* * * * * “And can you really receive me back like this?” he asked a short time later, “when you see that it is the same man who has returned unaltered?” “Ah, do not remind me of my folly,” she begged, “I can hardly believe that you have come back to me at last; I fear to wake and find it is all a dream.” And she rested her head against his shoulder with a sigh of content. “But,” persisted he, “could you bear to see me without my mask?” “I can bear anything,” she replied, “but losing you again.” Then he took off his mask and threw it on the ground. She glanced up at him and stood transfixed, for never in her whole life had she seen any one who looked as he looked. She sank on her knees beside him, and covered her face with her hands. “I am not worthy to be your wife,” she faltered, “let me go, for it cannot be.” But he did not listen to her. THE STORY OF THE SORCERER’S SONS AND THE TWO PRINCESSES OF JAPAN Once upon a time there were two Princesses of Japan who lived with their father in a tall palace. It stood on the banks of a river, and they used to watch from the walls to see the boats plying up and down, and the great cranes standing in the shallows fishing. They had never in their lives been outside the gardens, except when they were carried in a litter covered with paintings and carvings, and shut in by curtains. They peeped through the chinks as they went along, and Princess Azalea, the elder, used to tell Princess Anemone long stories which she invented about the passers-by. Once, indeed, when the servants had put down the litter for a moment’s rest, Princess Anemone, who was bolder than her sister, though not quite so good at making up stories, had slipped quietly out and gone off for a little exploring expedition of her own; while Princess Azalea sat terrified on the cushions, hiding her face behind her little fan. It seemed an age to her till the truant came back, breathless and rather pink in the face. “Oh! Sister! Sister! What did you see?” she asked, “and how you have torn your dress! What _will_ Utuka say?” Utuka was their nurse; she had brought them up since Azalea was born, sixteen years before. Anemone looked down at her white silk dress, all covered with silver flowers, and at the three-cornered slit which ran right across the front. “Never mind,” she said, “I’ll sew it up before she sees it. I know where she keeps her needles. Azalea, there was a man with a long staff who scowled at me so. I ran back as hard as I could, but O sister! look what I found! The world is a charming place, I know.” And she held up a great cream and pink peony.