TSUBOSAKA

As she spoke, Urasato leaned far out over the balcony, the picture of youth, grace and beauty.

"Oh! Urasato!" said Tokijiro, sadly, "the longer I stay here the worse it will be for you. If we are discovered not only you, but Midori also will be punished, and as she does not know all how unhappy she will be, and what will you do then. Oh! misery!"

Urasato, overcome with the bitterness of their troubles and the hopelessness of their situation, and as if to shield Midori, impulsively drew the child to her and, embracing her with tenderness, burst into tears.

The sound of footsteps suddenly startled them both. Urasato straightened herself quickly, pushed the child from her, and wiped away her tears. Midori, always clever and quick-witted, rolled a piece of paper into a ball and threw it quickly over the fence. It was a pre-arranged signal of danger. Tokijiro understood and hid himself out of sight. The screen of the room was pushed aside and not the dreaded proprietor nor his shrew of a wife, but the kindly and indispensable hair-dresser, O[4]Tatsu, appeared.

"Oh, courtezan," said the woman, "I fear that I have kept you waiting. I wanted to come earlier, but I had so many customers that I could not get away before. As soon as I could do so I left and came to you ... but, Urasato Sama, what is the matter? You have a very troubled face and your eyes are wet with tears ... are you ill? Look here, Midori, you must take better care of her and give her some medicine."

"I wanted her to take some medicine," said Midori, "but she said she would not."

"I have always disliked medicine and, as Midori tells you, I refused to take any. I don't feel well to-day, O Tatsu. I don't know why, but I don't even wish to have the comb put through my hair—so I won't have my hair dressed now, O Tatsu, thank you."

"Oh," answered O Tatsu, "that is a pity—your hair needs putting straight—it is very untidy at the sides; let me comb it back and you will then feel better yourself, too—"

"O Tatsu," said Urasato, hopelessly; "you say so, but—even if the gloom that weighs down my spirit were lifted and my hair done up and put straight both would fall again, and knowing this, I am unhappy."

"Oh," replied O Tatsu, "the loosened hair-knot which troubles you is my work—come to the dressing-table ... come!"

Urasato could not well refuse the kindly woman and reluctantly allowed herself to be persuaded. She sat down in front of the mirror, but her heart was outside the fence with Tokijiro, and to wait till the woman had done her work was a torture to her.

"Listen to me," said O Tatsu, as she took her stand behind Urasato and with deft fingers put the disordered coiffure to rights, "people cannot understand the feelings of others unless they have themselves suffered the same conditions. Even I, in past times, was not quite as I am now. It seems foolish to speak of it, but I always feel for you. If you deign to listen to me I will tell you my story. Even such an ugly woman as I am—there is a proverb you know, that says 'Even a devil at eighteen is fascinating' (oni mo juhachi)—has had her day, and so there was someone who loved even me, and he is now my husband," and O Tatsu laughed softly, "ho-ho-ho." "Well, we plighted our vows and loved more and more deeply. At last he was in need of money and came to borrow of me, saying 'Lend me twobu!'[5]or 'Lend me threebu!' using me in those days only as his money-box. It must have been because our fate was determined in our previous life that I did not give him up. I let things go because I loved him. Youth does not come twice in a life-time. He was in great distress and I sold all my clothes to help him till mytansu[6]were empty, and then I filled them with his love letters. Things came to such a pass that we thought of committing suicide together. But a friend who knew what we were about to do stopped us, and so we are alive to this day. But things have changed since then, and now, when there is some small trouble, my husband tells me he will divorce me, and there are times when I feel I hate him and don't want to work for him any more. There is a proverb that 'the love of a thousand years can grow cold,' and it is true. Experience has taught me this."

O Tatsu ... took her stand behind Urasato and with deft fingers put the disordered coiffure to rights

"O Tatsu Sama," answered Urasato, "in spite of all you say, I have no one to love me in this wide world, such an unfortunate creature as I am, so devotedly as you loved him."

"You may think thus now," said O Tatsu, "for you have reached the age of love's prime. I know that people in love's despair often cut short their own lives, but while you have Midori to think of you cannot, you must not, commit suicide. Duty and love exist only while there is life. Oh dear, I have talked so much and so earnestly that I have forgotten to put in thetsuto-naoshi," and with the last finishing touches O Tatsu put in the pincer-like clasp which holds together the stray hair at the nape of the neck.

Urasato's eyes were dry, though her heart was full of sympathy and sorrow as she listened to O Tatsu's kind words of sympathy, and as a bedimmed mirror so was her soul clouded with grief. Midori, touched by the sad conversation, dropped tears as she flitted about over the mats, putting away the comb box here and a cushion straight there.

