“And when do you expect his return?”
She looked away from her interlocutor. Her eyes were wide and wistful.
“I look for him to come at any time—any day—any hour,” she said. “Always by day I look to the West for his coming, and all night long I burn the light, with its flame to the West. He is always expected.”
“You are a most estimable wife,” said Matsuda sneeringly. “Yet has it never occurred to you that your faithfulness is old-fashioned and fit only for a Japanese woman? You, the wife of a foreigner, should not entertain such feeling.”
“Is not faithfulness esteemed by all nations?” she asked quickly.
“No. The Westerners make light of its qualities. Have you not heard how many of these foreigners who marry in Japan leave their wives never to return?”
“My husband is different,” she said.
“So they all say—while they wait,” said Matsuda.
Half unconsciously her hand went to her heart. She looked as if she were in some sudden pain as she spoke.
“You do not understand. He was a priest of the great God. He could not lie. Ah! he was different from all other men.”