In due course the betto brought him the letter of his chief, and he smiled with pitying derision. Was he to be taken in so easily? Had he not seen the betto ride off with the missive of O'Kikú? Had he not heard the woman herself urging the servant to speed? A puerile trick. The letter had counselled the infatuated Daimio to remove his brother from her path, that O'Tei, left unprotected and alone, might lie at her mercy. What other reason could there be for so sudden a summons to Kiŷoto? With disdain he tore the letter up, resolved more firmly than ever to stick to his post, to carry out his mission to the end. When my lord should return, there would be time enough for explanations. They were burning to be rid of O'Tei--the guilty couple. From this crowning sin, at least, Sampei would save his brother.
It required no little resolution unblenchingly to follow the straight but rugged path. O'Kikú smarted more than ever under his cold and implacable disdain. All her arts were useless. Maddened, she strove to pique him by excesses of abandonment under his very nose, and was convulsed by fits of corroding acrimony to discover how futile were her efforts. Against all her attacks he was armed cap-à-pié. If my lord would but return, that she might wreak envenomed spite upon these two, whom now with her whole soul she hated! Meanwhile the only result produced by her reckless behaviour was that the samurai, for the most part, disapproved of her more and more; while Sampei, to shun the sight of one so odious, devoted himself to excursions and the chase.
Away upon the hill, with its temple and solemn arcades of greenery, as in the hum of the houses below, the cloud of anxiety was thickening.
The still dim shrine no longer lulled to devout prayer the soul of Masago. In the midst of supplication her mind turned worldwards. She yearned over her son and the tottering family. She grieved so for O'Tei, when the chatelaine arrived for prayers, that her hard face grew wondrous soft, and she marvelled at the stoniness of destiny. Seeing now with clearer ken than in the past, when she had admired the warlike Tomoyé, adored her rude lord, had almost persuaded herself to believe that all that he did was good, she began to have a denned perception of his crimes, mingled with a startled regret. He had been guilty of much that was deplorable. No-Kami had been brought up in his father's school, had from the first gone lengths that were much more regrettable, to end in deeds which she preferred not to contemplate. He deserved to be accursed, and was accursed. Our sins, like sable ravens, return to roost. Ever since the culminating crime, events had moved so directly towards a visible goal that the finger of fate was plain. But why Sampei? Why the fair and good O'Tei, a symbol of all that was pure? These questions, so bewildering, would rise persistently to the surface. Why should these two, mixed up in this horror, without overt act of theirs, be marched as victims to the sacrifice?
She had heard from Sampei that my lord had rallied suddenly before he went to Kiŷoto, and this started a fresh train of thought. O'Kikú, the baleful geisha, was at the bottom of all the trouble. She had suddenly appeared, emissary of devils, on the fatal day, and ever since had been a scourge. Thanks to an inspiration from above, the Abbess had been the means of separating my lord from his concubine. Oh, what if, Heaven relenting, the separation might become final--No-Kami himself reformed? The soul of Masago gave a great leap. Yes, she saw light at last--the light for which she had besought so fervently. She was to be the humble means of unravelling the tangle, of saving the family honour.
But how was this to be accomplished? With trepidation she remembered that she was in her sixty-first year, which, as all the world knows, is the last of the yaku doshi, or evil years, after which a woman may be at peace. During her thirty-third and forty-second (the other yaku-doshi--happily passed) she had been very careful lest, tempted by Ratatzu, she should be capable of something dreadful, that would ruin her and hers. And now it was terrible to think that in this last year of ordeal--the one of a long life which was most beset with brambles--she was called upon to act with decision, to stand forth for the succour of the innocent, for the shriving and salvation of the guilty. This state of things would call for much vigil, much putting off of earth-trammels, and adoration of the sun-god at his rising, that her old eyes might clearly see.
The more she pondered--a slow, tall figure pacing among the moss-grown tombs, under the stately criptomerias--the more plain her duty seemed. Thanks to the benign deities, her prayers for light were answered, and she saw. It was by Heaven's decree that the geisha had travelled hitherward, an agent for the fulfilling of a purpose pre-ordained. Buddha, with omniscient vision, had caused her to come to Tsu for the accomplishment of the curse of the martyr. But now, through the prayers and entreaties of his humble handmaid, he had relented,--been turned from his intent. What a scaffold was the Abbess raising. When No-Kami should come back, his evil genius would be gone. This favour granted, Buddha would vouchsafe another. By force of supplication Masago would obtain that the temper of the Hojo might be changed. He would repent him of his evil ways, and atone in the future for the past. Then it should be her proud privilege to bring together again the husband and the wife. O'Tei must be taught to forgive, to break down the barrier of ice behind which her better nature had been shrouded. Warming in the radiance of a new happiness her frozen petals would unfold, give forth their sweetness, and No-Kami would come to know the treasure that he had ignorantly tossed aside. The wan cheek of the old Abbess was flushed, her dimmed eyes sparkled, as she revolved these things, devoutly giving thanks to Heaven. Is it not the greatest joy that may be tasted by mortals--the permission to intervene in the house of discord, and bring to it peace and happiness? The end was plain to the prophetic vision of Masago, but the way to it was long. The gentle O'Tei would be brought with little trouble to play her part.
The difficulty lay with the geisha. The Abbess, mindful of yaku doshi, resolved to be prudent and cautious--not precipitate; and yet, whatever had to be done must be done before the return of No-Kami to the castle. There was not time then for protracted cogitation. She would appeal in person to the siren,--speak words inspired from on high which should touch her flinty heart. Seizing her staff, the gaunt figure in its flowing draperies of crape descended the long flight of stairs, passed under the torii at the bottom, and strode, buoyed by celestial fervour, along the winding street which led to the castle gate. O'Kikú was in a boat upon the river---O'Tei's own favourite shallop, which she had robbed her of, as of other things--and marvelled greatly to behold the Abbess of the temple beckoning to her from the shore.
Approaching, she reclined idly at the bottom of the boat, toying with some winter blossoms she had plucked; dipping, in saucy contempt of cold, the fingers of the other hand into the running water. She was muffled in a robe of furs, her head swathed in a kerchief of thick silk; and Masago remarked that she looked worn,--had lost that freshness which had been her most piquant charm. Earnestly the Abbess spoke; pleaded for the family honour on the verge of wreck; discoursed with proud eloquence of the illustrious house of which she was a lowly member; reminded her hearer that she, O'Kikú, also now was one of the house, in precisely the same position as she, the speaker, had been. There were two ways open to her. Lest she should bring upon herself the reproach of having brought a great family to ruin, she must turn over a new leaf, and eschew in future the vices for which she was notorious; or, if waywardness was in her blood, she must depart, and by self-sacrifice atone for the past, and save the family. Amused with the thought that the Abbess must be mad, the geisha lay listening, a sly smile playing about her lips, until the unlucky pleader began to talk about her son. Then starting, as if bitten by an adder, uprose the concubine, and, taking up the pole, leisurely pushed off from the bank.
"Sampei, forsooth! A ridiculous old lunatic!" she scoffed, with a superb head-toss. "You must be very insane. What! You'd have me go hence and prison myself for the behoof of the pale idiot yonder? Even if I were myself mad enough to consent, my lord would never love her. The contemptible creature is barren; whereas I, the second wife--" and with a trail of mocking merriment, and an attempt to raise a blush, she smiled at the astounded Abbess, and propelled her bark into the stream.