A slight nervousness fell upon Jiro. While his hands tremblingly fingered his obi, there came into his eyes and his voice a suggestion of something ulterior, something beyond.
“My lord, my kinswoman loved a man and he loved her,” he said, pausing.
“Sad,” murmured Mori, with the cynicism of his broken mood.
Without noticing the Prince’s comment, Jiro continued:
“My lord, has not a parent the right to exact obedience from his child, even though that obedience lead her to utmost misery?”
“Such is the Japanese idea,” returned Mori.
“Then, my lord, the parent of my kinswoman exacted a task from her. He forced her to betray her lover, though she, ignorant that he was the person implicated, yet sought to warn him of the danger to himself and the unknown.”
Mori’s eyebrows contracted darkly. He half rose from his seat. Then with a forced calm he dropped back into his place.
Jiro’s face was now flushed a deep scarlet. He seemed to be using all his strength in an effort to control his emotions.
“My lord,” he added, “my kinswoman was not only forced to betray her lover by her father, but she was driven further—into marrying, and, consequently, degrading him, because only in that way could she save his life from the hands of the public executioner.”