.dt The Wooing of Wistaria, by Onoto Watanna--A Project Gutenberg eBook
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ONOTO WATANNA
(<i>Fac-simile of author’s autograph in Japanese.</i>)
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[Illustration: ONOTO WATANNA<br>
(Fac-simile of author’s autograph in Japanese.)]
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<I><B><fs=2em>THE</fs>|<fs=3em>WOOING</fs>|<fs=2em>OF</fs>|<fs=3em>WISTARIA</fs></B></I>
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BY
ONOTO
WATANNA
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<fs=2em><I><B>NEW YORK & LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS
PUBLISHERS MCMII</B></I></fs>
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Copyright, 1902, by <sc>Harper & Brothers</sc>.

<i>All rights reserved.</i>

Published September, 1902.
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[Illustration:
THE WOOING
OF
WISTARIA
]
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[Illustration: Decoration]
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[Illustration: <i>A LOVE STORY OF JAPAN</i>]
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I
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HEN
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WHEN
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after a life that had never
lacked variety the Lady Wistaria
came to the years of tranquility,
she was wont to say,
with the philosophy that follows
dangerous times: “No one, man
or maid, ever really began to
live before the time to which the
first memory reverts.”
.pi
The first recollection of the
Lady Wistaria goes back to an
earlier childhood than that of
most mortals. This she ascribed
to its terrible and awful
import. She could scarcely do
more than move with the uncertain
direction of babyhood, when
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her father, always now in her memory as
gaunt, lean, haggard, tall, had taken her upon
a long journey. They had travelled partly by
kurumaya, and, towards the end, on foot.
That is, her father had walked, carrying her
on high in his arms.

When they halted at Yedo they stood amid
a vast concourse of people, who remained
silent and respectful against the background
of the buildings, while in the centre of the
road marched steadily and pompously a great
glittering pageant.

Wistaria had clapped her hands with glee
and delight at the mass of color, the glimmer
of shield and breastplate, the prancing, snorting
horses. But her father suddenly had raised
an enormous hand and in a moment had
stopped her delight. Wistaria lapsed into an
acute silence.

Instantly she was awakened from her painful
apathy by her father, who moved her higher
in his arms, and turned her head slowly
about with one hand, while with the other he
pointed to a shining personage reclining in
a palanquin borne high on the shoulders of
ten stout-legged attendants.

“My daughter,” said her father’s hollow
voice in her ear, “yonder rides the man who
killed your mother. It is through his crime
that you are orphaned and have no mother
to care for you and love you. Look at him
well! Hush! Do not weep or shake with
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fear, but turn your eyes upon him. Look at
him! Look! Look! Yonder rides your mother’s
murderer. Do not forget his face as long
as you live. It is your duty to remember
it!”

Whereupon Wistaria, who, in obedience
to her father’s commands, had stared with
wide eyes fixedly at the reclining noble, set
up a most extraordinary cry. It was unlike
that of a little child—a wild, wailing
shriek, so weird and piteous that the by-standers
started in horror and fear. The
noble raised himself lazily on his elbow, staring
across the heads of all, until his eyes
rested upon the man with the child held on
high. He fell back with an uneasy shrug
of the shoulders.

That was the Lady Wistaria’s oldest memory.
There were others, but none so vivid as
this, the first of all. Even later, when she had
ceased to be a child, she had been unable to
pierce the mystery of her father’s life, or indeed
her own.

One half of her earlier years had been spent
in a small, whitewashed cottage, built on the
crest of a little wind-blown hill, far enough removed
from the dwellings in the village below
to be entirely cut off from them.

There was a touch of the uncanny and
weird about the little village, whose slender
streets, ascending and descending, zigzagging
up and down, disappeared among hillocks
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and bluffs, though built in reality in the
hollow outskirts of a flourishing city at the
foot of a small chain of mountains. Though
the land here was green and beautiful at all
times of the year, there came no one from the
great city beyond to this solitary settlement,
whose inhabitants bore the impress of toil,
pain, and oppression.

Why her father, who, she had been told,
was of noble blood, resided here on this hill-top,
isolated even from the strange people
who dwelt in the silent village below, the
Lady Wistaria had never learned. When
she had questioned her uncle and aunt, she
had been frigidly informed that curiosity and
inquisitiveness were degrading traits, which
a maiden should strive with all her strength
to overcome. Neither did she ask her father,
who, taciturn and cold during her brief residence
each year in his house, gave her no
opportunity for winning his confidence. His
love Wistaria had never dreamed of possessing.

Nevertheless, whenever she went to her
father’s house, a wistful longing and yearning
for him possessed her whole being, and
when she departed she would hide her face
in her sleeve, weeping silently, not knowing
why she should weep, and scarcely conscious
of the fact that she wept for lack of her father’s
love.

In her father’s house there were no servants,
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no maids, no attendants—only one weazened,
blind, and infinitely old woman, who wept
tears from her sightless eyes upon her arrival,
who sang and crooned to her at night in a
sobbing, sighing voice, that was as sweet and
pure as a girl’s.

She addressed the old woman as “Madame
Mume,” and preserved always towards her
the reserved and dignified attitude of the
mistress to the maid. Yet her father addressed
her as “Mother.” Wistaria knew
the old woman was not his mother, and she
could not believe she was even akin to them;
for had she not always been taught that the
family from which she was descended was
one of the oldest and noblest in Japan, while
old Madame Mume, though gentle and good,
wore the garb of the poor heimin.

The other half of her childhood had been
spent at the home of her uncle. Here were
countless retainers and servants, besides a
host of samurai, petty vassals, soldiers, peasants,
and citizens, who lived upon his land
and owed their direct allegiance to him.

The garden walls surrounding her uncle’s
palace were tall and of massive structure,
built of solid stone. Its gates were guarded
by handsome, bold samurai clad in thick
armor. The steel upon their breasts and
shoulders glistened with a sinister sheen,
and beneath their blazing helmets fierce eyes
burned out their unswerving allegiance and
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loyalty to their lord and their scorn and defiance
of all his enemies. Their coats, all
emblazoned and embroidered with golden
dragons, bore two crests, that of the Shogun
Iyesada, and that of the powerful Daimio
under whom they served, the Lord of Catzu,
uncle of the Lady Wistaria.

