Noon
Umè-ko 's kirigirisu which , some weeks before , she had released from its cage , had , as if in gratitude made a home among the lichens of the big plum tree . Umè believed that she always knew its voice from among the rest , no matter how full the chorus of silver chiming . She had gone back to her room , and sat now , in the centre of it , staring toward the garden . Noon had crept upon it , devouring all shadow . Her eyes saw little but the golden blur . A fusuma opened softly , and two women , Mata and the attendant seamstress , came mincing and smirking toward her , each with an armful of white silk . Umè rose like an automaton .