She was sobbing as she left the room in a breathless, piteous way, for no tears came to give relief.
Like one in a dream Masago passed through the halls of the Nijo palace. Soon she was in the great reception hall, where the Crown Prince, guest of her father, Nijo, awaited her appearance. Her courtesy was mechanical. She took her place beside him on the slight eminence reserved for royalty alone.
Masago little cared that night whether her maidens whispered and gossiped at her whim to appear once more in the national dress. It was suggested that she wore the gown in compliment to her exalted fiancée.
As the girl surveyed the brilliant spectacle, an intense weariness overtook her. Half unconsciously she closed her eyes and put her head back against the tall throne chair upon which she sat. Then Masago became deaf—blind to all about her. Strange visions of her home passed through her mind,—her simple home, quiet, peaceful. As in fancy she saw Ohano’s sympathetic face, she felt an aching longing to hear her garrulous voice lowered to her in gossip; she saw again her happy, healthy little brothers, romping in the sunny garden. Even the thought of Kwacho, grave yet always just and kind, despite his narrow prejudices, awoke a vague tenderness.
When some one spoke the name of Princess Sado-ko, she roused herself, then shuddered at the very sound.
“You were so pale, princess, and you closed your eyes just now. I thought, perchance, that you were ill.” The Crown Prince of Japan spoke with polite solicitude to the maid Masago. Her eyes filled with heavy tears.
“Oh, I am homesick—homesick!” she murmured in reply.
He leaned a trifle toward her, as though his boredom were lifted for a second.
“Are you not at home already, princess?”
She shook her head in mute negation.