Here in her uncle’s palace Wistaria was
watched over, cared for, nurtured, and refined.
Lackeys and servants were about her on
all sides, ready to spring to her service. As
a child she had attended a private school,
kept by an old samurai, where with half a
dozen other little girls she had squatted on
small, padded mats before writing-tables but
twelve inches high, and had been taught the
intricacies of the language. Two gorgeously
liveried attendants always accompanied her
to and from the school-house, carrying her
books, her writing-box, her kneeling-cushion,
and her little table.

When she grew older she attended the elementary
school. After she had left this, a
silent woman of perfect manners and exquisite
appearance had come to her uncle’s
palace and attached herself entirely to her.
With the coming of this governess, Wistaria
ceased to pay her annual visits to her father’s
house. He himself came to the palace instead,
once every year. Upon these occasions
Wistaria was brought into his presence.
He would put a few stern questions to her
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concerning her knowledge of her duty to her
parents, to which Wistaria would respond
with expressions of filial submission to his
will in all things.

From the governess, Wistaria learned the
elegancies of conversation and how to act on
meeting great personages at court. She had
even been drilled in certain graces which
should not fail to enchain her lover, when
he, the proper one, should be chosen for her.

Now that she had reached the age of fifteen
years, this perfect person had departed from
the palace to teach maidens of younger years.
The Lady Wistaria had arrived at an age
when she could be said to have been graduated
from her governess’s hands as competent to
pass the rest of her life without further instruction,
save that constant restraint exercised
over her by her aunt, the Lady Evening
Glory of Catzu.
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[Illustration: Decoration]
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HE
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THE
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education of a Japanese
maid is not alone a matter of
cultivating the mind; it is an
actual moulding of her whole
character. The average girl
under such discipline succumbs
to the hereditary instinct of
implicit obedience to her dictators,
and becomes like unto
their conception of what she
should be. But the Lady Wistaria
was not an average
girl. That is the reason her
appearance at the court of
the Shogun in Yedo created
a furore. Her fresh, young
beauty, her grace and bewitching
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charm, were a revelation to the jaded
court.
.pi
The Lady Evening Glory, who had spent
years of thought and preparation for this
event, had warned her repeatedly that upon
such an auspicious occasion she was to tread
across the vast hall with downcast eyes and
an attitude of graceful humility. She was
on no account to look about her. While
all eyes might gaze upon her, she must see
no one. And this is how the Lady Wistaria
carried out her instructions.

When first she began the slow parade towards
the Shogun’s throne, my lady’s head
was drooped in the correct pose, with her
eyes modestly downcast. She had proceeded
but a few paces, however, when she was
thrilled by the intuition that the spectacle
was worthy of any sacrifice necessary to see
it. Her small head began to erect itself.
Her eyes, wide open, with one great sweep
viewed the splendor of the picture—the graceful
courtiers, the lovely women in their costumes
of the sun. A sharp pinch upon the
arm brought her back to the exacting presence
of the Lady Evening Glory beside her. Down
drooped her head again. Gradually the eyelids
fluttered. My lady peeped!

There was a low murmur throughout the
hall. The waving of fans ceased a space.
The Lady Evening Glory recognized the
significance of that murmur, and then the
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hush that ensued. A tremendous fluttering
pride arose in her bosom. Her experience
of many years assured her that her niece’s
beauty was compelling its splendid tribute.

Then the Lady Wistaria was presented to
the Shogun. Her prostration was made with
inimitable grace. Her beauty and charm called
forth words of praise from the Shogun himself
to her uncle.

A young noble, more daring and ardent
than all the others, separated himself from
the assembled company, and, crossing to where
the Lady Wistaria stood, kissed a hyacinth
and dropped it at the girl’s feet.

The Lady Evening Glory could have shrieked
aloud with fury at the action of her niece,
due solely to her innocence. She had no
thought whence it had come. A flower in
her path was not something she could tread
upon, or even pass by. There in the centre
of the gorgeous hall she stooped tenderly
and picked up the pleading flower.

“Wild girl!” cried her aunt, in a suffocating
whisper.

Wistaria started with a little cry of genuine
dismay. She had forgotten in one moment
the instruction of years. In her confusion
she stopped short in her progress across the
hall. As if impelled by some great subtle
force within her, helplessly the Lady Wistaria
raised her eyes. They gazed immediately
into the depths of another pair, afire with an
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awakening passion. The next moment the
young girl had blushed, red as the tints a
masterful sun throws to coquetting clouds
at sunset.

All the journey through, to their temporary
palace in Yedo, her aunt abused the Lady
Wistaria. The training of years wasted!
Ingratitude was the basest of crimes! Was
this the way she repaid her aunt’s labor and
kindness? Well, back to Catzu they should
go. It would be unsafe to remain longer in
the capital. Certainly her niece had much
to learn before she could continue in Yedo
longer than a day.

The Lady Wistaria sat back in her palanquin,
pouting. What, to be taken from the
gay capital one day after arriving—before she
had had the chance to meet or even speak
to any one! Oh! it was cruel, and she the
most stupid of maidens not to have comported
herself correctly at her presentation!

“Dearest, my lady aunt,” said she, “pray
you, do let us continue in the capital for the
season.”

“What! and be laughed at by the whole
court for our shocking and magnificently
bad manners? People will declare that you
have been reared in the fields with the peasants.”

“Do not, I beg, blame me for an accident,
dear, my honorable aunt. It was not, in
truth, my own fault.”
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“Indeed!”

“Indeed, I do assure you it was the fault
of that honorably silly flower.”

“TSHH!”

“And of that magnificent and augustly
handsome courtier who dropped it.”

“Dropped it! My lady niece, I saw the
impudent fellow throw it at your feet!”

“What! You saw! Oh, my aunt, then
it is you who are jointly guilty with me!”

“What is that?” cried the aunt, angrily.

“Why, my lady, your honorable eyes were
improper also.”

The Lady Evening Glory turned an offended
shoulder.

“We will start to-morrow for home.”

“Oh, my lady!”

“I have spoken.”

“But, dear aunt—”

“Will you condescend to tell me, girl, who
is guardian, thou or I?”

With the Lady Evening Glory, “thou” was
the end of discussion.

The following day, therefore, the returning
cortège set out for Catzu. As fortune would
have it, the Lady Evening Glory travelled
in her own train, while her niece had also
her personal retinue about her. Consequently
the journey was joyous for the Lady Wistaria.

