10

      They looked down upon streams of pilgrims. The river before them was the Hatsuse.

“Had I not come to the place of cedars twain,*

How should I have met you here beside the old river?” said Ukon. “I am very happy.” Tamakazura replied:

“I know little, I fear, about the swift old river,

But I know the flow of tears of happiness.” She was indeed weeping, and very beautiful. Astonishingly so—a jewel quite unblemished by rough provincial life. The old nurse had worked wonders, and Ukon was deeply grateful. The girl's mother had been such a quiet little child of a thing, completely gentle and unresisting. The girl herself seemed proud and aloof by comparison; and there was something else, something quietly mysterious about her, suggestive of great depths. Kyushu must be a remarkable place—and yet look at these others, very countrified indeed. In the evening they all went up to the main hall, and the next day was a quiet one of prayers and rites. The autumn wind blowing up from the valley was cold, but they did not let it trouble them. They had other concerns. For the Kyushu people despair had suddenly given way to talk of To~ no Chu~jo~ and the careers he had made for the least likely of his children by his several ladies. It seemed possible that the sunlight would reach even to this undermost leaf. Fearing that they might once more lose track of each other, Ukon and the nurse exchanged addresses before they left the temple. Ukon's family lived not far from the Rokujo~ mansion, a fact that gave a comforting sense of nearness and accessibility.