“You are calmer now, dear aunt,” said the Lady Wistaria after a while. “Weep no more, I pray you. But try rather to bring your mind to think clearly with mine. We must conceive some way by which we can outwit my honorable parent. We have yet two hours before the time when my father will depart for—for his prisoner.”
But the after-effects of weeping, great sighs, rendered the Lady Evening Glory speechless. She could only shake her head hopelessly, helplessly.
“All night long,” said Wistaria, “I have kept a vigil. I have thought and thought and thought, until my brain has seemed ready to burst. I, too, my lady, have yielded myself to such despair as you now feel. I suffer more than the pain of one who loses a beloved, for I am tortured with the knowledge that I am guilty. Oh, lady, was it not I who betrayed this prince, and would I not be the indirect cause of dear Toro’s death also? Therefore it is my task to save the life of this prince, if that can be done.”
“But it cannot—cannot,” moaned the Lady Evening Glory. “Thou knowest not thy father!”
“And yet,” said Wistaria, slowly, “I have thought of one way.”
“Anata!”
“Tell me first, my lady, is it not so—that one who marries an Eta is forever after disgraced—branded?”
“Yes, yes, that is true—but—”
“It is of importance that I know all this. Now is it not also true that my father’s chief ambition is to break the pride and spirit of the old Lord Mori?”
“Yes, it is so, it is so.”