Shadowings

determined to visit one other apartment at the far end of the dwelling—a very small room that had been his wife's favorite resting-place. Approaching the sliding screen that closed it, he was startled to perceive a glow within. He pushed the screen aside and uttered a cry of joy, for he saw her there, sewing by the light of a paper lamp. Her eyes at the same instant met his own; and with a happy smile she greeted him, asking only, "When did you come back to Kyoto? How did you find your way here to me through all those dark rooms?" The years had not changed her. She still seemed as fair and young as in his fondest memory of her; but sweeter than any memory there came to him the music of her voice, with its trembling of pleased wonder.

Then joyfully he took his place beside her and told her all: how deeply he repented his selfishness, how wretched he had been without her, how constantly he had regretted her, how long he had hoped and planned to make amends; caressing her the while, and asking her forgiveness over and over again. She answered him, with loving gentleness, according to his heart's desire, entreating him to cease all