"Well," said O Tatsu, as she bowed to the ground and took her leave, "I am going yonder to the house of Adzumaya, good-bye!" and with these words she glided down the stairs and went out by the side door. Looking back as she did so, she called to Midori:

"Look here, Midori, I am going out by the side gate instead of by the kitchen—will you please fasten it after me." With these words she seized the astonished Tokijiro, who was hiding in the shadow, pushed him inside and shut the gate (pattari) with a snap. With an unmoved face as if nothing unusual had occurred, O Tatsu put up her umbrella, for snow had begun to fall, lighted her little lantern and pattered away across the grounds without once looking back.

Thus, through the compassionate help of another, Tokijiro was at last enabled to enter the house. He ran upstairs quickly, and entering the room, caught hold of Urasato's hand.

"Urasato! I cannot bear our lot any longer. I cannot bear to live away from you—at last I am able to tell you how I long to die with you since we cannot belong to each other any longer. But if we die together thus, what will become of poor little Midori. What misery—oh, what misery! No—no—I have it; you shall not die—I alone will die; but oh! Urasato, pray for the repose of my soul!"

"That would be too pitiless," said Urasato, while the tears fell like rain from her eyes, "if you die to-night what will become of our faithful little Midori and myself left behind? Let parents and child take hands to-night and cross the river of death together. We will not separate now, oh, no—no! Oh! Tokijiro San! you are too cruel to leave us behind."

Some one was now heard calling from below.

"Urasato Sama! Urasato Sama!" said a loud harsh voice, "come downstairs—you are wanted quickly, quickly—come!"

Then the sound of a woman's feet as she began to ascend the stairs reached the three inmates of the room.

Urasato's heart beat wildly and then seemed to stop with fright. Quick as a flash of lightning she hid Tokijiro in thekotatsu[7]and Midori, with her usual quick-wittedness, fetched the quilt and covered him over. Then she glided to the other side of the room. All this was the work of a moment.

"O Kaya San," said Urasato, "what is the matter? What are you making such a fuss about? What do you want with me now?"

"Oh! Urasato," answered the woman as she entered the room, "you pretend not to know why I call you. The master has sent for you—Midori is to come with you—such is his order!"

Urasato made no answer, but followed O Kaya, who had come to fetch her. Anxiety for Tokijiro hidden in thekotatsu, and fear concerning what the sudden summons might mean made her heart beat so that she knew not what to do. Both she and Midori felt that the woman was like a torturing devil driving them along so much against their will—they seemed to feel her fierce eyes piercing them through from behind.

O Kaya led them across the garden to another part of the house. The soft twilight had been succeeded by a dreary night. It was February and the night wind blew sharp and chill—the last snow of winter weighed down the bamboos; while, like an emblem of courage and strength in the midst of adversity, the odour of early plum blossoms hung upon the air. Overcome with anxiety, Urasato felt only the chill, and fear of the night spread through her whole being. She started and shivered when behind her Midori's clogs began to echo shrilly, like the voices of malicious wood-sprites in the trees laughing in derision at her plight. Her heart grew thin with pain and foreboding. "Karakong," "karakong," sounded the clogs, as they scraped along. "Ho, ho, ho!" mocked the echoing sprites from the bamboo wood.

They reached the veranda of the house on the other side of the quadrangle. O Kaya pushed open theshojidisclosing the grizzled-headed master, Kambei, seated beside the charcoal brazier looking fierce and angry. When Urasato and Midori saw him, their heart and soul went out with fear as a light in a sudden blast.

Urasato, however, calmed herself, and sitting down outside the room on the veranda, put her hands to the floor and bowed over them. The master turned and glared at her.

"Look here, Urasato," said he, "I have nothing but this to ask you. Has that young rascal Tokijiro asked you for anything out of this house—tell me at once—is such the case? I have heard so—tell me the truth!"

Urasato, frightened as she was, controlled herself and answered quietly:

"Such are the master's honourable words, but I have no remembrance of anyone asking me for anything whatsoever."

"Um," said the master, "I shan't get it out of you so easily I see," then turning to O Kaya, he said, "Here, O Kaya, do as I told you—tie her up to the tree in the garden and beat her till she confesses."

