3

Ukifune's mother, quite beside herself, arrived in a pouring rain. “It is sad enough to have someone die before your eyes. But that is the way of the world. What _can_ have become of her?”

Unaware of the dilemma that had so filled these last days, she had no reason to suspect that the girl had thrown herself into the river. Might some fiend have devoured her? Might a fox spirit, or some equally sinister force, have led her off? There were strange incidents in old romances, and there was one lady in particular whom the girl had cause to fear.+ Had some malicious nurse, perhaps, resenting the proposed move to the city, been conspiring against her?

The mother's first thought was of the serving women. “Is there any-thing suspicious about the new ones?”

“None of them are here, my lady. We are so far away from things that the ones who hadn't really settled down kept complaining about not being able to get anything done. So they went home, all of them, and took along the things they were getting ready for the move to the city, and said they'd be back.”

The house did seem rather inadequately attended. Even women who had been in service at Uji since the Eighth Prince's time had gone home. Jiju~ and the others spoke of the girl's unhappiness over the days. She had said more than once, weeping, that she wanted to die.

Under an inkstone Jiju~ found the poem about the “sullied name.” She looked out at the river, and shuddered at the roar of the waters.

She conferred with Ukon. “It is sad to have them go on wondering. The affair with Prince Niou was not her responsibility and there is no reason at all for her mother to feel guilty or ashamed—he _is_ a prince, after all. Suppose we tell her. The suspense must be killing her. We can't produce a body, and it's only a matter of time till rumors get out. Yes, we must tell her, and see what we can do then to make things look somewhat respectable.”

In quiet tones, they told what they knew, and sank back into silent grief. So the child had fallen victim to this awful river, thought the governor's wife, only half conscious of what she had heard. She had hated it so herself, and now she wanted to jump in after the girl.

“Let's send people out to look for her, then. Let's at least find the body and have a decent funeral.”

“There would be no point in it. She will be drifting out to sea by now, and there would be talk.”

The mother had no further suggestions.

Ukon and Jiju~ ordered a carriage and loaded it with the girl's cushions and quilts (she had slipped from them the night before) and personal belongings. The monks were summoned who might be expected to preside over services. The nurse's son was among them, and his uncle the abbot,* and various disciples, and other old gentlemen with whom the girl had been on more or less friendly terms. The procession was made to look as if there were a body to escort to a pyre. Mother and nurse were near collapse from grief and (the omens were not good) foreboding.

Udoneri, who had so intimidated them all, stopped by with his son-in-law.” We ought to let the general know of the funeral, and allow time to do it right.”

“We want it to be very quiet, before the night is over.”

The funeral carriage proceeded to the moor at the foot of the moun-tain. No one was allowed near save the few monks who knew what had happened. In a moment or two the coffin was smoke. Country people tend to be stricter in these matters than city people, and superstitious as well. They had unfriendly comments to make upon what they had seen.

“Pretty strange, I say. Call that a proper funeral? Why, they might as well be taking care of a scrubwoman that died on them.”

“I don't know. I hear city folk do it without a fuss when brothers are left.” *

Even these rustic comments had Ukon and the others on their guard; and they had Niou and Kaoru to worry about. The world kept no secrets. If Kaoru were to learn that there had been no body to cremate, he would draw certain conclusions. He and Niou were close friends. He might sus-pect for a time that Niou had spirited the girl off, but he would not go on forever in ignorance. He would proceed to suspect other people, to look for other abductors. She had seemed much the pet of fortune while she lived, and now it did indeed seem that a sullied name must live after her.

Given the confusion of the morning, some of the menials might even now be guessing the truth. Strict precautions seemed necessary.

“We will have to let it out someday, bit by bit, I suppose, if we live long enough. But just now I'm afraid I don't have the strength. He may hear things that will turn him against her, and that will be sad, of course.” Uneasy consciences had given them reason to keep the secret.