When first the cortège began to move through
the city a strange little procession followed
in its wake. It was made up of the love-sick
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suitors, who, having but once gazed
upon the beauty of the Lady Wistaria, wished
to serve and follow her to the end of the world.
The following was quite large when the cortège
started. A number dropped off as they reached
the city limits, then gradually the hopeless
and disappointed swains with drooping heads
turned back to Yedo, there to dream of the
vision of a day, but to dream hopelessly.

Wherever the Lady Wistaria’s personal train
travelled there lay scattered upon the ground,
and blowing in the air above and about her,
tiny bits of white or delicately tinted and
perfumed paper. They were, alas! the love-letters
and poems penned by the ardent lovers,
which the hard-hearted lady, tearing into
infinitesimal bits, had saucily tossed to the
winds. It was thus she tossed their love
from her, she would have them believe.

Hopeless, and finally indignant, therefore,
backward turned these erstwhile hopeful suitors.

Sir Genji, the big samurai, who had especial
charge of Wistaria’s train, reported to her,
with a smile of satisfaction, that she would
suffer no further annoyance, as all save one
of her suitors had finally retreated.

“Bring closer your honorable head,” said
the lady to Genji, who strode beside her norimono,
ever and anon ordering and scolding
the runners.

He brought his ear closer to the girl’s lips.
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She leaned over and whispered, while a pale
pink flush came, fled, and grew and deepened
again in her face.

“Tell me,” said she, “which of the honorably
bold and silly cavaliers is it that remains?”

“The one, my lady, who, not content with
despatching his love-letters and tokens to you
by underlings, has had the august impertinence
to deliver them himself in person.”

“Yes—ye-es—of course,” said Wistaria,
blushing deliciously, “and that was honorably
right. Do you not think so, my brave
Genji?”

“Perhaps,” admitted the astute samurai,
frowning at the same time upon a portion of
the parade belonging to the Lady Evening
Glory. Wistaria laughed with infinite relish.

“Well,” she said, “if my honorable aunt
or august uncle were to learn of his boldness,
I fear me they would command that the curtains
of my insignificant norimon be drawn
so tightly that I should surely suffocate.”

“Fear not,” said Genji, “I shall take immediate
measures to prevent such an occurrence,
my lady.”

Wistaria pouted, and frowned as heavily
as it is possible for bright eyes and rosy lips
to do. She toyed with her fan, opening and
closing it several times.

“You are honorably over-zealous, Sir Genji,”
she said.
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“My lady,” he replied, “know you aught
of this stranger?”

“He has a pretty grace,” said Wistaria,
“and the bearing of one of noble rank. Have
you not noted, Sir Genji, the beauty and
richness of his magnificent attire?”

“I have, my lady. It is of that attire I
would speak.”

“Do so at once, then.”

“It is the attire, my lady, of the Mori family.”

“The Mori! What! Our honorably hostile
neighbors?”

“Exactly,” said Genji.

“Oh, dear!” murmured Wistaria, as she
sank back in her cushions in troubled thought.
After a moment her little black head again
appeared.

“Gen,” she cried, “come hither once more.”

“My lady?”

“A little closer, if you please. So! Know
you not, Sir Gen, that my lady aunt, and
indeed also my own august father, once
served this odious Mori prince?”

“I have heard so, my lady.”

“Well, then, truly <i>all</i> of the members of
this honorable clan cannot be augustly bad!”

Sir Genji could not restrain a smile.

“Indeed, my lady, this Choshui people
have many worthy and admirable qualities.”

“You are a very clever fellow, my dear
Sir Gen,” said Wistaria, smiling engagingly
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now, “and I shall bespeak you to my honorable
uncle. And now—now—if you would really
wish to serve me, do you pray show some
kindness—some little insignificant courtesy
to this unfortunate Mori courtier. Perhaps
he may have some good attributes.”

“Undoubtedly, my lady.”

“And do be careful to allow my lady aunt
to know naught concerning him, for she,
having come from this Mori, is actually more
sour against them than we, you and I, Sir
Gen, who have not indeed.”

Just then my lady heard a familiar tramp
to the left of her norimono. There were but
few horses in the cortège, and most of them
had gone ahead with her father’s samurai.
Consequently the beat of a horse’s hoofs was
plainly to be heard. The Lady Wistaria
wavered between lying back in her carriage
and drawing about her discreetly the curtains,
or sitting up and feigning indifference to the
horseman.

The rider had fallen into a slow trot behind
her norimono, and seemed to be making no
effort either to overtake or ride beside her.
For the space of a few minutes the Lady Wistaria,
with a bright, expectant red spot in
either cheek, waited for some sign on the
part of the rider. His stubborn continuance
in the background at first thrilled, then irritated,
and finally distracted her. My lady
put her shining little head out of the vehicle,
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then, leaning quite far out, she looked backward.
Instantly the rider spurred his horse
forward. In a flash his hitherto melancholy
face became luminous with hope. A moment
later he was beside the lady’s norimono.
Before her officious maid had time to draw
the curtains a love-letter had fallen into my
lady’s lap.

It was possibly the fiftieth appeal he had
penned to her. Hitherto he had borne the
bitter chagrin of seeing the torn bits of paper
fall from a little hand that parted the silken
curtains of her gilded norimono and scattered
them to the winds.

The lover rode within sight of his mistress’s
palanquin until the first gray darkness of
approaching night crept like an immense
cloud over the heavens, chasing away the
enchanting rosy tints that the departing sun
had left behind.

Undaunted by the fact that his letter received
no response, encouraged rather by
the fact that it had not shared the fate of its
predecessors, the lover now set himself to the
task of composing more ardent and flowery
epistles. What time was not occupied in
eagerly watching for the smallest glimpse of
the little head to appear was spent in writing
to her. He wrote his love-letters and poems
with a shaking hand even while his horse
carried him onward. He wrote them by
the light of the moon when the train halted
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for the night. He wrote them in the early
dawn before the cortège had awakened. And
he delivered them at all hours, whenever he
could obtain opportunity.

Though the Lady Wistaria by this time
must have acquired a goodly quantity of
useless literature, she took no measure to
relieve herself of the burdensome baggage.
Nevertheless the lover began to despair. A
few hours before they reached her uncle’s
province he delivered his last missive. It
was really a very desperate letter. At the
risk of his life—so he wrote—he would follow
her not only to her uncle’s province but into
the very grounds surrounding his palace—into
the palace itself if necessary. He besought
her that she would send him one small
word of favor.