O Kaya rose from the mats and catching hold of the weeping Urasato dragged her up and untied and pulled off her girdle. The woman then carried the slender girl into the garden and bound her up with rope to a rough-barked, snow-covered pine-tree, which happened to be just opposite Urasato's room. O Kaya, lifting a bamboo broom threateningly, said, "Sa! Urasato, you won't be able to endure this—therefore make a true confession and save yourself. How can you be faithful to such a ghost of a rascal as Tokijiro? I have warned you many times, but in spite of all advice you still continue to meet him in secret. Your punishment has come at last—but it is not my fault, so please do not bear me any resentment. I have constantly asked the master to pardon you. To-night, out of pity, I begged him to let you off, but he would not listen. There is no help for it, I must obey my orders. Come, confess before you are beaten!"

So O Kaya scolded and entreated Urasato; but Urasato made no reply—she only wept and sobbed in silence.

"You are an obstinate girl!" said O Kaya, and she lifted the broom to strike.

Midori now rushed forward in an agony of distress and tried to ward off the blow about to fall on her beloved mistress. O Kaya flung the child away with her left arm, and bringing the broom down, began to beat Urasato mercilessly till her dress was disarranged and her hair fell down in disorder about her shoulders.

Midori could bear the sight no longer. She became frantic, and running to the wretched Kambei, lifted praying hands to him: then back again she darted to catch hold of O Kaya's dress, crying out to both: "Please, forgive her; oh, please, forgive her! Don't beat her so, I implore you!"

O Kaya, now fully exasperated, seized the sobbing child.

"I will punish you too," and tied Midori's hands behind her back.

Tokijiro, looking down from the balcony of Urasato's room, had been a distraught and helpless spectator of the whole scene of cruelty in the garden. He could now no longer restrain himself and was about to jump over the balcony to the rescue. But Urasato happened at that moment to look up and saw what he intended doing. She shook her head and managed to say, unheard by the others:

"Ah! this, for you to come out, no, no, no!"

Then, as O Kaya came back from tying up Midori, she quickly added to her, "No, I mean you who have tied up Midori, you must be pitying her, you must be, O Kaya San—but in the presence of the master for that reason it won't do! It won't do!" and here she spoke, purposely, incoherently to O Kaya, while she signed to Tokijiro with her eyes that he must not come out—that her words were meant for him under cover of being addressed to O Kaya.

Tokijiro knew that he could do nothing—he was utterly powerless to help Urasato, and if he obeyed his first impulse and jumped down into the garden he would only make matters a thousand times worse than they were, so he went back to thekotatsu, and bit the quilt and wept with impotent rage.

"She is suffering all this for my sake—oh! Urasato! oh! oh! oh!"

Kambei had now reached Urasato's side, and catching hold of her by the hair, said in a big voice, "Does not your heart tell you why you are so chastized? It is ridiculous that Tokijiro should come in search of thekakemonothat was entrusted to me. Ha! you look surprised. You see I know all. Look! Isn't the picture hanging there in my room? I allow no one so much as to point a finger at it—Sa! Urasato, I am sure Tokijiro asked you to get him that—come—speak the truth now?"

"I have never been asked to steal any such thing," answered Urasato, sobbing.

"Oh, you obstinate woman—will nothing make you confess? Here, Midori—where is Tokijiro? Tell me that first?"

"I don't know," answered Midori.

"There is no reason why Midori should know what you ask," said Urasato, trying to shield the child.

"Midori is always with you," said Kambei—"and she must know," and turning to Midori he struck her, saying: "Now confess—where is Tokijiro hiding now?"

"Oh, oh, you hurt me," cried the child.

"Well, confess then," said the cruel man, "then I won't hurt you any more!"

"Oh ... Urasato," cried Midori, turning to her—"entreat the master to pardon me—if he kills me, before I die I can never meet my father whom I have never seen."

Tokijiro, upstairs in the balcony, heard all that was going on and murmured:

"That is, indeed, natural, poor child."

But Kambei, unaware that he was heard and seen, beat the child again and again.

"I can't make out what you say, little creature," he screamed with rage. "You shall feel the weight of thistekki[8]then we shall see if you will still not answer what is asked you."

Under this hell-like torture Midori could scarcely breathe. The poor child tried to crawl away, but as she was bound with rope, she was unable to do so.

The cruel man once more caught hold of her roughly by the shoulder and began to beat her again. At last the child gave a great cry of pain, lost consciousness, and fell back as though dead.

Kambei was now alarmed at what he had done, for he had no intention of killing the child—only of making her tell him where Tokijiro was living or hiding. He stopped beating her and stood on one side, angry enough at being thwarted by Urasato and Midori.

Urasato raised her head and moaned to herself as she looked at the prostrate child.

"I am really responsible for the child's suffering," she said to herself—"my sin is the cause of it all; forgive me, my child—you know it not, but I am your mother; and although you are only a child you have understood and helped me. You saw that I was in love and always anxious about my lover. This is from a fault in your former life that you have such a mother—ah! this is all, alas, fruit of our sins in another existence," and Urasato's tears flowed so fast that, like spring rain, they melted the snow upon which they fell.

