It came to the girl, not with a shock of surprise, but rather as an insidious growth of conviction, that the decision behind Tetsujo's demeanor was inspired by no less a person than Lord Haganè. At first it seemed incredible that so great a man could concern himself with the affairs of a mere girl. At this very moment he was in the midst of a threatened national crisis. Friendship with her father could scarcely account for all. Haganè must have some personal suspicion of the existence of Pierre, of Pierre's family, and of his attitude toward her. Her mind went back to her meeting with the Prince in Washington. She had been the one to introduce Pierre. Now she tried to recall every look and word of that morning interview, which followed her débutante ball. Again she saw Haganè's stern, scarred face, thrilled to the kindness of his voice as he spoke of her childhood, and pondered anew his meaning in the final admonition to loyalty. Perhaps even then he suspected that she and Pierre were more than friends. No, she could not believe it! Even if he did suspect, it was not certain that he would disapprove. Haganè was known everywhere as a friend to foreigners. He had travelled much, and had seen with his own eyes the splendor and the opportunities of foreign courts. He would know that, as wife of a diplomat, no matter what his country, she could serve her own.
At any rate she was soon again to meet the ex-daimyo. She was glad at least of this, and until she judged for herself, would not believe absolutely that the great man was against her. The thought of seeing him, of standing near him, gave her a sort of gentle strength and calm, as one feels when standing beside a great tree. If she could only get a warning to her lover,—to that less strong but dearly loved Pierre! Toward him she was beginning to feel, not only a girl's romantic devotion, but a mother's protecting tenderness. Here in her own country she longed to have her arms around him, shielding and at the same time preventing him from ignorance and prejudice. At Haganè's villa he was possibly to face an ordeal, unwarned by a hint from her. A little hope crept closer. Pierre was a passionate admirer of all the arts of Japan, Haganè an untiring collector. At the Tabata banquet pictures would surely be displayed. It was possible that Pierre's intelligence and appreciation might win him the most powerful of friends.
Most of the night before the banquet the young girl lay awake. The faint light of the andon flowed across her, melting into soft grayness at the far end of the room. It ruled, as with a heavy pencil, the overlapping boards of the ceiling. She counted them, but to no purpose. Sleep perched higher.
"A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,—one after one; bees murmuring—" she quoted under her breath, and lay still as a fallen rose. Sleep grinned down from the small, high branches of night. She thought of dark running water, of a green curtain stretched across nothingness, of a deep, bottomless pool; but sleep, the raven, never stirred a feather.
Beside her bed, on the soft, matted floor, lay a white prayer-book, a tiny vase containing a few sprays of umè (plum-flower), and a chatelaine watch set with pearls. The watch had been a graduation present from Gwendolen. From time to time Yuki lifted the animated toy, turned its face toward the andon, and held it to her ear, only to fall back with a smothered sigh.
"Will the blessed daylight never come?" thought Yuki for the hundredth time. Just as she had relinquished all hope of it, slumber darted down, but in its harsh beak was a dream.
She wandered, silent, on a great black moor. Near her feet, as she moved, a dull light flickered, turning all the dry grass red, and making, as it were, a muffled pathway for her guidance. She was searching, searching, searching,—for what, for whom, she could not recall. Her memory was darkened like the moor, and its dull flashes showed alike only empty space. Suddenly, far off to the right, a steadier beacon sprang. Stars seemed to be climbing up by a stair as yet invisible. The moor quivered into an even glow,—a mist rising as from a sea of blood. Not fifty paces from her eyes stood Pierre. He smiled, and stretched out his arms to her. The red glare whitened as it fell on him. Then she knew for what she had been searching. She would have fled to him, but found she could not move at all.
Out of the Eastern light now came armed men, lances, falchions, spears, all glittering in the unreal glow. She knew it for a daimyo's procession. It came forward swiftly to the gap which held her wide from Pierre. Decked horses, bullock-carts with huge black-lacquered wheels, and countless warriors, some mounted, some on foot, must pass her. There was movement of tramping; the horses reared and struck heavily on the earth, yet no sound came. Staring at that point from which the long procession rose, she saw it still curving up from an illimitable horizon,—first points of spears and banners; then heads; then men, horses, chariots,—an endless chain. She crouched nearer to the ghosts within her reach, hoping to recognize a friendly face, or at least a kind one, whom she could importune to let her through the line. She peered under hoods and helmets and into the bamboo-blinds of bullock-carts, then fell to earth with a scream, for the faces were not human; each was an ape that grinned at her. In Japan no dream is more prophetic of evil than a dream of apes.
At the agonized cry Suzumè ran from her room at the far side of the house. From the adjoining room came Iriya. Fusuma were flung wide.
"Forgive—forgive—my rudeness in honorably disturbing you at this hour," gasped the girl. "It was a dream, so terrible a dream!"