 | Karo |  |
II.
It is not alone in Japan that children are betrothed to each other before they know the meaning of the words. Ever since Edith Astor could remember she had heard the subject of her future marriage to Howard Clifton discussed by her family and his. To Howard the prospect of marriage with Edith was very delightful. When Edith was sent to boarding school in Washington and Howard to Harvard they corresponded regularly with each other. Now, Edith had recently returned, and Howard had delighted both the mothers by losing his heart to her. What she thought of marriage with him it would be difficult to say. She listened patiently, perhaps a trifle wearily, when her parents talked of the matter, though she seldom ventured a remark, and with Howard she carefully avoided the subject altogether.
Edith was tall, with a figure magnificently formed. She had an abundance of soft brown hair, large and dreamy eyes, and a beautiful complexion. When she spoke or laughed the rich color in her cheeks deepened to a bright scarlet and spread over her forehead and neck, even to her little ears.
Edith saw life out of a pair of very thoughtful and rather sad eyes. She studied all whom she met, and it was no uncommon thing to see her eyes fixed long and seriously on some face while that strange, wistful, yet searching look crept into them, as though she knew you, and would fain have you otherwise. She was an idealist.
Since her return, Howard had been continually speaking of his Japanese college chum, Mr. Watanabe Karo. One day he told Edith of Karo's little sweetheart in Japan, and of the flowery little love letters she wrote to him and of how sacred she seemed to him.
"He read some of her letters to me," he said, laughing, "and she kept begging for his picture, until at last I lost patience and took a snap shot at him myself. I made an awful muddle of it, and as I thought little Yedo would be disappointed, I slipped my own in the envelope instead, and Karo never noticed it. I wonder what her ladyship thinks of me, anyhow," and he chuckled with delight at his trick.
Edith flushed hotly. "I don't think that was either funny or clever," she said. "Have you told Mr. Watanabe?"
"Well, no," said Howard, a trifle uneasily; "you see, he takes things so seriously."
Edith was becoming bored at hearing so much talk about Karo. She asked if he wore a queue. Howard laughed in derision.
"Do you imagine Karo looks anything like our Chinese laundrymen?" he asked, quizzically. "Well, you shall see," and the next time he came to see her he brought Karo with him, though it took it great deal of persuasion to induce that young man to abandon his studies even for a single night.
Edith began to study Karo, just as she had studied all the other men she had met. But Karo was not an easy subject. Who could read Karo's thoughts or character when his face remained unmoved, either by anger or pleasure? No one knew him—not even Howard. He was a Japanese gentleman, a samurai, and he was too civilized to betray his heart, for to be able to conceal one's feelings is a mark of the highest refinement. And Edith was roused out of her indifference. He interested her as no one had ever done before. She was tired of the commonplace men she met every day who talked nothing but shop, politics, and sentiment. Karo liked her also. She gave him little social points and talked naturally to him. He felt at home with her.
Whenever Howard came he brought Karo with him, for well he knew if Karo did not come Edith would be restless and unhappy for the rest of the evening, for she had eyes and ears for Karo only, so that poor Howard felt miserable and savage, although he found it hard to discover whether Karo cared anything about her or not.
One night he came into Karo's room. There was a strange look on his face, and his voice was husky.
"Karo, old boy," he said, "it's all up. I knew it would happen sooner or later. She never cared a red cent for me."
Karo was studying. He wheeled slowly around on his chair and looked at Howard in his usual calm way.
"Why?" was all he said.
"Well, you see," said Howard jerkily, "she—she met you."
Not a muscle quivered on Karo's face, and his voice was perfectly steady.
"You mistake," he replied, "she knows I am betrothed."
Then he got up and reached for his hat.
"I'll go and see her," he said quietly.
"Good God!" said Howard, as the door closed on Karo, but he did not try to prevent him.
A servant brought in his card to Edith, and Karo, bowing low as he entered the room, stood slim and calm by her side.
"Will you tell me, Miss Astor, how you feel toward me?"
The words were slow and clear—startlingly clear.
The color flashed in a flame over the girl's face and brow. She did not answer. The man stood still and waited. Then she said, using precisely his words to her, "Will you tell me how you feel toward me?"
For one instant, perhaps, his lip quivered, and then—
"I with all my heart do honor you."
"Is that all?"
"I am betrothed," he said simply. "What more, then, could there be between you and me?"
"But you don't love her," she said, with a triumphant ring in her voice, "you don't love her. Oh, no, you don't. How could you? You were children then. One cannot love then. Is that not so? One cannot love in childhood."
"Whatever be so must be," he replied. "To a Japanese, the greatest virtue of all is—duty; duty to the parents, duty to the wife and duty to one's self in being true to one's self."
She came nearer to him, the flush deepening gloriously on her face, her eloquent eyes searching and beseeching his. "You don't deny it," she said desperately, "you don't deny that one cannot love in childhood. Then listen. I am not like other women. I cannot act as they do and keep back that which is in me, though that is what you Japanese do. I must speak out and tell to you my whole heart, for I know you do not love her. I know," and her voice sank to a whisper that was almost ecstatic with fluttering joy, "I feel tonight—I—perhaps—you—you love me—for I love you."
A sudden white pallor seemed to wither his face. He put his hands out, and their long fingers tapering toward her seemed almost to speak.
"Honor, honor—to my friend Howard, who loves you, to myself, to you, to my father, my mother, my house, to—Yedo!"
It was an outburst of feeling at last. It was a cry, an appeal, a command, a prayer to her for help to save him from becoming an object of contempt; from being pointed out in Japan as the man who disobeyed the will of his parents, bought by the smile of a barbarian, who broke his betrothal vows, betrayed his friend, and yet dared to live. But she only fancied she heard love reverberate in his voice, and she laughed joyously, for she could not control herself. Then she heard the front door close on him and knew he was gone, but she only laughed again, for she told herself that Karo loved her, or he would not have feared her.
* * *
Karo had been gone about three hours. Howard smoked moodily on, and walked restlessly up and down the room. Once he wandered to the table and sank his head in his arms and groaned. After a while he heard Karo's foot on the stairs. It struck him that it was not quite so firm as usual. Then the door opened. Karo's face was ashy white, his hands were tremulous, he almost staggered. Howard poured him out a glass of wine, but be refused it.
"I shall leave tomorrow."
"For where?"
"Japan."
Howard asked him what Edith had said and Karo answered simply, "She does love me," with a slight emphasis and pause on the "love"; then he added in a mechanical, passionless voice, "I love Yedo, of course."
All of a sudden be seemed to remember something. A silence had fallen between the two friends so that his words sounded startling to Howard.
"Are you going to kill me?" he asked.
"Good gracious, no," answered Howard.
Well," said Karo softly, "if you were in Japan they would despise you. If the woman I was betrothed to loved you, I would kill you and her, too."
Howard shivered at the quiet words.
"Things aren't the same here, you know, Karo."
Howard's aspect and hopeless voice were piteous. His face sank once more in his arms on the table, and a silence again fell between them; then Karo came softly to Howard's side, and his voice was soothing, like the voice of the Karo who had soothed little Yedo in Japan.
"Do not grieve," he said. "You shall come to my home for a time; my father and friends will make you happy, and when you return, she will be kinder.
Howard reached out one of his hands and grasped Karo's.
"You're a brick, Karo. I'll go," he said brokenly; "there's not much left to live for, now she—now she is lost to me."
"She will not be lost to thee," said Karo.
| Karo | |