O Kaya now came up to her, saying,

"What an obstinate creature you are! If you don't confess you shall wander in company with your child to theMeido,"[9]and with these words she raised her broom to strike.

Hikoroku, the clerk of the house, now came running upon the scene. He had fallen in love with Urasato and had often pressed his suit in vain. When he saw how matters stood he pushed O Kaya away.

"You are not to help Urasato!" screamed O Kaya, angrily.

"Go away, go away," said Hikoroku, "this punishment is the clerk's work—though I am only a humble servant, however humble I am I don't need your interference."

Then Hikoroku turned to Kambei and said apologetically.

"Excuse me, master, I have something to say to you; the matter is this—that dear Urasato—no, I mean Midori and Urasato—I never forget them, oh, no, no! I know their characters—they are good-hearted. This punishment is the clerk's work. If you will only leave Urasato to me I shall be able to make her confess. I am sure I can manage her. If you will make me responsible for making Urasato confess, I shall be grateful."

Kambei nodded his head, he was already tired, and said:

"Um—I would not allow anyone else to do this, but as I trust you Hikoroku, I will let you do it for a while; without fail you must make her confess, I will rest,"—and with these words he went into the house, intending to put the blame on Hikoroku if his regulation suffered because of his treatment of Urasato.

Hikoroku accompanied his master to the house and bowed low as he entered. He then came back to Urasato.

"Did you hear what the master said? Did he not say that he would not entrust this to anyone else butme—only to me—Hikoroku—don't you see what a fine fellow I am? If only you had listened to me before you need never have suffered so—I would have helped you, Urasato San! Perhaps you suspect me as being to blame for all this; but no—indeed, I am not—you and I are living in another world. Will you not listen to me—Urasato San?—but oh!—you have a different heart—oh! what am I to do?" and he placed his hands palm to palm and lifted them despairingly upwards to Urasato, shaking them up and down in supplication.

O Kaya had been listening to Hikoroku, for she was in love with him herself and was always jealous of the attention he paid to Urasato. She now came up and said, as she shrugged her shoulders from side to side: "Now Hikoroku Sama—what are you doing? What are you saying? Notwithstanding your promise to the master to make Urasato confess, you are now talking to her in this way. Whenever you see Urasato you always act like this without thinking of me or my feelings for you. I am offended—I can't help it! You will probably not get her to confess after all. Well—I will take your place, so go away!"

As O Kaya came up to Hikoroku he pushed her away, saying:

"No, never! You shall not hurt her—this is not your business—the master has entrusted it to me. As for you, it is ridiculous that you should love me. How ugly you are! Ugh!—your face is like a lion's. Are you not ashamed. Before the master I have no countenance left when I think of what you say to me. Now then—go away O Kaya—I am going to untie poor Urasato!"

O Kaya tried to push Hikoroku away. Hikoroku took up the broom and beat her without caring how much he hurt her. Mercilessly did he continue to beat her till she was overcome and, falling down on the snow, lay stunned for some time to come.

Having thus got rid of O Kaya, Hikoroku quickly released Urasato and Midori. As he lifted the child up she opened her eyes.

"Ya, ya! Are you still there, mother?"

Did Midori know that Urasato was her mother, or on returning to consciousness was it instinct or affection that made her use the tender name?

When she heard Midori's voice, Urasato felt that she must be in a dream, for she had feared that the child had been killed by Kambei's beating.

"Are you still alive?" she exclaimed, and caught the child in her arms while tears of joy fell down her pale cheeks.

Hikoroku looked on with a triumphant face, for he was pleased at what he had done.

"Urasato Sama, you must run away, and now that I have saved you both I can't stay here. I, too, shall be tied up and punished for this. I shall run away, too! Well, it is certainly better to escape with you than to remain here. Let us flee together now. Come with me. I must get my purse, however, before I go. Please wait here till I come back with my small savings—then I can help you; don't let anyone find you," and without waiting for Urasato's answer Hikoroku ran into the house.

Urasato and Midori stood clasping each other under the pine tree. They were shaking with cold and fatigue and pain. Suddenly a sound made them look up. Tokijiro suddenly stood before them. He had climbed out on to the roof, and walking round the quadrangle, had reached the spot where they stood and then let himself down by the pine-tree. When the two saw him they started for joy.

"Oh," said Urasato, scarcely able to make herself heard, "how did you get here, Tokijiro?"

