but it seemed to the ronin that he could figure them out in advance and that he felt instinctively the direction from which each came. He combated the furious fiend heroically and inflicted upon it many a grievous wound with his sword; for his right hand was entirely free and his left helped at least in guarding. Nevertheless he himself suffered more than one wound, and in the heat of combat becoming careless, finally was so bound up in the cobweb that upon being thrown to the ground he could not rise again.
He fell, however, under the blessing hand of Buddha, and the Goblin Spider did not seem to have enough strength to continue the fight. With wideopen eyes the ronin observed it as wading in its own blood it crawled out of the temple. With every movement it left on the floor a bloody imprint of its body and feet; and its blood was purple. The lights went out and the ronin, feeling extraordinarily at ease though physically bound, fell into a deep sleep, in which he dreamt that he had attained his end and worn out the anger in his heart.
The sun arose and the birds started to sing in the temple garden, where for long years no bird’s song had resounded. The knight recovered from his stupor and looked around the interior of the temple in wonder, recalling the happenings of the foregoing afternoon and night one after the other. He did not command a complete view of the space in the middle of which he was lying, being so much entangled in that ghostly net that he could hardly raise his head to look at the big drum by the side of the altar. It was out of the question: for him to beat upon it; but without the signal agreed upon the villagers would never venture even to the spot to which the loquacious muraosa had escorted him, much less through the thickets to the yard, unseen by human eyes for three years. Without that signal he would be condemned to a slow and horrible death of hunger, thirst, and loss of blood; and only at this thought did the ronin notice that the blood long since pad ceased to flow from his wounds, which under the cobwebs had not only closed, but even healed. Only small scars remained after them, and they looked like a text of the sacred sutras. The ronin allowed his weary head to sink again to the floor, and raised his eyes to the blessing Shaka Muni. It seemed to him that the statue was smiling graciously at him, and feeling a great calm and extraordinary content in his heart, he resigned himself to his ingwa. Happen what would, one thing was sure: his soul was entirely free of the hatred that formerly had blinded him, which for years he had endeavored to drive out of his heart. His features were composed, his glance clean and bright.
Thereupon immense beautiful butterflies appeared in the temple,
