"See how childish she still is," remarked Shiônagon.
"Why are you so timid, little one, come here and sleep on my knees," said Genji.
"Go, my child, as you are asked," observed Shiônagon, and she pushed her towards Genji.
Half-unconsciously she took her place by his side. He pushed aside a small shawl which covered her hair, and played with her long tresses, and then he took her small hand in his. "Ah, my hand!" cried she, and drawing it back, she ran into a neighboring room. Genji followed her, and tried to coax her out of her shyness, telling her that he was one of her best friends, and that she was not to be so timid.
By this time darkness had succeeded to the beautiful evening, and hail began to fall.
"Close the casement, it is too fearful, I will watch over you this evening," said Genji, as he led the girl away, to the great surprise of Shiônagon and others who wondered at his ease in doing this.
By and by she became sleepy, and Genji, as skilfully as any nurse could, removed all her outer clothing, and placed her on the couch to sleep, telling her as he sat beside her, "some day you must come with me to some beautiful palace, and there you shall have as many pictures and playthings as you like." Many other similar remarks he added to arrest her attention and to please her.
Her fears gradually subsided, and as she kept looking on the handsome face of Genji, and taking notice of his kindness, she did not fall asleep for some time.
When the night was advanced, and the hailstorm had passed away, Genji at last took his departure. The temperature now suddenly changed, and the hail was lying white upon the grass. "Can it be," thought he, "that I am leaving this place as a lover?" At that moment he remembered that the house of a maiden with whom he had had an acquaintance was on his road home. When he came near to it he ordered one of his attendants to knock at the door. No one, however, came forth. Thereupon Genji turned to another, who had a remarkably good voice, and ordered him to sing the following lines:—
"Though wandering in the morning gray,
This gate is one I cannot pass,
A tender memory bids me stay
To see once more a pretty lass."