“Do you recognize Masago?” asked the girl, bringing her face close to the servant’s. The woman cried out in fright as she stared in horror from one to the other. Suddenly she gasped:—
“It is a wicked lie. You are not Masago. There is my sweet girl.” She pointed to the silent Sado-ko.
At those words Sado-ko seemed to come to sudden life. She crossed the room and whispered to the maid:—
“Okiku, bid my father and my mother come at once. The woman seems both ill and witless. Pray hasten. Also bring more lights.”
Masago sat down on the floor. Laying her head back against the panelling of the wall, she closed her eyes wearily.
“I am so tired and worn out,” she said plaintively; “I have travelled half the night. What time is it, Onatsu-no—Why, I forget again. Oh, it is good to be home once more. I never knew how much—”
Ohano’s pleasant voice was heard outside the door. As she bustled into the room, followed by Kwacho, Masago leaped to her feet, and, rushing headlong across the room, threw her arms about Ohano’s neck.
“Mother! Oh, my mother, mother!” she cried.
Ohano stood in stiff amazement, staring across Masago’s head at Sado-ko. The maid brought andons; the room was now well lighted.
“Why—what—” was all that Ohano could gasp, but she had not the heart to put the girl from her arms. Yamada Kwacho was more brusque, however. He drew the girl away from Ohano by her sleeves, but when he saw her face, he started in astonished bewilderment.