“What shall I do?” he asked himself. “I fear I have been too rash. Had I followed my master’s advice I should not be in this plight. It is only what I deserve.”
Plodding on Kyūsuké was overjoyed after a time to observe a glimmer of light in the distance. Taking heart at this sign of a dwelling of some kind, he bent his weary steps toward it, and by and by came to a tumble-down cottage which appeared to be the only habitation for miles around. Kyūsuké went up to the door and called for admittance.
“Be good enough to show favour to a stranger! I am very sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but have lost my way and cannot find the road. Please let me in and tell me how to get to the nearest inn.”
The door opened and a woman appeared. She was about thirty and poorly dressed and her coiffure was of a mean style, but there was something in her person that seemed to contradict the idea that her birth was as low as her surroundings.
“Come in,” she said. “But you must not stay. I am indeed sorry for you, for you stand in the middle of one of Shinano’s many moors. Whichever way you turn you must walk about five ri before you come to another house.”
Kyūsuké being very tired requested the woman to give him a night’s lodging, but she shook her head.
“Why did you come here?”
“I have told you; I lost my way and I saw a light. You cannot be so inhuman as to refuse me shelter for a few hours,—I ask no more.”
“You will not want to stay when I tell you that this is the house of a robber—a highwayman.”
“A robber!” Kyūsuké thinking of his treasure was alarmed. “Excuse me, I must go on at once.”