14

Just then the messenger whom he had sent to Rokujo~ returned, hope-lessly drunk. Forgetting that the situation called for a certain restraint, he came staggering up to the front veranda of this west wing, quite buried in the wondrous silks and satins# with which the Rokujo~ house had rewarded him. The stupidest of serving women would have had no trouble guessing his mission—though she might have had to give a thought or two to the question of when Niou had found time for his letter. He had nothing which he really wished to conceal from Nakanokimi. The abruptness of the confrontation had been unfortunate, but it would do no good now to reprove the messenger for his tactlessness.

A woman brought in the letter. For better or worse, thought Niou, no secret must henceforth stand between them. It was a small relief to see that the letter seemed to be not in the hand of Rokunokimi herself but that of her stepmother.* * He put it aside, for these things were embarrassing, even when a scrivener intervened.

The hand was strong and practiced. “I urged her to write her own letter, since I did not wish to seem forward; but she is not entirely herself.

“It droops, the maiden flower, as never before.

The dew this morning has left it all too swiftly.