“You and I,” he repeated, slowly, “do not constitute the Mori and Catzu clans.” Then, after a silent moment: “Alas, my lady, I fear we do!”
Wistaria snatched her hands quickly from his and arose. Certainly he could not love her, she thought, if he allowed so small a thing as that to distress him.
“If that be so—if that is what you think, my lord, deign to inform me why you have condescended to make suit to me?”
“I was forced to make my suit in secret,” he said, almost bitterly.
“But your love is honest, is it not?”
“Oh, my flower-girl, can you ask that?”
She was contrite in a moment. Once more she was at his feet, kneeling, and pressing both his hands with her little, slender, nervous fingers.
“Nay, then, do not look so sad, my Keiki. It troubles me that you should allow so silly a thing as the differences of our respective clans even for a fraction of a moment to come between us.”
“They cannot truly come between us,” was his fervid reply, “for no power on earth can actually separate us now. Are we not sworn to each other for all time—for all eternity?”
“Then why be so sad? You, who are so brave, cannot fear the dangers that may beset our union.”