[He looks at his hand and is going.
And yet ... (as he stops) ... not thus!
[She struggles.
The priest would bid me
Bind up your wound.
And you were once
Sanko my friend!—
Put forth your hand!
[He does so.
The blood——
Sanko (with sudden fierceness). The blood is his!
[As she falls back with a cry.
[Mockingly.
And did his ghost
Not come here flitting?
Coldly flitting?
Here with moaning
Does it not hang
Upon the roof-tree
Hungering for you?
He lay in the dark—
One lay with him—
One who escaped to the river.
But him I slew
That you might never
Turn from the Buddha
And from your fathers;
Turn dishonoured
Of all who greet you.
O-Umè (speech coming at last).
Ah! A-hi! Slain!...
It cannot be!
Sanko (drawing a bloody sword).
And is this wet with dew?
O-Umè. O let it pierce
Your own heart, samurai!
For you shall never
Again know peace.
I will pray to
The lord of Nippon,
To the Shogun—
Who gave entrance
Here to the Christ-priest.
Nay, I will die
Myself that ever
You may be hated
By your own heart.