a most pleasing arrangement. A fence of wattles, of a deliberately rustic appearance, enclosed the garden, and much care had gone into the plantings. The wind was cool. Insects were humming, one scarcely knew where, fireflies drew innumerable lines of light, and all in all the time and the place could not have been more to his liking. His men were already tippling, out where they could admire a brook flowing under a gallery. The governor seemed to have “hurried off for viands.” Gazing calmly about him, Genji concluded that the house would be of the young guardsman’s favored inbetween category. Having heard that his host’s stepmother, who would be in residence, was a high-spirited lady, he listened for signs of her presence. There were signs of someone’s presence immediately to the west. He heard a swishing of silk and young voices that were not at all displeasing. Young ladies seemed to be giggling self-consciously and trying to contain themselves. The shutters were raised, it seemed, but upon a word from the governor they were lowered. There was a faint light over the sliding doors. Genji went for a look, but could find no opening large enough to see through. Listening for a time, he concluded that the women had gathered in the main room, next to his.
The whispered discussion seemed to be about Genji himself.
“He is dreadfully serious, they say, and has made a fine match for himself. And still so young. Don’t you imagine he might be a little lonely? But they say he finds time for a quiet little adventure now and then.”
Genji was startled. There was but one lady on his mind, day after day. So this was what the gossips were saying; and what if, in it all, there was evidence that rumors of his real love had spread abroad? But the talk seemed harmless enough, and after a time he wearied of it. Someone misquoted a poem he had sent to his cousin Asagao, attached to a morning glory. Their standards seemed not of the most rigorous. A misquoted poem for every occasion. He feared he might be disappointed when he saw the woman.
The governor had more lights set out at the eaves, and turned up those in the room. He had refreshments brought.
“And are the curtains all hung?” asked Genji. “You hardly qualify as a host if they are not.”
“And what will you feast upon?” rejoined the governor, somewhat stiffly. “Nothing so very elaborate, I fear.”
Genji found a cool place out near the veranda and lay down. His men were quiet. Several young boys were present, all very sprucely dressed, sons of the host and of his father, the governor of Iyo. There was one particularly attractive lad of perhaps twelve or thirteen. Asking who were the sons of whom, Genji learned that the boy was the younger brother of the host’s stepmother, son of a guards officer no longer living. His father had had great hopes for the boy and had died while he was still very young. He had come to this house upon his sister’s marriage to the governor of Iyo. He seemed to have some aptitude for the classics, said the host, and was of a quiet, pleasant disposition; but he was young and without backing, and his prospects at court were not good.
“A pity. The sister, then, is your stepmother?”
“Yes.”
“A very young stepmother. My father had thought of inviting her to court. He was asking just the other day what might have happened to her. Life,” he added with a solemnity rather beyond his years, “is uncertain.”
“It happened almost by accident. Yes, you are right: it is a very uncertain world, and it always has been, particularly for women. They are like bits of driftwood.”
“Your father is no doubt very alert to her needs. perhaps, indeed, one has trouble knowing who is the master?”
“He quite worships her. The rest of us are not entirely happy with the arrangements he has made.”
“But you cannot expect him to let you young gallants have everything. He has a name in that regard himself, you know. And where might the lady be?”
“They have all been told to spend the night in the porter’s lodge, but they don’t seem in a hurry to go.”
The wine was having its effect, and his men were falling asleep on the veranda.
Genji lay wide awake, not pleased at the prospect of sleeping alone. He sensed that there was someone in the room to the north. It would be the lady of whom they had spoken. Holding his breath, he went to the door and listened.
“Where are you?” The pleasantly husky voice was that of the boy who had caught his eye.
“Over here.” It would be the sister. The two voices, very sleepy, resembled each other. “And where is our guest? I had thought he might be somewhere near, but he seems to have gone away.”
“He’s in the east room.” The boy’s voice was low. “ I saw him. He is every bit as handsome as everyone says.”
“If it were daylight I might have a look at him myself.” The sister yawned, and seemed to draw the bedclothes over her face.
Genji was a little annoyed. She might have questioned her brother more energetically.
“I’ll sleep out toward the veranda. But we should have more light.” The boy turned up the lamp. The lady apparently lay at a diagonal remove from Genji. “And where is Chūjō? I don’t like being left alone.”
“She went to have a bath. She said she’d be right back.” He spoke from out near the veranda.
All was quiet again. Genji slipped the latch open and tried the doors. They had not been bolted. A curtain had been set up just inside, and in the dim light he could make out Chinese chests and other furniture scattered in some disorder. He made his way through to her side. She lay by herself, a slight little figure. Though vaguely annoyed at being disturbed, she evidently took him for the woman Chūjō until he pulled back the covers.
“I heard you summoning a captain,” he said, “and I thought my prayers over the months had been answered.
She gave a little gasp. It was muffled by the bedclothes and no one else heard.
“You are perfectly correct if you think me unable to control myself. But I wish you to know that I have been thinking of you for a very long time. And the fact that I have finally found my opportunity and am taking advantage of it should show that my feelings are by no means shallow.”
His manner was so gently persuasive that devils and demons could not have gainsaid him. The lady would have liked to announce to the world that a strange man had invaded her boudoir.
“I think you have mistaken me for someone else,” she said, outraged, though the remark was under her breath.
The little figure, pathetically fragile and as if on the point of expiring from the shock, seemed to him very beautiful.
“I am driven by thoughts so powerful that a mistake is completely out of the question. It is cruel of you to pretend otherwise. I promise you that I will do nothing unseemly. I must ask you to listen to a little of what is on my mind.”
She was so small that he lifted her easily. As he passed through the doors to his own room, he came upon the Chūjō who had been summoned earlier. He called out in surprise. Surprised in turn, Chūjō peered into the darkness. The perfume that came from his robes like a cloud of smoke told her who he was. She stood in confusion, unable to speak. Had he been a more ordinary intruder she might have ripped her mistress away by main force. But she would not have wished to raise an alarm all through the house.
She
