the love of a man. All is granted him; body and
goods. Iemon sells Hana for a street harlot. Out with him! Help!... Ah!
Kwaiba aids--in all his rottenness. How horrible he is--huge vacant eye
holes, the purple whitish flesh gnawed and eaten.... Ugh! He stinks!...
Nay! 'Tis not Kwaiba. 'Tis Cho[u]bei: Cho[u]bei the leper, who would
embrace this Hana. Iemon comes. There is murder in his eye--for Hana to
see, not Cho[u]bei. Away! Away!... Again, there she comes!" She grasped
the nurse's arm, and pointed to the just lighted _andon_ which barely
relieved the shadows of the darkening night; was it the woman's
imagination? By the light, dimly outlined; sat O'Iwa San. Her hair hung
down around face and body half turned aside. The bulging forehead, the
puffed eyelids, were not to be mistaken. The woman shook off the sick
girl's hand and fled the house. Iemon did not try to prevent her. He was
as one paralyzed. He, too, had seen, and was convinced.

To watch through the night was the task of the anxious and wearied man.
In the day a _yakunin_ had come, with formal notice to attend next day
the office of Katada Tatewaki Dono. His lordship had an inquiry to make.
The summons was not to be disregarded, no matter what his own
exigencies. O'Hana had dropped into a cataleptic state. As the eighth
hour (1 A.M.) approached he thought to clear brain and body by the rest
of a few moments. His head had barely touched the pillow when sleep
followed. The bell of Gwansho[u]ji struck the hour. It roared and
reverberated through Tamiya. Iemon awoke; an oppression like suffocation
pervaded his whole body. Opening his eyes they stared into the wide
white flat face of O'Iwa. Her eyes were now alive, darting gleams of
fire deep from within the puffed and swollen lids. He felt her wild
disordered hair sweeping his face as she swayed a little, still
retaining her post and clutch on his bosom--"Iemon knows Iwa now! Hana
knows Iwa now! Sworn to seize and kill both for seven births--come! Now
it is that Iwa completes her vengeance." As she shook and pressed on him
he came gradually out of his sleep. With a shout he cast her backwards.
Springing up he grasped the sword at his pillow. Madly he dealt blow
after blow on the body before him. To the groans he replied by fresh
blows.

An uproar without called him to himself. Don--don--don, don, don, don.
There was knocking at the gate. Iemon hastily trimmed up the wick of the
lamp. He leaned over the body. O'H