“My daughter, had you a mother to love and guide you, you would not now be unhappy.”
He paused to note the effect of his strange words—strange because of the lack of emotion and sympathy that should have accompanied them. Wistaria raised her head painfully, but she did not speak.
“Therefore,” continued her father, “I wish to inform you that it is because of an enemy that you are now motherless, and therefore misguided.”
“An enemy?” repeated Wistaria, dully.
“And it is to take my revenge upon this enemy that I am now about to impose a certain duty upon you which may at first seem repugnant. Before I do so, however, I wish to remind you that you come of a proud and heroic race, my daughter, no member of which has ever faltered in his duty. I would therefore, my daughter, much rather see you strong and fearless than weak and trembling, as you now appear.”
Raising herself bravely, with a superhuman effort the girl grasped at her strength of will.
“My weakness, honorable father, is but physical. Speak your august will with me,” she said.
“That is well,” returned the samurai, briefly. “I have a few questions first of all to put to you. I need not say that I expect truthful answers, and will tolerate no prevarication.”
The girl bowed her head with a certain dignity of submissiveness.
“Of what rank is your lover?”