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 resolved to accept the strange situation as it had presented itself, and to act just as he would have done if chosen, in the years of J[:u]-ei, by Shig[’e]hira’s daughter.

“Ah, the pity of it!” he exclaimed; “I have heard of the cruel fate of the august Lord Shig[’e]hira.”

“Ay,” responded the aged woman, sobbing as she spoke;—­“it was indeed a cruel fate.  His horse, you know, was killed by an arrow, and fell upon him; and when he called for help, those who had lived upon his bounty deserted him in his need.  Then he was taken prisoner, and sent to Kamakura, where they treated him shamefully, and at last put him to death.[74] His wife and child—­this dear maid here—­were then in hiding; for everywhere the H[’e][:i]k[’e] were being sought out and killed.  When the news of the Lord Shig[’e]hira’s death reached us, the pain proved too great for the mother to bear, so the child was left with no one to care for her but me,—­since her kindred had all perished or disappeared.  She was only five years old.  I had been her milk-nurse, and I did what I could for her.  Year after year we wandered from place to place, traveling in pilgrim-garb....  But these tales of grief are ill-timed,” exclaimed the nurse, wiping away her tears;—­“pardon the foolish heart of an old woman who cannot forget