32

The governor's wife was so badly shaken that she rushed out with scarcely a word of farewell.

She had a cottage for use when the stars demanded a change of direction. It was a tasteful place, modestly furnished and still in process of construction.

“What a time I do have trying to find you a home. It is better for a woman to die young, when the whole world seems against her. I would not mind the worst sort of loneliness and humiliation and degradation if I had only myself to think of; but here we are friends again after all the years of bitterness. The world would roar with laughter if anything were to go wrong. It's all very sad, but anyway—” She was picking herself up to depart. “This isn't a very elegant place, I know, but bear with it for a while, and don't let anyone see you. I'll think of something else one of these days, I promise you.”

The girl was a sad little figure, weeping tears of utter dejection, sorry even to be alive. Matters were no better with the governor's wife. It would be a shame to waste such beauty, she had told herself. She had hoped that the girl, seen safely to womanhood, might make a good marriage for herself. And now they had the scorn of the world to look forward to, and must face charges of rashness and frivolity. She was not an insensitive woman, but she tended to be headstrong and somewhat erratic. Though it would not have been impossible to hide Ukifune in a corner of the governor's mansion, she had dismissed the thought as too unfeeling. They had always been together and the separation was cruel for both of them.

“This place won't be really safe either until it is finished. Do be careful. I've sent some women to look after you and given orders to the guards. But I know I'll go on worrying—and everyone at the other house is furious.”