“Then,” said Toro, unloosening his own cape from his hips, “pray throw this about you, for I fear you will be observed by my father’s samurai. Even my presence,” he added, with a sigh, “could hardly protect you, for I, alas! am under age.”
“Is it possible?” said the stranger, with such affected surprise that the boy flushed with delight.
“Now, my lord”—he hesitated, doubtfully, as though hoping the other would supply the name—“now, my lord, let me explain to you why I truly sympathize with you in your love for one who must seem impossible.”
“Not impossible,” corrected the lover, softly, thinking tenderly of the Lady Wistaria’s fears for him.
“I, too,” confessed Toro, “am in the same plight.”
“What!” cried the lover, in dismay; “you also adore the lady?”
“No,” replied Toro, shaking his head with sad melancholy; “but I have conceived the most hopeless attachment for a lady whom I may never dream of winning.”
“Then I am much mistaken in you. I thought, my lord, that you were not only a brave man, but a daring knight.”
“But you cannot conceive of the extremity of my case,” cried the youth, piteously, “for consider: the lady I love not only belongs to our rival clan, but is already betrothed.”
“Well, but betrothals have been broken before, my lord, and the days of romance and adventure are not altogether dead in the land.”