"Hush," said Tokijiro, "don't speak so loudly. I have heard and seen all—oh! my poor Urasato, it has caused me much pain to think that you have suffered so much because of me; but in the midst of all this misery there is one thing over which we can rejoice. As soon as I heard what Kambei said about thekakemonoI crept downstairs and into the room he pointed out, and there I found my lord's long-lost picture. Look, here it is! I have it safe at last. The very one drawn by Kanaoka. Someone must have stolen it. I am saved at last—I am thankful. I shall be received back into my lord's service—I owe this to you, and I shall never forget it as long as I live."

Footsteps were heard approaching, Tokijiro hid himself behind a post of the gate. He was only just in time.

Hikoroku came stumbling along across the garden from the other side of the house.

"Here, here, Urasato San, we can now fly together—I have got my money—we can get out by the gate. Wait another moment, I will steal in and get the picture for you."

As soon as Hikoroku had gone again Tokijiro rushed forward, and seizing Urasato and Midori by the hand, hurried them out of the garden. Once outside they felt that they had escaped from the horror and death of the tiger's mouth.

Hikoroku, not being able to find the picture, hastened back to the spot where he had left Urasato, when he ran into O Kaya, who had recovered consciousness, and now picked herself up from the ground somewhat bewildered and wondering what had happened.

"Are you Hikoroku? Are you Hikoroku?" she exclaimed, and caught him in her arms.

Catching sight of her face, Hikoroku cried out with disgust and horror.

"Ya! Avaunt evil! Avaunt devil!"

The three fugitives outside the gate heard Hikoroku's exclamation. Tokijiro caught up Midori and put her on his back. Then he and Urasato taking each other by the hand ran away as fast as they could. The dawn began to break and the birds to sing as they left the dread place behind them. From far and near the crows began to wing their way across the morning sky.

Hithertothe crow of dawnhad parted them—it now united them. Thinking of this, Tokijiro and Urasato looked at each other with eyes brimming over with tears, yet shining with the light of new-born hope.

[1]The Crow of Dawn, orAkegarasu, another name for the story ofUrasato.Akegarasu, literally rendered means "Dawn-Crow." It is an expression which typifies the wrench of parting at daybreak which lovers like Tokijiro and Urasato experience, when dawn comes heralded by the croak of a crow (karasu) flying across the half-lit sky—a sign that the time for the two to separate has come.This story is taken from theGidayuor musical drama, in which the chanter mimes the voices and actions of the many different characters to an accompaniment on thesamisen(guitar or banjo).

This story is taken from theGidayuor musical drama, in which the chanter mimes the voices and actions of the many different characters to an accompaniment on thesamisen(guitar or banjo).

[2]Sama, a title equivalent to Mr. It is a polite term used for both men and women.

[3]This is an allusion to a Chinese story, related in the musical drama, where a poor man of Kantan fell asleep and dreamed that he became Emperor and had all that he could desire.

[4]O is the honorific placed before female names of not more than two syllables.

[5]Onebuwas about twenty-five sen in those days, but the equivalent of more than a yen in the present currency.

[6]Tansu, Japanese chest of drawers.

[7]A hearth sunk in the floor, covered with a grating and framework over which is thrown a quilt under which people sit to warm themselves.

[8]Tekki, the tiny metal bars which form the top of the andirons in a brazier.

[9]Meido, Hades—the abode of the dead.

A story of Faith in Kwannon, the Manifestation of Mercy (popularly known as the Goddess of Mercy)

N.B.—The Amida Buddha of the Shinshu sects of Japanese Buddhism is the only Deity, and the Original and the Unoriginated Buddha, Lord of Boundless Life and Light. Amida promises to all, who with full trust and confidence draw near and invoke His name, the safe Heaven of freedom from sin and evil.

KWANNONis the Embodiment of Amida's Compassion, capable of manifestation in many shapes for purposes of practical succour. He is never manifested except for a suffering creation.

The late Professor Lloyd says that it is a mistake to speak of Kwannon as a female deity, that he is the son of Amida, capable of appearing in many forms, male or female, human or animal, according to circumstances.See "Shinran and his Work" (Lloyd, p. 21).

The shrine of Tsubosaka, where this popular story is placed, has been celebrated for answers to prayers from ancient times. Tradition relates that when the fiftieth Emperor Kwammu lived in the capital of Nara, he was smitten with eye trouble. The head priest, Doki Shonin, of the Tsubosaka shrine offered up prayers to Kwannon, the Manifestation of Mercy, for one hundred and seven days for the Emperor's recovery. The prayer was efficacious and His Majesty's sight was restored. Since that time Tsubosaka has been known as a holy place to which pilgrims journey to pray for blessings and especially for health in time of illness.

