“By the god Bishamon!” and again lapsed speechless.
The woman, advancing, knelt at his feet.
Catzu lifted her into his arms.
“Wistaria!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” she smiled up at him. “It is indeed Wistaria.”
Catzu held her at arm’s-length.
“Ah, my lady,” he chuckled, wagging his head at her, “it is plain to be seen that a religious life has dried your tears and honorably mended a foolish heart-break. The mountains have made you as rosy as its flowers and as strong and hardy as its trees.”
“And thou, dear uncle?” she inquired. “Thou, too, seemest in good health and spirits.”
Catzu sighed, somewhat out of keeping with his fat and happy appearance.
“Alas, my dear Wistaria,” he said, “your poor old uncle has suffered much.”