its scores of lanterns, its wax lights
blazing on the lamp-stands. At the sides and in each corner were placed
the scrolls of the holy _sutra_. Kwaiba in despair sought a sleep which
would not favour him. "Some one walks in the corridor.... Namu Amida
Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu!... Kibei! Kibei!" The appeal to the man would
bring quicker response than that to the Buddha. Indeed there was a
sound, as of hair rubbing across the paper screens, of some one or
something trying to peer through the opaque material. There was a rattle
and dash of rain. A gust swept through the corridor, the _sho[u]ji_
slightly parted. Kwaiba gave a shriek--"O'Iwa! O'Iwa San! Ah! The
bloated face, the drooping eyelid, the corpse taint in the air. It
catches Kwaiba's throat. O'Iwa the O'Bake would force away Kwaiba the
living. Ha! Ha!" A stronger gust, and the _sho[u]ji_ dislodged from its
groove whirled round and fell noisily into the room. Terror gave
strength to the sick man. Kwaiba sprang madly forward. It was horrible
to see the ghastly renovation of this tottering, flabby, emaciated man,
who yet inspired the fear of a maniac's reckless strength. The
frightened women huddled and crouched in the now darkened room, lit but
by a single _andon_ near the alcove. Was Kwaiba mad? As the men fought
over the ruins of the _sho[u]ji_, in the darkness of the corridor, at
first faint as a mist, then distinctly seen, the women were assured of
the presence of O'Iwa. In long black robe, face wide and bloated, of a
livid greenish tint, hair in wild disorder, bulging forehead, swollen
eyeless lids, she stood over the struggling men. Suddenly she thrust the
severed head she carried into the face of Kwaiba, leering horribly at
him the while. With a yell he fell flat on his back. The braver entered
with lights. All gathered round the unconscious Kwaiba.

This scene was the crisis of his disorder. The disease, once dormant,
now fell on him suddenly and with full force. Perhaps these mental
symptoms were its first indication. More annoying to his comfort, ulcers
broke out all over his body. The itching drove the man nearly frantic.
His mad scratching spread the sores. The boils developed. They ran with
pus. So terrible was the stench that few would stay by him. The women
fled the room in terror, driven away by the running stream of physical
corruption, the continual babble of lewdness from the corrupt mind. He
soon noted their absence. Kibei, attended by the sturdy an