THE BLOOD LILY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 11669, 8 April 1916, Page 2

THE BLOOD LILY.

—« THE LOVE OF LUKU LH AND HASRIMO. (By V. W. HOWE, in tho " Argonaut. ) It is a charming land, that country of lakes and rivers and snowy 'mountains, whose roads are dotted with curious hand-drawn carts and great .lumbering, buffaloes and underneath' whose wistaria trees love is always calling you to come and find the richly-tinted maidens, with their flowing gowns and sparkling, twinkling eyes. Nowadays it is called Japan. But as for myself, I prefer to cail it ''The Land ot Old Romance." Some ten years ago, and more, I was spending my bummer in one of the little highland towns, '.called Hoka Uuka—a mere collection of a few scattered bamboo huts at the foot of old Tatsukolo, on •whose fertile slopes the villagers grew their paddies of rice. My host was an old wrinkled heathen, with a heart of gold, and as for all the little things. he did for me while I stayed with him—hut to go on with the real story. As perhaps you hay© guessed, I am a painter, and this quaint little village, with its shady nooks and its haunting life, had something in it for me' that I could not wthstand. Yet it was not until one morning, when I had risen early to ascend old Tatsukolo so that I might get the full benefit of the early morning mists as thev were tinted by the rising sun, that I found out its real fascination—its most alluring charm. The summit of old Tatsukolo had always been held sacred, and it was here that the villagers buried their dead, yet never in my stay at;Hoka Uuka had I even seen so much as a single child there amongst the ; graves. This morning, however, as I neared the top, I thought I saw a, white figure stealing, amongst the shadows of the trees, ana irry curiosity being, aroused, I foliow-

Whoever it was vanished almost instantly, but when I reached the trees bfthina which it had disappeared I saw that someone was bending over a frave not a hundred feet from where then stood. I resolved to watch, even though I was to be unable to use the sunrise in consequence. I had not long to wait, for the person in white, kneeling at the head of the grave, reached out a slender , arm and fingered a delicate flower that was growing there, then startled, turned, and I saw with a vivid flash that it was but a young girl in the full bloom of youth.

The instant she saw me she let go of the flower and tried to cover her face in her hands so that I should not see who she was, but seeing that she was going to flee from me, I advanced and spoke to her. " Whv, Luku Lu, what's the matter? Why are you afraid?" At the sound of her name she stopped and trembled, then seeing that she was recognised, she turned around and with faltering steps and downcast eyes, came back to the grave. "It is forbidden," she said, and I

felt that there was much more than that from the tremor of her voice. "Really, sir, I must go." "But you looked so pretty there bending over the flower. Why is it forbidden? Tell me." " You won't tell anyone that you saw me here?" I nodded. " I—l loved him," she faltered, Then a.s I said nothing, " Ho was so big and brave and strong. We w.ero to have been marx-ied soon, and then the fever camo and he died." "But why forbidden?" I asked again. " They are afraid that I love him too much. They say I should find someone else, but there is no one can take the place of Hashilogo." She smiled a wan smile and bent over the grave again. "You see this flower," ■ she said, looking up at me with her liquid brown eyes; "it is a blood lily. It has grown from the soul of my Hashilogo so that I may be sure he still loves me. See how ruddy it glows! Oh, but he must bo tix;ed of waiting for me, my poor Hashilogo!" She reached out her dainty arm, and raising tho flower, gazed longingly deep into its crimson chalice, i "I shan't disappoint him, either," ■ she smiled, and the first ray of the j morning sun peeped from between the mists and flared up ajnongst her glossy hair. ' "You won't tell anyone, will you?" I nodded._ " Thank you,- sir. Thank you, so much." " Luku lu." I said. "I wish vou'd let me paint you just as you were a minute ago. when you were looking into the heart of the lily, you look so appealing—l " A frightened look came into her eyes, and she rose hastily as though to flee. . " Paint me! Paint me—so that ail could see—you promised!" Then she turned and ran, and I found that I had to content myself with the morniug mists after all. Never again could I get her to talk with me: she was afraid; but even when I ioi't at tho end of the summer, the memory ol' her looking so longingly into ilie chalice of that flower, which she believed to come from the soul of her loved one, kept tormenting my mind so that I resolved that I must paint, it—from memory if 1 could not get her to pose, but paint it I must. Yet when T tried, somehow the colours wouldn't come true, 1 couldn't get her expression, the flower seemed just any ordinary lily—l failed. Again last summer, feoling the old longing for Hoka Uuka growing too strong upon me, I packed up my materials and went there again A taking

with' me my old longing to paint that picture of Luku Lu and the Lily. Everything seemed just the same as it had the first time I saw it—the same little huts, the same slow-moving oxen, the same silk-covered men and women, and the few stray chickens wandering about the streets. It seemed that I was ten years younger and that everything was yesterday. But when I asked for Luku Lu, I was met by blank faces and expressionless eyes. "LukuLu? Dead!" My dream was broken—tilings were not as they had been in the old days—how could they be? The next morning I rose early as 1 had done before and climbed old Tatsukolo, my oasel in one hand, my box j of oils in the other, to get one last impression of the vivid sceno that had so stirred my youth. And drawn irresistibly, I went direct-

ly to the grave where Hashilogo had been buried. Somehow it 6eemed to have grown in size. Could it be that Luku Lu was buried here, too? At tirsi I was puzzled to explain this, but then I noticed the crimson lily nodding in the breeze, and this time it was not alone, for beside it, nodding m company with it, was another lily, its exact counterpart,' except that the second was white. * As I looked tho Trind blew them together, and I coufd have sworn that in that brief moment a kiss was exchanged "between them. Could it be that Luku Lu was right and that this lily had grown from his soul? Perhaps, but what of the second one? "Was it hers? I packed up my paints and returned to the village, too overcome to enjoy even the splendors of the morning. —Van Wagenen Howe. San Francisco, February, 1916.