Her voice broke the spell of silence. The visitor bowed her head simply but eloquently. Masago went a nervous step toward her. There was fear in both her face and voice as she began deprecatingly:—
“It was an honorable mistake, lady, that you were not shown within the ozashishi (guest room). I beg you, lady, will you not speak?”
Her fears overcame her politeness. There was something unreal, strange, almost spiritual, in this woman who looked at her with her own eyes. For Masago almost thought she dreamed, and that she stood before a magic mirror wherein she saw reflected her own beauteous image, clad as only in dreams. But the vision spoke, and Masago’s fright vanished.
“It was my wish,” she said in a low voice, “to see you in your chamber. I begged this privilege, Masago.”
“Then, pray you, please be seated,” urged the girl. She brought a mat and set it for the guest.
The visitor stooped, but not to the mat. She lifted up an andon, and carrying it in her hand went closer to Masago.
“A moment and I will be seated, but first I wish to see your face—quite close.”
She held the light near to the countenance of Masago and scanned her startled features. Then, swinging it before her own, she said:
“Look you at mine also.”
Masago started, with a thrill of wondering amaze.