The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1911-01-25
She might find out the secret!

where your great power is or by
what means overcoming to bind
and torture you one may be able,
this me tell.
She began to tremble in every limb.
She, a samurai's daughter? She
thought of her father aged and brok-
en-, grieving that he had had no son in
the war. She had been but useless
girl-child, left to plant paper prayers
at the cross roads for the brave men
who longed to achieve a glorious
death. If she did this thing-would
it not be for Japan?
And he at last-to his mind COM
pletely opened.
The woman's knees upon Sam
son did sleep and she called man
who of his head the seven locks
cutoff and the power of
him was lost
if she did, would it avail? She re-
membered Pills eyes on her face the
day on the sands at kamakura-their
smouldering, reckless glow. She re-
membered the bamboo lane! In those
daredevil kisses her woman's instinct
had OWNED the force of the attrac-
ton she exercised over him-had felt
it with contempt and standardization
that burned her like an acid. To use
that for her purpose? But she was a
Christian! From the Christian Gods
"Thou shalt not" there was no appeal.
She remembered suddenly her last
service at the Buddhist temple across
the lane, and how the old priest had
babe her gentle farewell, wishing
her peace and joy in her new religion,
and saying smilingly that all religions
were augustly good, since they pointed
the same way. She saw the nunnery,
with it's tall clumps of yellow dahlias
and wild hydrangeas, above which
hung gauzy robes that waved like
gray ghosts escaping from the mold
into the sunshine. She saw the cher
ry trees touched by the golden sum-
mer light, the messy monuments in
the bury ground, the pigeons flutter-
ing about the lichened pavement.
The audience was singing now-the
Japanese version Of Jesus, Lover of
My Soul:
Waga tamashii wo
Al suru Yesu 20,
Mani wa sakamaki,
KaZe fuki.arete.
She could no longer be Christian!
But, the old gods of her people shin
ing from their golden altars-the an
cient divinities who looked for ever
down above the sound of prayer-they
would smile upon her!
CHAPTER XXX.
The Flight.
For all save one, sleep came early
that evening to the house of the Street
of Prayer-to-the-Gods. In her little
room Haru lay as stirless as sleep
ing flower. There was no sound save
the hushed accents of the outer night
that penetrated the wooden amado.
At length she rose, noiselessly slid
the paper shoji and with infinite care,
inch by inch, pushed back the shut
tiers. The moon had risen and a flood
of moonlight came into the room.
Stealthily she opened wall closet and
selected her best and gayest robe-a
holiday kimono of dim green, with
lotos flowers, and obi of cloth-of-gold,
with chrysanthemums peeping from
the weave. BY the round mirror on
her low dressing cabinet she redressed
the coiled ebony butterfly of her hair
and set a red flower in it. She touched
her face with the soft rice powder
and added tint of carmine to the
set paleness of her cheeks. She
wrapped in furoshiki some soberer
street clothing, toilet articles, and
ma,lve kimono woven with silver ca
melias, set the bundle by the opened
amado and noiselessly passed into the
next room.
1t was the larger living apartment.
The tiny lamp which burned before
the golden shrine of Kwan-on on the
Buddha shelf cast wan glimmer
over the spotless alcove, and threw
ghostly light on her finery. Through
the thin paper shikiri she could hear
her fathers deep breathing and in
the room in which he slept a little
clock chimed eleven. She opened the
door of the shrine and stood looking
at the tablet it held-the Thai of her
mother. The kaimyO, or soul name,
it bore signified Moon Dawn of the
Mountain of Light Dwelling in the
Mansion of Luminous Perfume" She
rubbed her palms softly together be-