“Wistaria! Speak to me! What is it? Tell me your trouble.”
“Trouble?” she repeated, dazedly. “Trouble!”
Then she remembered. She grasped his arm till her fingers almost pierced through the silk into his flesh.
“You must go—go! Go quickly—run all the way. Do not stop one moment—not one little moment.”
“Go away? Run? What are you saying?”
“Listen! In a moment, perhaps, I may not have power to speak. My strength is failing me. I thought you would obey the word I sent you. But I saw you fall down among the grasses, and all day long I have watched from my window, waiting, waiting, waiting to see you depart. No, no—listen unto me—do not speak. I escaped the vigilance of my jailers—my executioners. Oh, will you not understand? I have come through perils you cannot imagine to warn you—to beg you on my knees to go away at once. Hasten to Choshui!”
Her breath failed her. She had been speaking quickly, in sharp gasps.
“But I do not understand,” he said.
“Your prince—your august prince is in danger!”
“What?”