Komagawa listened intently, longing to speak, longing to reveal his love, yet keeping silent because his ill-bred companion still remained in the room. He watched her dark eyes fixed upon him, but they were without expression, for they could not see. Still the samisen tinkled, and still the voice sounded sweet and low and unspeakably pathetic in the apartment. With an aching heart and without a word of love he dismissed her with the usual fee. She walked out of the room as if conscious of a new, acute sorrow. There was something in her patron's voice that was extremely tender, something that moved her deeply, and it made her heart ache and yearn without knowing why.
The next day Komagawa gave the master of the tea-house a fan, saying: "Give this fan and money to Asagao. She will understand." With these words Komagawa and his companion proceeded on their journey.
When Asagao had received the fan she felt it eagerly with her small white fingers. "Who has given me this fan and money?" she inquired. "Oh, tell me what the fan is like. Has it a drawing of a convolvulus?"
The master of the tea-house looked at her gently, "He to whom you sang last night gave you this fan," said he. "There is a drawing of a convolvulus upon it."
Asagao gave a cry of joy. "Last night," she said softly, "I was with my lover again! And now, and now...."
At this very moment a servant from Asagao's old home arrived, asserting that he had been sent by her parents to bring her back again. But Asagao, true to her old love, determined to fight down all opposition.
Now it happened that the master of this tea-house had once been employed by Asagao's father. He had committed a great wrong in that capacity, a wrong worthy of death; but Asagao's father had taken pity upon him. He had dismissed him with money, which had enabled the wrongdoer to set up in business for himself. During this crisis the master of the tea-house thought oven the kindness that had been shown him, and resolved to commit seppuku in order that his old master's child might receive her sight again by means of this brave man's liver.[3]
So the master of the tea-house killed himself, and Asagao received her sight. That very night, though there was a fierce tempest raging, she set out in search of her lover, accompanied by a faithful little band of servants. All night the maiden journeyed over rough and rugged roads. She scarcely noticed the heavy rain or her bleeding feet. She was urged on by a joyous love, by the fond hope of finding her lover again.
As she climbed a mountain, now bathed in sunlight, she fancied she heard a voice calling her name. She looked about her and discovered Komagawa. Peace came to her then. All the weariness of long search and almost endless waiting were over for ever, and in a little while the lovers were married. The convolvulus, or morning glory, is a flower that only blooms for a few hours; but Asagao's love had the beauty of the convolvulus combined with the strength and long life of the pine. In their happy union they had remained true to the pledge of love upon their fans, and out of blindness and much suffering Asagao could hold up her fair head to the dew and sunshine of her lover's sheltering arms.