Of a Promise Broken
About the Hour of the Ox she heard, outside in the night, the clanging of a bell — a Buddhist pilgrim's bell — and she wondered what pilgrim could be passing through the Samurai quarter at such a time.
Presently, after a pause, the bell sounded much nearer. Evidently the pilgrim was approaching the house; but why from the rear, where no road was? Suddenly the dogs began to whine and howl in an unusual and horrible way, and a fear came upon her like the fear of dreams. That ringing was certainly in the garden. She tried to get up to waken a servant. But she found that she could not rise, could not move, could not call...
And nearer, and still more near, came the clang of the bell; and oh! how the dogs howled!
Then, lightly as a shadow steals, there glided into the room a Woman — though every door stood fast, and every screen unmoved — a Woman robed in a grave-robe and carrying a pilgrim's bell. Eyeless she came, because she had long been dead, and her loosened hair streamed down about her face. She looked without eyes through the tangle of it, and spoke without a tongue:
"Not in this house, — not in this house shall you stay! Here I am mistress still!"
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