“In fact, she wishes you to carry word to Choshui of the postponement of Prince Keiki’s execution. I need not point out to you the dangers of such a mission. The Mori will insist upon your revealing the place of imprisonment of their prince, and upon your refusing to do so will take drastic measures to compel you. These perils, however, will be to your liking, I am sure.”
“To my liking, that is so,” said Genji, “but—”
“What?” interrupted the Lady Evening Glory. “You hesitate! You do not set off at once!”
“I do not hesitate, my lady,” replied the samurai, bowing respectfully. “I refuse. I do not set off at once because I am not going.”
The Lady Evening Glory could scarcely believe her ears. Never in her memory had a samurai refused to do the bidding of his lord or lady. That Genji, of all samurai, should do so, astounded her. Nevertheless she brought herself to listen to his amazing words.
“My lady, long before I entered the service of my Lord of Catzu I was a ronin, an independent samurai who owed allegiance to no lord or prince. I was induced to enter your service not for love of your lord or desire to ingratiate myself with the Shogun powers, for, though a deserter for personal reasons, I was of the clan of Choshui, and an Imperialist at heart!”
“Such insolence,” said the lady, furiously, “shall be punished with thy insignificant head.”
“Tsh!” interposed her brother, angrily. “Permit our good friend to speak. I have a liking and understanding for his words.”
“As I have said,” repeated Genji, “it was neither for love of thy lord nor his cause that I entered his service, but because I desired to be near to, and to serve with my life, if necessary, the orphaned daughter of my old friend and comrade, the Lady Wistaria.”
“It is well,” said the Lady Evening Glory, sharply, “that you did not acquaint my Lord Catzu with all this. If my memory serves me correctly, you came to Catzu with great protestations and promises of allegiance and loyalty to his lordship.”