found himself able to
converse without embarrassment. Of the wine he partook freely; and
he ventured to speak, in a self-depreciating but merry way, about the
doubts and fears that had oppressed him. Meanwhile the bride remained
still as moonlight, never lifting her eyes, and replying only by a
blush or a smile when he addressed her.

It[=o] said to the aged attendant:--

"Many times, in my solitary walks, I have passed through this village
without knowing of the existence of this honorable dwelling. And ever
since entering here, I have been wondering why this noble household
should have chosen so lonesome a place of sojourn.... Now that your
Him['e]gimi-Sama and I have become pledged to each other, it seems
to me a strange thing that I do not yet know the name of her august
family."

At this utterance, a shadow passed over the kindly face of the old
woman; and the bride, who had yet hardly spoken, turned pale, and
appeared to become painfully anxious. After some moments of silence,
the aged woman responded:--

"To keep our secret from you much longer would be difficult; and I
think that, under any circumstances, you should be made aware of
the facts, now that you are one of us. Know then, Sir It[=o], that
your bride is the daughter of Shig['e]hira-Ky[=o], the great and
unfortunate San-mi Ch[:u]j[=o]."

At those words--"Shig['e]hira-Ky[=o], San-mi Ch[:u]j[=o]"--the
young samurai felt a chill, as of ice, strike through all his veins.
Shig['e]hira-Ky[=o], the great H['e][:i]k['e] general and statesman,
had been dust for centuries. And It[=o] suddenly understood that
everything around him--the chamber and the lights and the banquet--was
a dream of the past; that the forms before him were not people, but
shadows of people dead.

But in another instant the icy chill had passed; and the charm
returned, and seemed to deepen about him; and he felt no fear. Though
his bride had come to him out of Yomi,--out of the place of the Yellow
Springs of death,--his heart had been wholly won. Who weds a ghost
must become a ghost;--yet he knew himself ready to die, not once, but
many times, rather than betray by word or look one thought that might
bring a shadow of pain to the brow of the beautiful illusion before
him. Of the affection proffered he had no misgiving: the truth had
been told him when any unloving purpose might better have been served
by deception. But these thoughts and emotions passed in a flash,
leaving him resolv