That such a person should even be aware of her existence was more than, as an inhabitant of this remote fishing-town, she had any right to expect. As time went on it seemed to her less than ever possible that any closer relationship should be established between them. Meanwhile her parents were far less confident about the situation than she supposed. They felt that in their anxiety to see the prayers of half a lifetime at last fulfilled they had perhaps acted somewhat precipitately. If Genji did not after all seem to regard their daughter as ‘counting,’ her feelings would have been upset for nothing. True he was a great catch and was worth certain risks; but that only made it harder to lose him. They had an uneasy feeling that while they had been placing all their trust in ‘Gods whom no eye seeth’ they had paid too little attention to the dispositions of the human beings for whose future they had schemed.
‘A little music,’ said Genji to the old priest one evening, ‘would mingle pleasantly with the sound of these autumn waves. It is only as a background to music that the sound of the sea is tolerable.’
The time for action had come. The old priest looked in his calendar, chose a lucky day, and despite the misgivings of his wife began to prepare the house on the hill for Genji’s visit. Not even to his most intimate acolytes and disciples did he explain the object of these elaborate preparations. The visit was to take place on the thirteenth day of the month. It turned out to be a resplendent moonlit night. The old man came to Genji’s room and recited the line: ‘Is this a night to lose?’ Genji at once understood that this was an invitation to the house on the hill. Suddenly what had seemed impossible became perfectly simple. He set his cloak to rights and left the house. His host had provided him with a magnificent coach, but the narrow lanes would have made its use inconvenient and Genji preferred
