Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/53

 thoughts there was no censure. Prince Shou liked a woman of spirit. One of his friends had married a tigress. In a fit of jealousy, she had taken a dagger to their bed. As her husband held her to him in an eternal embrace, she had driven the dagger between his ribs. The story made a deep impression upon Prince Shou. There was a kinship between ecstasy and pain. To experience the two when desire was at drum pitch, must have been a rare emotional experience. He rather envied his friend, especially since he had recovered after spending a few months in the hospital. He had lost much blood. Prince Shou smiled as he thought of this. Perhaps the experience was worth it.

His thoughts were entwined with the figure of Yuhan. Her face was exquisitely lovely,—yes, but others of his women had been adequately beautiful. She was neither short nor tall, yet she reached to his heart in some inexplicable manner. Merely thinking of her, parched his throat. No matter what she wore, he knew that for him she would always be wearing rainbowwinged robes.

Clouds were gathering. The wind had risen, flaying the trees with the force of bamboo whips. The moon was racing the storm. In the garden, there was a restless murmuring, accentuated by the mournful wail of an ash tree.

"It is the night that earth and sky were wed," he murmured. "Even nature is in an amorous mood. Great trees are caught in the mad wind's embrace. Perhaps