knew that she must be prepared for the worst. It was not easy to face what she now believed to threaten her. For years past she had held, beyond challenge or doubt, the first place in Genji’s affections—had been the centre of all his plans and contrivings. To see herself ousted by a stranger from a place which long use had taught her to regard as her own by inalienable right—such was the ordeal for which she now began silently to prepare herself. He would not, of course, abandon her altogether; of that she was sure. But the very fact that they had for so many years lived together on terms of daily intimacy and shared so many trifling experiences made her, she felt, in a way less interesting to him. So she speculated, sometimes thinking that all was indeed lost, sometimes that the whole thing was her fancy and nothing whatever was amiss. In his general conduct towards her there was not anything of which she could reasonably complain. But there were from time to time certain vague indications that he was not in the best of tempers, and these were enough whenever they occurred to convince her that she was undone for good and all,—though she showed no outward sign of the despair which had now settled upon her. Genji, meanwhile, spent much of his time in the front[1] of the house and was also frequently at the Emperor’s Palace. His leisure was employed in writing endless letters. Murasaki wondered how she could have ever doubted the rumours that were now rampant throughout the Court. If only he would tell, give even the slightest hint of what was in these days passing through his mind!
Winter drew on, and at last the eleventh month came round. But this year there were none of the usual religious festivals and processions[2] to distract him, and Genji became