He waited in impatient excitement for a
response to this last fervid appeal. He felt
sure she must at least deign to express her
wish in the matter. But when they reached
the province he saw her carried across the
borders without having given him one sign
or token.

In his despair he dismounted, and was
divided between returning to Yedo or continuing
his hopeless quest.

As he remained plunged in his gloomy
reflections and uncertainty of purpose, an
enormous samurai touched him sharply upon
the arm. In his irritation he was about to
// 024.png
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resent the fellow’s familiarity, when he perceived
a little roll of rice-paper protruding
from his sleeve. Stealthily the samurai reached
out his arm to the lover. The latter seized
the scroll eagerly.
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[Illustration: Decoration]
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III
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HE
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THE
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palace, and indeed the
whole domain of the Lord Catzu,
presented the appearance
of being constantly armed as
though for attack, a not uncommon
thing in the latter
days of feudalism. The Shogun
had been artful in his
disposal of the various lords
of the provinces. Families attached
personally to him were
stationed in provinces lying between
those administered by
families friendly to the Emperor.
Thus none of the Emperor’s
friends could meet to
revolt against the Shogun.
// 026.png
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.pi
So it happened that while the Lord Catzu
was one of the most intimate and confidential
of the advisers of the Shogun, his neighbor,
the old Prince Mori, Daimio of the province
of Choshui, desired to see the Mikado once
more, the real, instead of the nominal, ruler
of Japan.

Consequently the two neighboring clans,
while displaying extravagant courtesy towards
each other in public, were in reality unfriendly.
Only during that portion of the
year when the Shogun’s edict ordered a Yedo
residence for all daimios, did the lords of the
provinces meet one another, and that under
the Shogun’s eyes in his Yedo seat of government.
In the capital they simulated suavity
and cordiality, but once back at their provincial
capitals they preserved towards each
other an attitude of polite defiance which
made all intercourse between them impossible
save that of the sword, when their respective
samurai and vassals, coming in contact with
one another, fought out their lords’ political
differences.

Imbittering still more the feeling existing
naturally between the Mori and Catzu clans,
there was a personal element in the situation.
When Catzu had first been made lord of the
province he had met on a visit to the Shogun’s
Yedo court the Lady Evening Glory, whose
brother and guardian (she being an orphan)
was a young samurai in the service of the
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Prince Mori. Having fallen a victim to the
lady’s beauty and charms, the lord of Catzu
was determined to have her for wife despite
the opposition of the Mori Prince. Bold,
brave, fearless, and with a grand contempt
for the power of his rival, the Lord Catzu had
carried off the fair lady from his neighbor’s
dominions, though it was generally understood
that both the lady herself and her
samurai brother lent their assistance to the
young lord. The young samurai, incurring
thereby the deep displeasure and enmity of
his Prince, was deprived of his title and estates
and sent into exile upon the first convenient
pretext. Strange tales told without
shadow of authority diversified the nature of
the crime for which the samurai had been exiled,
but the two lords remained silent. All
who had been concerned in the affair were commanded
to the same silence by the Shogun.

Whatever were the many reasons responsible
for the constant attitude of antagonism
of these two clans towards each other, the
lords carefully guarded their lands—more
particularly those in the vicinity of their palaces—with
all the rigor of a fortress prepared
for the fiercest onslaught. Seemingly unapproachable
and impenetrable as were the
grounds of the Catzu palace, yet there must
have existed at some spot in their watchful
walls a vulnerable point, the heel of the stone
Achilles.
// 028.png
.pn +1

A courtier, by his dress and demeanor plainly
a member of the Mori household, lingered
in the private gardens of the palace. The
day had long since folded its wings of light,
but an early March moon was enveloping the
land in an ethereal glow. The courtier remained
under the friendly shadow of a grove
of pine-trees. His eyes were cast upon the
stately Catzu shiro (palace). It seemed as
though the moon-rays had singled out the
graceful old castle and was bathing it tenderly
in a halo of soft light.

It was cold, not bitterly so, but sharply
chill, as it is at night betwixt the winter and
the spring. But unconscious of the chill,
erect and graceful, the courtier leaned against
a tree-trunk, his arms crossed over his breast,
his eyes full of moist sentiment, drinking in
the beauty of the night scene, which had an
added enchantment for him, a man in love.

All about him, before, behind, and around
him, graceful pine-trees raised their slender,
pointed heads up to the silver light. In the
distance, like a strange, white mirage set
in the moonlit sky, a snow-capped mountain
seemed hung as in mid-air. The grass beneath
his feet was young and intensely soft,
with dewy moisture upon it.

A nightingale on the tip of a tall bamboo
sang with such passionate sweetness that
it brought the lover out from the shelter of
the shadow. Quivering with emotion, his
// 029.png
.pn +1
soul responding and vibrating to the song
of love, he strode into the light of the moon.
Unmindful of the danger of his exposure to
possible observation, he drew forth from the
bosom of his haori a little roll of rice-paper.
Once more he read it through, and yet once
again.

.pm letter-start
“<sc>My Lord</sc>,—I write this augustly insignificant
letter to you, trusting that your health is good.
Also the health of all your honorable relatives and
ancestors.

“I have received your most honorably magnificent
compliments. Accept my humblest thanks.

“Now I deign to write unto you, beseeching
you to abandon so foolhardy a purpose as to follow
me to my uncle’s home. I would feign warn
you that my uncle’s guards are fierce and ofttimes
cruel, and to one wearing the garb of a hostile clan,
I fear they would show no mercy. Therefore I
beseech you, do you pray abandon your honorable
purpose.

“Also condescend to permit me to add, that if
you must indeed truly attempt so hazardous an undertaking,
I would beg to inform you, that though
the grounds are surrounded by such great walls
that I fear me not even a tailless cat might climb
them, and also the gates are guarded by the fiercest
samurai, nevertheless, on the south there is a small
river. Mayhap you will hire a boat. Then do you
come up this honorable river, keeping close to the
shore, and I do assure you that you will discover a
break in the south wall, which leads into the gardens
surrounding the palace.

