“But why should you despair?—you who are to marry Masago!”
“Sado-ko!” he cried with piercing reproach, “all the gods of heaven have forbidden me union with you. Tell me what other course is left.”
“Oh, leave me not!” said Sado-ko.
“Even if I would, I could not stay. Your august relatives would hastily learn the truth, and then—”
They heard a slight cry within the darkness of the grove. Then something white flashed by them into the open.
“Look!” cried Sado-ko, clutching his sleeve. “Oh, see!”
By the white bamboo gate two figures were outlined,—a man and woman. And in the clear moonlight the lovers recognized them as the Prince Komatzu and the Duchess Aoi. But the maid Onatsu-no, who had rushed by them so swiftly through the grove, came up toward these two by the gate, and prostrated herself before them.
“Quick!” cried Sado-ko. “They have not seen us yet. Natsu-no will speak to them. Meanwhile run with all the speed your love for me can lend, back through the grove. Hide among the shadows of the trees until the prince and I shall pass. Then return along the grove.”
He lingered, seeming averse to hiding; but she urged him, pushing him with her own hands.
“There—go—for my sake—my sake—do this thing for me!” she urged disjointedly.