditations.
“Exalted princess!” She turned slowly toward the woman. At her haggard aspect she was touched.
“What is it, Natsu-no?” she asked with compassion.
“I am no longer young,” said the woman. “I was handmaiden to the mother of the Princess Sado-ko, and from her birth I served the latter.”
“You have been faithful,” said Masago, kindly.
“Will, then, the illustrious one reward the faithful service of the most humble one?”
“What do you wish? It is already granted,” said Masago, generously, for she was happy.
“Permission,” said the woman, “to leave your service.”
Masago looked closely into her face.
“You wish to serve again—”
She did not finish the sentence, nor did the woman. Their eyes met. Each understood the other.
“You are free to go,” said Masago, gently.
The woman moved away.
“Stay,” said Masago, “I have a message for you to carry to your mistress. Say this for me: ‘She who is now Princess Sado-ko sets free your maid. She wishes with all her heart she had done likewise with the nightingale.’”
Natsu-no touched with her head the hem of Masago’s robe.