“My lord, my uncle’s guards are not so vigilant
// 030.png
.pn +1
before sunrise, as I myself have ofttimes remarked
when I have arisen early of a morning and have
looked from my casement, which is also on the south
side of the palace, facing the river and the outlet
thereto.”
.pm letter-end

The nightingale paused in its song, and
then broke out again, its long, piercing trill
filling the night.

The lover returned to the shelter of the
pine grove, and, throwing himself upon the
grass, drew his cape close about him. Leaning
his head upon his hand, he gave himself
up to his dreams.
// 031.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
IV
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-t.jpg w=200px align=l
HE
.if-
.if t
THE
.if-
Lady Wistaria arose with
the sun. Without waiting to
pin back the long, silken hair
which hung like a cloud of
lacquer about her, she stole
softly to the casement of her
chamber.
.pi
The perfume which stole up
to her was sweeter and stronger
far than that wafted from the
trees laden with the dews of
the early morning. Yet the
trees were bare of blossoms and
would not bloom for a month
to come. Nevertheless the ledge
of Wistaria’s casement was piled
with the living spring blossoms
// 032.png
.pn +1
of plum and cherry. She could not but caress
them with her hands, her lips, her eyes, her
burning cheeks. With little, trembling hands
she searched among them and found what
she sought—a scroll—a narrow, thin, wonderful
scroll, long, yet only a few inches in
width, with golden borders down the sides,
and the faint, exquisite tracings of birds and
flowers intertwined among the words that
leaped up at her almost as though they had
spoken. It was a poem to her—her grace,
beauty, modesty, loveliness, its theme:

.pm verse-start
“A stately shiro was her home;
  In royal halls she shone most fair,
 From tiny feet to golden comb,
  In her sweet life what is my share?

“Oh, lovely maid, my moon thou art;
 O Fuji san, thou hast my heart!”
.pm verse-end

There were many other verses, but the
Lady Wistaria was too much moved to have
either the vision or the mind to read beyond
the first stanza. As became her rank and
the painful tuition of years, she should have
pushed very deliberately the flowers from her
sill and torn the scroll into ragged pieces, a
chastisement prescribed by every etiquette for
the temerity of a presumptuous lover.

But the Lady Wistaria did nothing of the
sort. She gathered the flowers tenderly and
took them in. Then she came back to the
// 033.png
.pn +1
casement, and, leaning far out, gazed with
piercing wistfulness out into the little garden
below. For some minutes she waited, the
patience of her caste fading away gradually
into that of the impatience of her sex.

A voice beneath her casement! She leaned
farther over. A young man’s eager, glowing
face smiled up at her like the rising sun.
Again the Lady Wistaria forgot the training
of years. Her trembling voice floated down
to him:

“Pray you do consider the perils in which
you place yourself,” she implored.

“I would pass through all the perils of
hell so I might reach you in the end,” he
fervidly whispered back.

“Oh, my lord, look yonder! See, the sun
is pushing its way upward above the mountains
and the hill-tops. Do you not know that
soon my uncle’s guards will pass this way?”

“Under the heavens there is nothing in
all this wide world worthy as a gift for you,
dear lady. That you have deigned to accept
my honorable flowers and my abominably
constructed poem has given me such strength
that I am prepared to fight a whole army of
guards. Ay! And to give up readily, too,
my life.”

“And if you love me,” she replied, “you
will guard with all your strength that life
which you are so recklessly exposing to
danger.”
// 034.png
.pn +1

“Ah, sweetest lady, can it be true then
that you condescend to take some concern
in my insignificant existence?”

She made no response other than to pluck
from the climbing vine about her casement
one little half-blown leaf and drop it at his
feet.

As he stooped to pick up the leaf a form
interposed itself, and a half-grown man looked
him steadily in the face. With a little cry
the Lady Wistaria vanished from her casement.

Meanwhile the intruder, instead of being
the aggressor, was defending himself against
the flashing blade of the infuriated lover.
Too proud to call for aid, the youth opposed
to the lover found himself outmatched before
the skill and fire of the other. So thinking
caution better than valor, he flung his sword
at the feet of the lover. The latter, picking
it up by the middle, returned it to his opponent
with a low bow of utmost grace. Then with
one hand on his hip and the other holding
his sword, he addressed the youth.

“Thy name?”

“Catzu Toro. And thine?”

“Too insignificant to be spoken before one
who bears so great a name as thine,” returned
the other, bowing with satirical grace.

“How is that?” cried Catzu Toro—“insignificant?
What, one in thy garb and
with thy skill of swordsmanship?”
// 035.png
.pn +1

The victorious one, shrugging his shoulders
imperceptibly, again bowed with a smile of
disclaimer.

“May I be permitted,” he said, “to put
one question to you, my lord, and then I am
perfectly prepared to give myself up to your
father’s guards, though not, I promise you,
without a struggle, which I doubt not your
vassals will long remember.” And he blithely
bent the blade of his sword with his two hands.

“Nay, then,” cried the youth, impetuously,
“You do me injustice. I am ready to swear
protection to one who has acted so bravely
as thou. But a question for a question, is
not that fair?”

“Assuredly.”

“Very well, then. You serve the Prince
of Mori?”

“In a very humble capacity,” returned the
other, guardedly.

“In what capacity?” inquired the young
Toro, quickly.

“Ah, that is two questions, and you have
not even deigned to listen to my one.”

“Speak,” said the youth, curbing his curiosity
and impatience.

“The Lady Wistaria—she is your sister?”

“My cousin,” answered the other, briefly.

“Will you tell me how it is possible for one
unfortunately attached to an unfriendly clan
to pay court to your cousin?”

“Two questions, that!” exclaimed Toro,
// 036.png
.pn +1
promptly, whereat they both laughed, their
friendship growing in proportion to their
good-humor.

“Now,” said Toro, “I will answer whatever
questions you may put to me, if you in
return will only satisfy my mind concerning
certain matters which I am perishing to
know.”

“A fair exchange! Good!”

“Then,” said Toro, unloosening his own
cape from his hips, “pray throw this about
you, for I fear you will be observed by my
father’s samurai. Even my presence,” he
added, with a sigh, “could hardly protect
you, for I, alas! am under age.”

“Is it possible?” said the stranger, with
such affected surprise that the boy flushed
with delight.

“Now, my lord”—he hesitated, doubtfully,
as though hoping the other would supply
the name—“now, my lord, let me explain to
you why I truly sympathize with you in your
love for one who must seem impossible.”

