Keiki groaned suddenly. Whereat the girl placed her hands on his shoulders and forced him to look into her eyes.
“My lord,” she said, “do you know aught of my father’s history?”
Slowly Keiki drew himself up from her clinging hands. Placing one arm close about her, he drew her to his breast.
“Let us no longer talk of these distressful matters.”
“Nay, I have asked you a question. Do, I beseech you, answer me.”
“What can I say?” His voice was very low.
“Tell me of my father—pray tell me,” she implored, almost piteously.
“Of your father? But surely I can tell you nothing that you do not already know?”
“I know naught of my father, save that he was a Choshui samurai, and for some honorable offence was banished by that wicked and cruel Prince of Mori.”
Keiki was silent.