In a certain village in the province of Yamato in Japan, close by the hill of Tsubo, there lived a blind man named Sawaichi and his wife, O Sato.

Sawaichi was a honest, good-natured fellow, who earned a bare living by giving lessons on thekoto[1]andsamisen.[2]

O Sato was a faithful loving woman, who by washing and sewing, and such odd work, earned many an honest penny towards the maintenance of their poor little home.

For some time things had not gone well with the couple; they were growing poorer and poorer, and even the joyful singing of birds, and the sound of the temple bell, near by, emphazised their own wretchedness, and filled their souls with melancholy.

One morning Sawaichi got out hissamisen, and striking some chords, began to play.

"Oh, Sawaichi San, what are you doing?" said O Sato, "I am glad to see that you feel in better spirits to-day. It is good to hear you play thesamisenagain," and she laughed as cheerfully as she could.

"Oh, oh, O Sato, do I look as if I were playing thesamisenfor amusement? Indeed, I am in no such mood. I am so depressed that I wish I could die. Nay, I am so choked with trouble that I feel as if I were going to die. Now, O Sato, I have something to say that I have been brooding over for a long time, so please sit down and listen to me."

O Sato sank softly on the mats near Sawaichi, and as she looked at the blind man, trying tenderly and carefully to divine what was troubling him, she saw that he was unusually moved, and the tears of pity rose to her eyes.

Sawaichi cleared his throat, after waiting for a moment, and then went on:

"How rapid is the passing of time. The proverb is true that 'Time flies like an arrow.' Three years have passed since our marriage, and I have meant to ask you this many times, O Sato! Why do you hide your secret from me so long? We have been betrothed since our youth upward, and we know each other well. There is no need of secrecy between us. Why not tell me your secret frankly?"

O Sato stared at him helplessly. She could not in the least understand what was the meaning of these mysterious words. At last she said, hesitatingly:

"Whatever is the matter with you to-day, Sawaichi San? What are you talking about? I don't in the least understand. In the whole of our married life I have never had any secret to keep from you. If you find anything in me that does not please you, tell me, and I will try to mend. Is not this the way between husband and wife?"

"Well, then," said Sawaichi, "I will tell you all since you ask me."

"Tell me everything," said O Sato, "whatever it is that is troubling you. I cannot bear to think that you are unhappy," and she drew closer to her poor blind husband.

"Oh, oh, O Sato, I will tell you all—I cannot bear it longer. It hurts me. Listen carefully! We have been married just three years now. Every night between three and four o'clock I awake, and stretch out my arms to you as you lie in your bed, but I have never been able to find you, not even once. I am only a poor blind fellow and smallpox has disfigured me hopelessly. It is quite natural that you cannot love such an ugly creature as myself. I do not blame you for this. But if you will only tell me plainly that you love another, I will not be angry with you, only tell me! I have often heard people say, 'O Sato is a beautiful woman!' It is, therefore, natural that you should have a lover. I am resigned to my fate and shall not be jealous, therefore tell me the truth—it will be a relief to know it."

It was a pitiful sight to see the afflicted man, for though he spoke quietly and with evident resignation, yet the despair in his heart caused the tears to overflow his sightless eyes.

O Sato could not bear to see her husband racked by these terrible doubts. His words pierced her heart with pain. She clung to him sorrowfully.

"Oh, Sawaichi San! how cruel your suspicions are'! However low and mean I may be, do you think that I am the kind of woman to leave you for another man? You are too unjust to say such things. As you know, my father and mother died when I was a child, and my uncle, your father, brought us up together. You were just three years older than I. While we were thus growing up as boy and girl together, you took smallpox and became blind, alas! and your misfortunes accumulating, you were reduced to poverty. But even so, once betrothed, I will go through fire and water with you, and nothing shall ever part us. Not only do I feel that we are united till death, but it has been my one great hope to cure your blindness. To this end, ever since we were wedded, I have risen with the dawn and left the room stealthily, not wishing to disturb you. Thinking nothing of the steep mountain road, I have climbed to the top of Tsubosaka every morning before it was light to pray to Kwannon Sama to restore your sight. Lately I have felt disappointed with Kwannon Sama, for my prayer is never answered, though I have prayed earnestly for three years, rising before the dawn to climb to her temple on the hill. Knowing nothing of all this you condemn me as being faithless to you. It makes me angry, Sawaichi San!" and here poor O Sato burst into tears and sobbed aloud.