“Not impossible,” corrected the lover, softly,
thinking tenderly of the Lady Wistaria’s
fears for him.

“I, too,” confessed Toro, “am in the same
plight.”

“What!” cried the lover, in dismay; “you
also adore the lady?”

“No,” replied Toro, shaking his head with
sad melancholy; “but I have conceived the
// 037.png
.pn +1
most hopeless attachment for a lady whom I
may never dream of winning.”

“Then I am much mistaken in you. I
thought, my lord, that you were not only a
brave man, but a daring knight.”

“But you cannot conceive of the extremity
of my case,” cried the youth, piteously, “for
consider: the lady I love not only belongs to
our rival clan, but is already betrothed.”

“Well, but betrothals have been broken before,
my lord, and the days of romance and adventure
are not altogether dead in the land.”

“Ah, yes, that is true, but my rival is not
only more powerful, but in every respect more
prepossessing and attractive.”

“Indeed? Well, all this interests me very
much. Still, I must say, my lord, that though
I am in the service of the Mori, I have not
seen the knight or courtier who could prove
so formidable a rival to you, either in graces
or rank—for are you not the son of the great
lord of this province?”

“And has not our neighboring lord a son
also?”

“Wh—what!” cried the stranger, darting
backward as though the youth had dealt
him a sharp and unexpected blow; then scanning
the other’s face closely, “You do not
mean—the Prince—?”

“Yes—the Prince Keiki. That swaggering,
bragging, noisy roustabout, who bears so
many cognomens.”
// 038.png
.pn +1

“Hum!” said the other. “They call him
the Prince Kei—, truly—”

“Yes,” said the youth, jealously, “and also
‘Hikal-Keiki-no-Kimi’ (the Shining Prince
Keiki).”

“You have told me strange news indeed,”
said the Mori courtier. “I did not know of
the betrothal of our Prince. It is very sad,
truly.”

“Sad! To be betrothed to the Princess
Hollyhock sad?”

“For you, my lord,” replied the other, with
a slight smile.

Toro doubled his hands spasmodically as
he frowned with the fierceness of a samurai,
that the other might not observe the soft
moisture of a woman in his eyes.

“Now let me tell you a secret,” said the
stranger, touching his arm with confidential
sympathy. “Upon my word, the Princess
Hollyhock is not betrothed to the Prince
Keiki.”

“My lord, you do not say so! Are you
sure?”

“As sure as I am that I am here now.”

“Oh, the gods themselves must have sent
you hither!” cried the youth. “Will you
not accept my protection and constant aid in
your suit for my cousin?”

“You are more generous than—”

“Your Prince, you would say,” interrupted
Toro, bitterly.
// 039.png
.pn +1

“—than the gods, I was about to remark,”
said the other, gravely. “Now let us form
a compact. You on your side will promise
me protection and aid here on your estates,
and I will swear to you that you shall win
and wed the Princess Hollyhock.”

“I have a small house yonder, my lord,”
cried the impulsive youth, excitedly. “It is
kept by my old nurse. Come you with me
thither. I shall lend you whatever clothes
you may require and you shall remain here
as long as you wish. I will introduce you
to my family as a friend—a student from
my own university in Kummommotta. Then
you can make suit to Wistaria, and, having
once wed her, who can separate you, let me
ask?”

“Not the gods themselves, I swear!” cried
the other.

“And your name—what shall I call you?”

The courtier hesitated for the first time.

“My name is insignificant. It is a Mori
name, and therefore dangerous in your province.”

“You must assume another, then.”

“Hum! Well, what would you suggest,
my lord?”

“How will Shioshio Shawtaro do?”

“Not at all. It has a trading sound.”

“Ho! ho! How about Taketomi Tokioshi?”

“Too imperious.”

“Fujita Gemba?”
// 040.png
.pn +1

“No, no.”

“Then do you choose yourself.”

“My lord, waiving aside all our political
differences, do you not think it would be
loyal for me to take the name of one of my
own people?”

“What, a Mori name? You are very droll,
my lord. Why not keep your own name,
then?”

“Ah, but it is not the Mori family name I
wish to assume, but a surname.”

“It might be dangerous.”

“Oh, not without the family name and
title attached. Suppose I take the name of
Keiki?”

“What! The name of my rival!”

“My prince, my lord,” said the other, bowing
deeply.

“Nevertheless my rival.”

“Not at all; and if he were so, why not
grant him this little honor, seeing you are
to worst him in the suit for the lady?”

“That is true.”

“The name will sound vastly different with
another family name attached. Suppose I
assume the name of Tominaga Keiki? That
is somewhat different from Mori Keiki, is it
not?”

“Somewhat.”

“Then Keiki is my name.”

“Kei—Very well. Let it be so.”
// 041.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
V
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-t.jpg w=200px align=l
HE
.if-
.if t
THE
.if-
Lord of Catzu received
his son’s friend with hospitality
dictated by his fat and
good-humored nature, beseeching
him to consider the Catzu
possessions as his own. Keiki
(as he had called himself),
on fire to make use of the advantage
he had now gained at
the outset, was met by two
unexpected obstacles.
.pi
In the first place, the Lady
Wistaria was hedged about by
an almost insurmountable wall
of etiquette and form. Though
the lover blessed all the gods
for the privilege of being in
// 042.png
.pn +1
her presence each day, yet, impetuous, warm-blooded,
and ardent, he could not but chafe
at the distance and the silence which seemed
impassable between them.

Wistaria, he thought, might just as well
have been a twinkling star in the heavens
above him as to be placed at one end of the
guest-room, her lips sealed in maidenly silence,
while at the other end, in the place of honor,
must sit he, the august guest, inwardly the
burning lover. Between them interposed her
honorable relatives and certain members of
her uncle’s household, separating the lovers
with their extravagant politeness and words
of gracious compliment and hospitality.

In the second place, the pilot upon whom
he had relied for safe conduct through the
icy forms which kept him from his mistress
had deserted him perfidiously. Toro, the
reckless and foolhardy, his imagination fed
by the daring and sang-froid of the Mori
clansman, his own heart aflame with as deep
a passion as his friend’s, had borrowed his
dress and departed for Choshui, there to risk
all chance of danger with the bravery, but
without, alas! the wit, of the Mori courtier.

