ei was greatly angered. He was easily irritated in these days. The
delay in the rites almost maddened him. Would old Kwaiba--his father
Ito[u] Inkyo[u]--never be got out of men's sight? Out of Kibei's sight?

That night Myo[u]zen sat alone in his quarters. Somewhat shaken, he was
ashamed and regretful at thought of his unseemly curiosity of the
afternoon. The priests of Denzuin had regarded him with covert amusement
and repulsion. He had noted one passing the sleeve of his robe over his
lips. Myo[u]zen explained the incident by more than usual weariness.
They condoled with him, and made horrified gestures of ill-disguised
glee when they thought his attention was elsewhere. In his present
privacy the scene at the grave came back to mind again and again. "Ah!
Ah! If this Myo[u]zen had not looked. The Inkyo[u]'s face was terrible.
Myo[u]zen cannot put it from mind." He glanced at the pages of the sutra
lying before him. He turned them over. He knew they spoke of the
horribleness of death; but what was the cold script to the actuality? It
was no use, the attempt to read. Kwaiba's face interposed. "Oh! That
salute! The very idea of that terrible salute, the contact with
corruption!" He was as if plunged in an icy bath. He started nervously.
It was but rain dashing against the _amado_, rattling and twisting in
the gale. He could not sleep. That night he would watch. The fire was
hot in the _hibachi_ (brazier). He went to the closet to get some tea.
On opening it he sprang back with a shout of alarm, to lean trembling
and quivering in every limb huddled against the wall. "Namu Myo[u]ho[u]
Renge Kyo[u]! Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]!" One character of the
wondrous formula secured pardon and safety to the believer in that
paradise of Amida which Myo[u]zen was in no great haste to visit.
Shivering as with a chill intently he watched the animal as it glided
along the edge of the room, to disappear into the shadows. He shrugged
his shoulders wearily. A rat had frightened him almost out of his wits!
His heart beat tumultuously, almost to suffocation; then it seemed to
cease altogether; to resume its wild career.

Hardly was he again seated, his hand on the kettle--don--don, don--don,
don, don, don. Some one was violently knocking on the door. Myo[u]zen
sprang up. Approaching the _amado_ with silent step he eyed the bolts:
"All secure." Snatching up a stake close by he jammed it in between
floor and crosspiece. Leaning heavily on the