Mori was white to the lips with his anger. But he controlled himself strongly. Jiro had claims upon his gratitude.
“You have failed to tell me,” he said, coldly, “in what way I can serve you—and your kinswoman.”
“My lord, the lover put away my kinswoman, being in ignorance of the treachery of her parent. Yet so grievously is he wounded that he could not be approached by one so slight as I. He would not listen to truth.”
Impenetrability masked the face of Mori. His thoughts were veiled behind a set countenance.
Half abashed, and fully shaken in his late confidence, Jiro spoke trembling words.
“Do you, my lord, speak to this lover—tell him that it was the fault of their fathers, and that his lady, indeed, loves him and has always loved him.”
Still silent and motionless remained Mori.
Jiro faltered. “I have served thee,” he said, as he went a step closer to Mori; “do thou this now for me.”
Mori spoke.
“To-morrow,” he said, “I take farewell of my officers. My worldly tasks are then finished. Then I will endeavor to serve you, Jiro—to-morrow.”