To offset these two hardships, the lovers
saw a gift sent by the gods in the indisposition
of the Lady Evening Glory. After the
long and tedious journey from the capital, the
lady, who was of a delicate constitution, retired
to her apartments with a malady of the
// 043.png
.pn +1
head and tooth. In point of fact, the Lady
Evening Glory suffered from neuralgia. The
lovers prayed that her illness might be long
and lingering, though Wistaria, having besought
her to keep to her bed as long as possible
that relapse might be avoided, tempered
her prayer with a petition to her favorite god
that her aunt’s illness might be unattended
with pain.

With the Lady Evening Glory, the vigilant
mentor of Wistaria, safely out of the way,
the girl found no cause for despair. This
was the reason she returned her lover’s pleading
and ofttimes reproachful glances with
smiles, which, but for the joy of seeing them,
he would have thought heartless. The joy of
Wistaria’s smile almost compensated for the
pain of her lover’s poignant surmise that her
heart had no pity for the woes of her adorer.

And, indeed, at this time there was little
else in the girl’s heart save a singing joy,
a rippling flutter of new emotions and thrills,
which she, too innocent as yet to recognize
their full import, cared only to welcome with
delight, to encourage, to foster and enjoy to
the uttermost.

Between Wistaria and her uncle there was
utmost confidence and love. The young girl
occupied that place in his heart which would
have been held by the daughter denied him
by the gods. The mantling flush, the ever-shining
eyes, now bright with joy that would
// 044.png
.pn +1
overflow, now moist with the unbidden tears
that spring to the eyes when the heart is
disturbed with an emotion more sweet than
expression; these—the change which young
love alone can produce in a maiden—he was
quick to perceive.

The Lord Catzu’s own marriage had been
most romantic, and if his lady had lived down
frigidly to the world, her husband at least had
retained his sentimental remembrance of the
adventurous escapades attending it.

Such were the opportunities of life to the
daimio of a province at peace that, to all outward
appearances, Catzu was too indolent, too
listlessly, luxuriously lazy and preoccupied
with his own pleasures to observe his niece’s
condition of heart. But the Lord Catzu, with
all his placidity, was astute. Beneath his
lazy eyelids his own small eyes missed little
that passed before him.

In fact, it was not long before he became
aware of the attachment between the young
people. The courtier, he knew, bore an assumed
name, for Toro had labored with awkwardness
when he endeavored to invent a
lineage for the friend whose appearance at
the Catzu palace without the customary retinue
of servants or retainers had convinced
its lord that he had discovered a tinge of that
delightful mystery which but added to the
favor of the unknown in the eyes of the sentimental
Lord of Catzu. In addition, it was
// 045.png
.pn +1
the mode for young nobles of the realm to
undertake courtship over an assumed name,
so that an air of romance might be lent to
their love affair. As to the young man’s
rank there could be no question, since his
manners and breeding, his grace of person
and charm of speech, were caste characteristic.
Looking secretly with high favor upon the
young man, Catzu considered how he might
aid the lovers.

Slothful and deliberate in all he undertook,
Catzu might provoke impatience, but his gradual
accomplishment of his ends was gratifying.
Just as he took his time in the serious
business of life, so was he leisurely in the
pursuit of his pleasures. As a consequence
the lovers for a time were kept in an agony
of waiting and suspense.

Keiki, maddened and irritated by the constant
presence of the smiling Lord Catzu,
who in his opinion stood between him and
his heart’s desire, once more fell to writing
imploring letters and poems to the Lady
Wistaria which made up in epithets of endearment
what they lacked in rhetoric. He
prayed her to find some means by which he
might be with her alone, if only for a fraction
of a minute. The one word “Patience,”
written upon a little china plate, so minutely
that he could scarcely decipher it, was
the reply brought by the Lord Catzu, with
the information that the Lady Wistaria herself
// 046.png
.pn +1
had painted the plate for their august
guest.

Meanwhile Catzu, cognizant of every sigh,
every appealing expression, every significant
motion, laid his plans carefully for the impatient
suitor’s happiness. Certainly within
the walls of the palace itself there was no
hope of solitude for the lovers. Pretexts for
out-door pleasure-parties were never wanting
in the warmer season. Local fêtes, the birth of
each new flower, family events—all these were
sufficient invitation in themselves for such convivial
parties as delighted the soul of the Lord
of Catzu, and could not have failed in their
chance opportunity for dual solitude.

At this time of the year, alas! there was
neither snow nor moon nor flowers to serve
a pretext. A series of heavy rainfalls, most
distressing and persistent, was the only fugitive
before approaching spring. Yet even
the rain-gods have a limit to their tears, and,
after all, the rains preceding the first month
of spring are ofttimes the very means by
which the land is cleansed ere it bursts into
beauty and bud.

Not so interminable as it seemed to them
was the lovers’ waiting. Three short days—yet
how long!—and then the sun which
had struggled for ascendency over the troubled
heavens rose up proudly triumphant. The
thunders retreated into tremulous growls of
defeat; the gray-black clouds rolled away
// 047.png
.pn +1
before the blinding flashes of the sun-rays,
flitting like ghosts before the dawn. An immense
rainbow, spanning the entire heavens,
sprang out of the skies, a signal of the sun-god’s
victory.

What mattered it that the land was barren
as yet of flowers? The grass was green and
the trees almost bursting in effort of emulation.
Catzu, having satisfied himself that the moisture
on the grass was but the dew of spring,
forthwith devised a small party. It consisted
of his lady niece and the august guest of
the household, who was graciously entreated
to accompany them, and who accepted with
an alacrity almost lacking courtesy.

With but two attendants, the party set out
from the palace. Taking a small boat, they
made a swift pilgrimage up the graceful river
to a small island where a picturesque tea-house
and gardens, with twenty charming
geishas, made a fairyland for lovers.

To receive so early and unheralded a visit
from the august lord of the province threw
the geishas into a delighted panic of excitement.
Their attendants were seen rushing
hither and thither throughout the place, hastily
making it suitable for the reception of
the exalted guests.

Hastening down to the beach, the chief
geisha herself apologized for the island’s
condition. The Lord of Catzu went to meet
her. For his guest to be received without
// 048.png
.pn +1
preparation, he explained to Keiki, would be
unfitting. Consequently he begged him to
remain on the beach, while he himself proceeded
with the chief geisha to the tea-house
to issue instructions.