Sawaichi realized how false his suspicions had been, and how unworthy they were of his devoted wife. At first he could not speak but stammered pitifully. At last he found his voice and burst out:

"Oh, my wife, my wife! I will say nothing more. I have talked nonsense like the poor blind fellow that I am. Forgive me, forgive me! How could I know what was in your heart?" and here he joined his hands together, raising them in a gesture of entreaty, and then, with his sleeve, wiped away the tears from his eyes.

"Ah—no, no—not this! Do not ask pardon of your own wife, it is too much!" said O Sato, in distress. "I can face even death if your doubts are dispelled."

"The more you say, the more I am ashamed before you. Though you pray so earnestly, O Sato, my eyes will never recover their sight."

"What are you saying? Oh! what are you saying?" exclaimed O Sato. "It is only for you that I have borne all this, walking barefoot to the Shrine of Kwannon Sama every day for three years, thinking nothing of the wind or snow or frosts these wintry dawns."

"I am, indeed, grateful to you for your devotion. But as I harboured suspicions of you for a long time, thinking evil of your good, even if I pray, my prayers to Kwannon can only be rewarded by punishment, and my eyesight will never be restored."

"No, no, Sawaichi San, do not say such things," answered O Sato. "My body is the same as your body. Talk nonsense no more, but control your mind with firmness and come with me to Kwannon Sama and let us pray together."

Sawaichi rose from the mats, the tears falling from his eyes.

"Oh, my good wife, I am indeed grateful to you. If you are so determined I will follow. It is said that the grace of Buddha can make a dead tree to blossom. My eyes are like a dead tree ... oh, oh, if only they might blossom into sight! But though I am a great sinner ... who knows? Perhaps in the next world? .. Now my wife, lead me as ever by the hand!"

O Sato busied herself opening thetansuand getting out Sawaichi's best clothes. She helped him to change, speaking encouraging words the while. Then they set out together and climbed the steep ascent of Tsubosaka, Sawaichi leaning on the staff in his right hand.

The couple at last reached the temple, breathless after the hard climb.

"Here we are, Sawaichi San," said O Sato, "we have come to the temple, we are now before the gate ... though prayer and devotion are important in the recovery of health, they say illness is often due to nerves. If you allow yourself to be so low-spirited, your eyes will only grow worse. Therefore, at such a time, how would it be for you to sing some song to cheer yourself?"

"Yes, yes, O Sato, as you say, anxious brooding over my troubles is not good for my eyes. I will sing some song."

Then beating time with his stick tapping the ground, he began to hum:

"Chin—chin—tsu: chin—chin: tsu—chin—chin—tsu," tinkling in imitation of thesamisen.

Sawaichi cleared his throat and began to sing:

Is suffering the cause of love?Or love the cause of suffering?My love must vanish like the dew ...

Aita ... ta ... ta ...

The words of the song were suddenly broken by a cry of pain as Sawaichi entered the gate of the temple and tripped on a stone.

"Oh, dear, I nearly fell over that stone ... I have forgotten the rest of the song ... what does it matter now ... ho—ho—ho," and he laughed to himself strangely and softly.

They had by this time come to the main temple and stood outside, O Sato gazing at the altar where Amida Buddha and Kwannon, the Manifestation of Mercy, reigned above the lotus flowers in the fragrant mists of incense.

"Sawaichi San, we have now come to Kwannon Sama."

"Oh, indeed! Are we already there?" answered Sawaichi, "how grateful I am!" then turning his sightless face towards the altar he lifted beseeching hands, and bowing his head reverently, he repeated the Buddhist invocation:

"Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Dai Butsu!" (All hail, Great Buddha!)

"Listen, Sawaichi," said O Sato, earnestly, "this night let us stay together here and pray through the night without ceasing."

Then they both began to pray. The chanting of their supplication rose up clearly in the stillness of the evening hour, and it seemed as if the sand of Tsubosaka might become the golden streets of Paradise.

Suddenly Sawaichi stopped and clutched hold of his wife.

"O Sato," he said, "I must tell you the truth. I cannot believe. I came simply because it was your wish. But I shall never recover my sight, of that I feel sure."

"Why do you say such sad things?" answered O Sato, clasping her hands. "Listen! When the Emperor Kwammu was in Nara, the ancient capital, he suffered with his eyes as you do. Then he prayed to Kwannon Sama and in a short time he was healed. Therefore, pray without ceasing. Kwannon will make no difference between the Emperor and ourselves, though we are as poor as worms. Believers must be patient and go forward slowly, and with quiet minds trust devoutly in the mercy of Kwannon. So great is his benevolence that He hears all prayers. Worship! Pray! Sawaichi San! Pray! instead of wasting time in vain talk."

