herself in the Warigesui. The body must be found and buried.
Memorial services are to be recited, for one dying without relatives or
friends (_segaki_)." The virtuous resolution was the outcome of his
meditation and glances into the many graveyards passed in his progress
through the temple-lined street. It was a beautiful street, with its
overhanging trees, its open spaces populated by the many dead, its
temples gorgeous in red and gilding amid the dark green of pine and
cedar. Iemon on this night had to hasten his steps. Rain threatened.
Gusts of wind came sharply from this side and that, driving the first
drops of the coming storm. He reached home just as it broke with all its
fury.

To O'Hana he would say nothing of Kwaiba's mission. On her remarking on
the lateness of the hour, he made answer that the old man was out of
sorts. Kibei was too robust a bottle companion for a man reaching toward
his seventieth year. No matter how vigorous, Kwaiba's wine was showing
on him. The two prepared for bed. O'Hana listened as the rain dashed in
streams against the _amado_, as if trying to break its way in. She gave
a little chuckle--"Who would have thought it!"--"What?" asked Iemon,
perhaps a little tartly. He was nervous. O'Hana laughed--"That Iemon and
this Hana should be where they now are. Their parting was on a night
like this. Ah! At seeing a man weep Hana could have retired into a
cave--forever. Only the fortunate accident of a drunken _yakunin_
(constable) as guest enabled her to give warning.... And now! Once more
united Iemon and this Hana live in luxury. Every wish is gratified.
Thanks for the past which contained this meeting in its womb; thanks for
the present in which happiness is secured:

'Losing one's way, again roads meet!
The hill of flowers.'"[27]

A terrific gust struck the rain-doors. They bent and cracked before
the force of the gale. The vivid white of lightning showed that one door
had been forced from its groove. Iemon rose and replaced it. As he
turned away suddenly the room was plunged in darkness. Said the voice of
O'Hana--"The light of the _andon_ has gone out. Oya! Oya! The lights in
the Butsudan (altar) are lit. And yet this Hana extinguished them."
Grumbled Iemon--"The wind has blown out the light in the _andon_.
Doubtless a spark was left in the wick of the altar light. Fire is to be
dreaded; great care should be taken in extinguishing the light." As he
relit the light in the night