cession left the Palace. When after traversing the Second Wood they turned into the Dōi Highway the travellers passed close by Genji’s palace. Deeply moved, he sent the following poem tied to a spray of the Holy Tree—‘Though to-day you cast me off and lightly set upon your way, yet surely when at last you ferry the Eighty Rapids of Suzuka Stream[1] your sleeve will not be dry.’ When this message was brought to her it was already quite dark. This and the noisy bustle of her journey prevented her from answering till the next day. When her reply came it was sent back from beyond the Barrier: ‘Whether at the Eighty Rapids of Suzuka Stream my sleeve be wet or no, all men will have forgotten me long ere I come to Ise’s Land.’ It was hastily written, yet with all the grace and distinction that habitually marked her hand; but his pleasure in it was marred by the strange bitterness of her tone. A heavy mist had risen, and gazing at the dimly-veiled semblances that were belatedly unfolding in the dawn he whispered to himself the lines: ‘O mist, I long to follow with my eyes the road that she passed; hide not from me in these autumn days the slopes of Meeting Hill.’[2] That night he did not go to the western wing,[3] but lay sleepless till dawn, brooding disconsolately upon a turn of affairs for which, as he well knew, he alone was responsible. What she suffered, as day by day she travelled on through unknown lands, may well be guessed.
By the tenth month the ex-Emperor’s condition had become very grave indeed. Throughout the country much concern was felt. The young Emperor was in great distress and hastened to pay him a visit-of-state. Weak though he was the sick man first gave minute instructions as to the
