She brandished the heavy mirror over the girl's head.
"I as' you to res'—peace—sleep. Tha' 's way git beautiful once more."
"Oh-h-h! 'Once more'!" The mirror crashed to the floor, and she burst into tears.
"Jus' you been too trouble'. Now you go'n' res' liddle," urged the comforting maid.
"Oh, all the gods! I cannot!—I cannot till he come. I shall die bifore."
She sorrowfully recovered the mirror.
"No—no; pitiful Kwannon, I am no longer beautiful! Waiting an' doubting make one soon sad an' old. An' how long we have wait!—how long! Oh, Shaka! But now I am happy—happier than I have aever been. Therefore shall I be more beautiful than I have aever been again. For happiness also is beauty. Ah, Suzuki, be kine with me!" She got on her knees to the maid, and laid her head at her feet. An ecstatic thought came to her. "Suzuki, you shall make me beautiful to-day, an' to-morrow the gods shall. Now we have not even time to pray them—not time to res'. Will you not? Can you not? Ah-h-h! You moast!"
