11

This moping, he decided, did no good. He went to the west wing in search of company. Rumpled and wild-haired, he played a soft strain on a flute as he came into Murasaki's room. She was leaning against an armrest, demure and pretty, like a wild carnation, he thought, with the dew fresh upon it. She was charming.

Annoyed that he had not come immediately, she turned away.

“Come here,” he said, kneeling at the veranda.

She did not stir.”'Like the grasses at full tide,'“* she said softly, her sleeve over her mouth.

“That was unkind. So you have already learned to complain? I would not wish you to tire of me, you see, as they say the fishermen tire of the sea grasses at Ise.” +

He had someone bring a thirteen-stringed koto.

“You must be careful. The second string breaks easily and we would not want to have to change it.” And he lowered it to the hyo~o~ mode.*

After plucking a few notes to see that it was in tune, he pushed it toward her. No longer able to be angry, she played for him, briefly and very competently. He thought her delightful as she leaned forward to press a string with her left hand. He took out a flute and she had a music lesson. Very quick, she could repeat a difficult melody after but a single hearing. Yes, he thought, she was bright and amiable, everything he could have wished for. “Hosoroguseri” made a pretty duet, despite its outlandish name.+ She was very young but she had a fine sense for music. Lamps were brought and they looked at pictures together. Since he had said that he would be going out, his men coughed nervously, to warn him of the time. If he did not hurry it would be raining, one of them said. Murasaki was suddenly a forlorn little figure. She put aside the pictures and lay with her face hidden in a pillow.

“Do you miss me when I am away?” He stroked the hair that fell luxuriantly over her shoulders.

She nodded a quick, emphatic nod.

“And I miss you. I can hardly bear to be away from you for a single day. But we must not make too much of these things. You are still a child, and there is a jealous and difficult lady whom I would rather not offend. I must go on visiting her, but when you are grown up I will not leave you ever. It is because I am thinking of all the years we will be together that I want to be on good terms with her.”

His solemn manner dispelled her gloom but made her rather uncom-fortable. She did not answer. Her head pillowed on his knee, she was presently asleep.

He told the women that he would not after all be going out. His retinue having departed, he ordered dinner and roused the girl.

“I am not going,” he said.

She sat down beside him, happy again. She ate very little.

“Suppose we go to bed, then, if you aren't going out.” She was still afraid he might leave her.

He already knew how difficult it would be when the time came for the final parting.