into the alcove: ‘I never meant to go,’ she whispered, ‘but this lady seems so very anxious to take me. I think perhaps I will travel with them part of the way and then come back again. There is a great deal of truth in all that she has been saying. But then, on the other hand, I do not like to upset you by leaving. It is terrible to have to decide so quickly….’ So she whispered; but though the princess loved her dearly and was stung to the quick that even this last friend should be making ready to desert her, she said not a word to encourage Jijū to stay, but only sobbed more bitterly than before. She was wondering what she could give to her maid to keep in remembrance of her long service in the family. Perhaps some cloak or dress? Unfortunately all her clothes were far too worn and soiled to give away. She remembered that somewhere in the house was a rather pretty box containing some plaited strands of her own hair, her fine glossy hair that grew seven feet long. This would be her present, and along with it she would give one of those boxes of delicious clothes-scent that still survived from the old days when her parents were alive. These she handed to Jijū together with an acrostic poem in which she compared her departure to the severing of this plaited tress of hair. ‘Your Mama told me always to look after you,’ she said, ‘and whatever happened to me I should never dream of sending you away. I think however that you are probably right to go, and only wish that some one nicer were taking charge of you….’ ‘I know Mama wished me to stay with you,’ said Jijū at last through her tears. ‘But quite apart from that, we have been through such terrible times together in these last years that I cannot bear to go off heaven knows where and leave you here to shift for yourself. But, Madam, “By the Gods of Travel to whom I shall make offering upon my way, I swear that never can I be shorn from you like this
