And thus they silently stood lit up by the slanting sun, while the wind sang in the trees its eternal song of peace. Stanislas held her in his arms, a great joy filling his heart as he gazed down into the beautiful pale face of this woman whom he had gained at last, and whom he vowed to himself should one day love him as he loved her.
At length Pearl broke the long and expressive silence, until now only disturbed by the throbbing of their hearts.
"Monsieur de Güldenfeldt," she said quietly, as she drew herself slightly away from him, "you have asked me to be your wife, and I accept, for I know now that though I cannot yet give you my love, I like you much, yes, very, very much. Perhaps, however, when you hear what I have to say, you will regret what you have done. Better however, a thousand times that you should know now, and part from me while your love is still young, than that in the years to come you should discover my weakness, learn in consequence to despise me, and leave me to die of grief. Will you listen a moment to me, Stanislas, while I tell you what happened after you left Tokyo?"
De Güldenfeldt's face clouded, but he answered gently as he once more put his arms around her and drew her to him.
"No, Pearl," he said, "I will not listen to you. It is better not, dear. I wish to know nothing. I believe in you and trust you, darling. Have I not known your life for years? Has it not been as an open book to me?"
"Yes, and for that very reason," replied Pearl firmly, "there must be no closed chapters in it. If you do not let me speak now, I cannot be your wife. For I have sworn,--my friend,--there must be no secrets between you and me."
"Speak, then," replied de Güldenfeldt, somewhat sadly, "if you will it so."
But Pearl did not seem in a hurry to take advantage of the permission thus reluctantly given. With a sigh she sat down again on the stone coping, half shielding her face with her hand.
At length she opened her lips to speak. Her voice was low, but there was a clearness, an incisiveness in the tones that impressed her listener. She gazed straight before her and spoke unhesitatingly, as if relating an oft-repeated tale.
"Shortly after you left," she said, "the Martinworths arrived in Tokyo. I had been warned of their approaching arrival. Nevertheless, I eventually met them unexpectedly at the Imperial garden-party. It was a shock to me to see them--to see him--there, and on my return home I was still thinking over this meeting, when Lady Martinworth called on me. Before her departure from my house she confided to me her attachment to her husband, and she told me that she was a very unhappy woman. She made also a strange request. She asked me to be her friend. She appeared very much moved, very much upset. Finally I took her in my arms and comforted her, and, feeling very, very sorry for her, I promised her my friendship."