VII
N the joy and sunshine of Wistaria’s nature, which would have driven sadness from the soul of a hermit, Keiki’s melancholy was evanescent. Her lover’s fears at the mere possibility of their being forced apart were soon dissipated by her.
A week passed—sped like so many minutes. The pale green of the spring grass was deepening in hue and the trees were in leaf. The lovers lingered in the paths that led down to the little boat-house, whence each day they sailed slowly down the river to the rock island. There in the lazy, drifting boat, the drowsy Lord of Catzu dosed back against his padded seat, while the lovers looked into each other’s eyes, or furtively pressed each other’s hands.
Meanwhile their short hours of happiness were being slowly ticked off by the god of love, at whose shrine they had offered the whole wealth of their hearts. The days of their joy were numbered. That strange honey of bliss they sipped so greedily was soon to be snatched from their lips.
The Lady Evening Glory was recovering slowly from her indisposition. Because the lady herself had contracted a most wilful and romantic marriage, she was perhaps the more suspicious of the culpability of others. She trusted neither youth nor maid, but Wistaria bore the weight of her suspicions.
While gossip and idle chatter had stolen into the lady’s chamber concerning the charms and grace of their whilom guest, Wistaria’s almost extravagant solicitude for her set my lady at first to thinking, and then to acting.
The Lady Evening Glory was no believer in the worship of the sun. Nevertheless, some garrulous maid having carried to her the innocent remark of her niece that she enjoyed viewing the rising of the sun, a few mornings later found the Lady Evening Glory not only arising before the sun, but wending her way through the silent corridors of the palace until she was before the chamber of the Lady Wistaria. Without so much as a tap for admission, she softly pushed aside the sliding shoji.
With the keenest of lover’s ears. Wistaria heard the faint shir-r-r made by the sliding doors. In the same instant down went her own shutter. So when the Lady Evening Glory entered the chamber she found her niece sitting on the floor, her back set stiffly against her casement shutter, and a deep rosy coloring all over her face. Her guilty eyes fell before the cold glare of her august aunt.