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‘Alas!’ he cried, ‘how can I stay here any longer? My mother will be weeping and wringing her hands, and my father bowing his old head in grief. I must go back this very day.’

So, towards evening, he sought the Princess, his bride, and said sadly:

‘Alas! alas! you have been so kind to me and I have been so very, very happy, that I have forgotten and neglected my parents for three whole days. They will think I am dead and will weep for me. I must say farewell and leave you.’

Then the Princess wept and besought him to remain with her.

‘Beloved!’ he protested, ‘in our land of Japan there is no crime so terrible as the crime of faithlessness to one’s parents. I cannot face that, and you would not have me do it. Yet it will break my heart to leave you–break my heart–break my heart! I must go, beloved, but only for one day; then I will return to you.’

‘Alas!’ cried the Princess, ‘what can we do? You must act as your heart guides you. I would give the whole world to keep you with me just one more day. But I know it cannot be. I know something of your land and your love of your parents. I will await your return: you will be gone only one day. It will be a long day for me, but, when it is over, and you have told your parents all, you will find a tortoise waiting for you by the seashore, and you will know that tortoise: it is the same that will take you back to your parents–for one day!’

‘Oh, my beloved! How can I leave you? But—-‘

‘But you must. Wait! I have something to give you before you go.’

The Princess left him hastily and soon returned with a golden casket, set with pearls and tied about with a green ribbon made from the floating seaweed.

‘Take it,’ said she.

‘After all your other gifts?’ said he, feeling rather ashamed.

‘You saved my life,’ said she. ‘You are my life, and all I have is yours. That casket contains all. When you go up to the dry land you must always have this box with you, but you must never open it till you return to me. If you do–alas! alas, for you and me!’

‘I promise, I promise. I will never open it till I return to you.’ Urashima went on his bended knee as he said these words.

‘Farewell!’

‘Farewell!’

Urashima was then conducted to the gate by the court officials, led by the dolphin. There the royal sturgeon blew a loud whistle, and presently a large tortoise came up. As Urashima mounted on its back, it averted its head as if to conceal its eyes. Perhaps it had a reason. And for that same identical reason Urashima sat on its back stolidly, and never a word spoken.

Down they went into the deep, green sea, and then up into the blue. For miles and miles and miles they sped along, until they came to the coast of Japan. There Urashima stepped ashore, answered the wistful eyes of the tortoise with a long, lingering gaze of love, and hastened inland.

The tortoise plunged back into the sea, and Urashima was left on the land with a sense of sadness.

He looked about him, recognising the old landmarks. Then he went up into the village; but, as he went, he noticed with some surprise that everything seemed wonderfully changed. The hills were the same, and, in a way, the village was familiar, but the people who passed him on the road were not those he had known three days ago. Surely three short days would leave him exactly where he stood before he went. Three days could never produce this change. He was at a loss to understand it. People he did not know–strangers in the village, he supposed–passed him by as if he were a complete stranger. Some of them turned and looked at him as one would look at a newcomer. Furthermore, he noticed that the slender trees of three days since were now giant monarchs of the wayside.