all the time of the elaborate Court funerals which he had witnessed (he had, indeed, seen no others) and imagined Koremitsu directing a complicated succession of rituals. ‘I will do what I can; it will be no such great matter,’ he answered and turned to go. Suddenly Genji could bear no longer the thought that he should never see her again. ‘You will think it very foolish of me,’ he said, ‘but I am coming with you. I shall ride on horseback.’ ‘If your heart is set upon it,’ said Koremitsu, ‘it is not for me to reason with you. Let us start soon, so that he may be back before the night is over.’ So putting on the hunting-dress and other garments in which he had disguised himself before, he left his room.
Already the most hideous anguish possessed him, and now, as he set out upon this strange journey, to the dark thoughts that filled his mind was added a dread lest his visit might rouse to some fresh fury the mysterious power which had destroyed her. Should be go? He hesitated; but though he knew that this way lay no cure for his sadness, yet if he did not see her now, never again perhaps in any life to come would he meet the face and form that he had loved so well. So with Koremitsu and the one same groom to bear him company he set out upon the road.
The way seemed endless. The moon of the seventeenth night had risen and lit up the whole space of the Kamo plain, and in the light of the outrunners’ torches the countryside towards Toribeno now came dimly into sight. But Genji in his sickness and despair saw none of this, and suddenly waking from the stupor into which he had fallen found that they had arrived.
The nun’s cell was in a chapel built against the wall of a wooden house. It was a desolate spot, but the chapel itself was very beautiful. The light of the visitors’ torches flickered through the open door. In the inner room there
