He lifted her face and kissed her lips, her eyes, then her little, trembling hands.
“This is love—and this, and this.”
Later they came to a hidden path arched on either side by the drooping bamboos. The moon was above them, making a silver pathway for their feet.
“Whither do we go?” she tremulously whispered.
“I know the way,” said he, gently leading her onward.
They came to an open space, a narrow field. And on the grass, the winds, gently blowing, moved back and forth in the moonlight strange wisps of white paper.
“It is the Path of Prayer,” said Koma.
She understood, and was dumb with the thrilling of her emotions.
“Here,” he said, “the Goddess of Mercy walks nightly. Though we are no longer sad, let us leave our prayer here among these sad petitions for her to read.”
“Yes,” she said, “and we will pray to Kuannon for those less fortunate than we.”