Sawaichi, turning his sightless face towards the altar, repeated the Buddhist invocation "Namu Amida Butsu."

Thus did O Sato encourage her husband. Sawaichi nodded his head and replied:

"What you say is convincing. From to-night I will fast for three days. You must return home, shut up the house and come again. The next three days will decide my fate, whether I recover or not."

"Oh," said O Sato, joyfully, "now you speak wisely. I will go back at once and arrange everything for a three days' absence. But," she added anxiously, "Sawaichi San, remember that this mountain is very steep, and higher up one comes to the top, which falls on the right into a deep precipice. On no account must you leave the temple!"

"Oh, no, never fear, I will put my arms round Kwannon to-night—ho, ho, ho!" and he laughed to himself.

O Sato, never dreaming of what was in her husband's mind, hurried homewards, blissfully content, thinking that her yearning hopes were realized and that he at last believed.

Sawaichi listened to her retreating footsteps. When he could hear them no more, he knew himself to be alone. He fell flat to the earth and cried aloud in the bitterness and darkness of his soul.

"Oh! my wife, you will never know how grateful I am to you for all your devotion to me these long years. Though gradually reduced to the straits of poverty, you have never once lost sympathy with me. You have faithfully loved such a miserable blind wretch as myself. Alas! knowing nothing of what was in your heart I even doubted your fidelity. Forgive me, O Sato. Forgive me! If we part now we may never meet again. Oh, the pity of it!"

Sawaichi lay on the ground and gave vent to the pent-up misery in his heart. After a few minutes he raised a despairing face and said aloud:

"I will not grieve any more. O Sato has prayed devoutly for three years, and yet Kwannon gives no sign of hearing her supplication. What is the use of living any longer? There is only one thing I can do to show my gratitude to you, O Sato! and that is to die and set you free. May you live long, O Sato! and make a happy second marriage! Now, I remember that O Sato told me that there was a deep precipice on the right at the top of the hill. That is the best place for me to die. If I die in this holy place, I may hope to be saved in the next world. Lucky it is that the night is far gone, and that there is no one about ... oh, oh!"

With these words Sawaichi rose to his feet. The temple bell, the last before the dawn, rang out in the silence. Sawaichi knew that there was no time to lose. Groping his way with his stick he hastened to the top of the hill. Stopping to listen, he heard the sound of distant water flowing in the valley beneath. In his distraught state of mind it sounded to him like a call from Buddha. With the prayer "Namu Amida Butsu!" on his lips, he planted his stick on the edge of the hill, and with a desperate leap threw himself out as far as he could over the side of the abyss. For a few moments the sound of the body crashing through the trees and undergrowth was heard as it fell in its progress of increasing impetus down the precipice: gradually growing fainter and fainter, the noise at last altogether ceased; then all was still on the lonely mountain side.

Knowing nothing of all this, O Sato was hurrying back to her husband, slipping and stumbling along the familiar road in her anxiety to get to him quickly. At last she reached the temple and looked round eagerly. Sawaichi was nowhere to be seen.

"Sawaichi San!" she called again and again. "Sawaichi San!"

Receiving no answer to her repeated cries she hunted round the temple courtyard, but with no result. Becoming fearful of what might have befallen him, she called louder than before:

"Sawaichi San! Sawaichi San!"

Running distractedly from the temple precincts, she hastened to the crest of the hill, and there she tripped over her husband's stick. She now knew what he had done. Frantically she rushed to the precipice and gazed far down into the abyss beneath. There in the grey light of the breaking dawn she could see the lifeless form of her husband stretched upon the ground.

"Oh! what shall I do? This is too dreadful!" she cried aloud in her anguish. Her body trembled in a paroxysm of pain. She called to her husband, but only the mountain echoes answered her.

"Oh, my husband, my husband! You are too cruel—too cruel! Only with the hope of saving you from blindness did I persevere in prayer for so long to Kwannon Sama. Alas! what will become of me, now that you have left me alone? Now I remember there was something strange in your manner when you sang that sad song coming up the hill. It may be that you had already made up your mind to die. But how could I know? Oh! Sawaichi San, if only I had known I would never have persuaded you to come to this place. Forgive me, oh, forgive me! There is no such miserable woman in the world as myself. No one but God could know that Death would separate us now. Blind man as you are, who cannot see in this world, how will you travel alone amidst the dark shadows down the road of Death? Who will lead you by the hand now? I feel as if I could see you wandering and groping there all by yourself."

Heartbrokenly she sobbed for some time. At last she shook herself with resolution; then raised her tear-stained face to the seemingly unresponsive heaven above.

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