how long she stood gazing at the Yomei-mon before she became aware that a tall priest was standing beside her. Then she drew her robes swiftly about her and would have fled, but the beauty of his face held her. It was a noble face, strangely diffident and other-worldly. O-Miyuku-san, returning his gaze, clasped her little hands tightly to conceal their trembling. Was it for the daughter of an emperor and a lineal descendant of the gods to fear a mortal? She did not know that it was love which had met her at the Yomei-mon.
"Strange that Hasaki with a lifetime's study of the Sutras and all his esoteric philosophy concerning the illusion of earthly things would have tarried to gaze at a maiden. But Hasaki was only a youth, and like many another ascetic, he made the discovery of an unsuspected wisdom in the saying: 'He was created a man before he became a priest.'
"At dusk, the maiden fled. But for her there was no escape, nor for Hasaki; neither the walls of the imperial palace nor the sacred presence of the Buddha could shut out the remembrance of that which had passed before the Yomei-mon. Both knew in their hearts that 'even the knot of rope tying our boats together was knotted long ago by some love in a former birth.'
"But to love with desire O-Miyuku-san, the daughter of Heaven, was a calamity. Hasaki spent the still hours of the night in breathless repetition of the Sutras, prostrating his body before the Buddha. It was to no avail. In the gray dawn of morning he stood before the high priest, his distraught young face, white in the glow of the andon, lifted to the gentle, unmoved countenance of his wiser brother.
"'Return to the Sutras, my son,' droned the older man. 'It is not for an emperor's daughter to marry a priest. Take this image of the Buddha; keep it in the folds of your girdle, and in the hour of your temptation recite the Treasure Sutra to the Compassionate One.'
"But not eyen a high priest of Buddha has authority over the daughter of Heaven. When night fell O-Miyuku-san returned to the shrine. Crossing the slumberous courtyard on winged feet, she found Hasaki kneeling before the Buddha with open prayer roll, devoutly repeating the Sutras. When the priest beheld the princess before him, fairer even than he had remembered her, he covered his face with his hands.
"Leaning toward him, she whispered faintly, 'If you send me away, I shall die.'
"Hasaki arose, and abandoning his priest's robes, went with her out of the city.
"The palace in which the daughter of the emperor and her lover dwelt was an idyllic earthly paradise where royal peacocks feathered in emerald and dazzling gold guarded the gates as effectively as flashing swords. Here these two dreamed that they had created a paradise whose walls no power could shatter.
"Not entirely forgetful of his past life, Hasaki spent many hours fashioning tiny images of the Buddha, even as the ancient priests had done to embellish their temples. The art of carving became a passion with him, second only to his love for the princess; and presently he became known throughout the kingdom as the most exquisite artist of his day. Only one pure in heart could have conceived the works from his hand which were filled with a lofty charm and an other-worldly beauty. But one work, the most perfect of them all, a jade image of the Buddha, Hasaki never completed.
"A cholera swept the land, destroying the people by thousands. It struck down the coolies by the way side and on the wharves, where they died miserably like