The stolid and indifferent lackeys who
had attended the party returned to the boat,
where they fell into conversation with the
oarsmen.

At last the lovers were alone.

For a long moment Keiki and Wistaria
looked into each other’s eyes. They were
safe from all observation, for the gardens,
and indeed the whole island, was of that
rock-and-pebble-built variety favored by the
Japanese. Behind and around them they
were screened by quaint, grotesque rocks of
natural form and immense size, carried from
a mountain to this tiny island, placed there
in miniature to simulate nature.

Nevertheless Keiki, the impatient and ardent,
now at the crucial moment, had naught
to say. He had confessed his love in his
letters; she had admitted tacitly her own.
Still they did not embrace, or even touch
each other. Culture is strong in Japan,
where also is the fire of love. So these two
but looked into each other’s faces, all their
hearts’ eloquent passion in their eyes. Wistaria’s
eyes did not fall before his tender gaze.
Only a rose-red flush crept softly like a magic
glow over the oval of her cheeks, tingeing
// 049.png
.pn +1
her little chin while accentuating her brow’s
whiteness.

Without a word her lover dropped upon
one knee, lifted the long sleeve of her kimono,
and buried his face within its fabric.

Five minutes later, hand in hand, they
were standing on the same spot. They were
watching the river, swollen by recent rains,
as it burst over the rocks beyond, bounding
down the river-bed, rolling swiftly along,
twisting, curving, and winding about the
sinuous form of the island’s shore, holding
it in the grudging love of the water for the
land. The water was blue-green in color,
save where the sunbeams reflected its own
light in glistening gleams of quicksilver,
ever moving, ever playing, while the shores
on either side threw shadows of their trees
and rocks upon it. As it ran busily, merrily
along, now and then lapping the shore and
leaping to their very feet, it seemed a living
thing which babbled and laughed with an
inward knowledge of their joy, and also sighed
and wailed with a prophetic undercurrent of
coming woe.

The touch of their hands close clasped together
made them tremble and quiver. Their
eyes met to droop away and meet again in
the vivid recognition of their own innocent
happiness. They could not speak, because
their hearts had laid claim to their lips and
sealed them in a golden silence.
// 050.png
.pn +1

Then, after a long interval, Keiki found
his voice. If he spoke of the flowing river
at their feet, it was not the river itself that
absorbed his mind, but because in it, as in
all things beautiful in life, he now saw reflected
the image of his beloved.

“The honorable river,” he said, “flows high
at this season, but before the summer dies it
will be but a thin line, very still, very quiet.”

“Yes,” said Wistaria, tremulously, “but the
lotus will spring up in its honorable waters,
and if the river should continue to rise and
rush onward like this, I fear me the water-flowers
would perish and the noise of its ceaseless
flow would drown the voices of the birds,
which make the summer speak.”

“That is true,” said Keiki, “but when the
summer passes then the flowers must still die,
and we may no longer hear the singing of
the birds. Then still the river will be silent
and motionless—perhaps dead.”

Keiki sighed with the moodiness of love
attained. A gentle depression stole from him
to the Lady Wistaria.

“Alas! my lord,” she murmured; “it is so
with all things in life that are beautiful.
They vanish and die like the flowers of summer.”

“Then,” said Keiki, “swear by the god
of the sea, by whose waters we now stand,
that our love shall never die, and that for
the time of this life, and the next, and as
// 051.png
.pn +1
many after as may come, you will be my
flower wife, and take me for your husband.”

“By all the eight million gods of heaven,
and by the god of the sea, I swear,” said
Wistaria.
// 052.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
VI
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-t.jpg w=200px align=l
HE
.if-
.if t
THE
.if-
air was balmy, the sky
of a cerulean blue, the Dewdrop
gardens were sweet with
a strange charm and mystery
all their own. Pebbles, sand,
and stone, were cunningly displayed
and mingled to create
the illusion of an approach
to a giant sea. In themselves
the wondrous rocks were so
fashioned as to form a landscape
wherein neither foliage,
trees, nor flowers were necessary.
Small, grotesque bridges,
made of rare rocks in their natural form,
undefaced by hammer
or chisel, spanned the miniature
// 053.png
.pn +1
rivers, which, snakelike, crept and threaded
their way in and out of the rock island. Suddenly
appearing caverns yawned wide agape,
only to show on closer approach that they were
naught but gigantic rocks, hollow within.
.pi
Though the gardens were bare of foliage,
yet the spot shone out like a jewel set in a
magic river. Here was the perfection of
art, that art so complete that without the
very things of nature which seem necessary
to a landscape, the cunning hand of man
had fashioned the like out of the hard and
jagged substance of stone and rock. And in
this the hand of the Creator had aided, since
the very rocks which formed this precious
and priceless island, the pride and wealth
of the Lord of Catzu, had been untouched by
the tool of the artisan, for, having been gathered
together from all parts of the country,
they were planted in their natural form upon
this island jewel.

Across the narrow river the shores were
green, while beyond the silent surface of the
moats the granite walls of the Catzu palace
rose to a height, white and stately, tipped with
golden towers and peaks that were taller than
the cedars and the pines centuries old.

A stir of expectation thrilled the Dewdrop
tea-house, and then a clear, shrill voice cried
aloud:

“The Lady Wistaria passes into the honorable
hall.”
// 054.png
.pn +1

The twenty geishas prostrated themselves
at my lady’s feet. Gracefully she returned
their courtesy, begging that they would serve
her and her august guest, the Lord Tominaga
Keiki, with refreshment.

The geishas, at this period in history occupying
a high and dignified position in society,
expressed their wish to serve their lady
for the rest of their lives.

They brought the lovers fresh fruit, shining
and luscious, and drink from a well of sweetest
and purest water. Humbly apologizing
for the honorable meanness of the refreshment,
the chief geisha prayed that they would
condescend to pardon her, for not even in
her dreams had she imagined that the gods
would favor her so soon in the season with
such august guests.

But the lovers only smiled benevolently
upon her, and insisted that never, no, never
in all the honorable days of their lives, had
they been blessed with more gracious refreshment.
Whereat the geisha, with many low,
grateful obeisances, retired.

The lovers sighed as in one breath.

“Once more alone,” said Keiki, blissfully
reaching over the little table and laying his
own hands softly upon those of the girl. “How
gracious the gods!”

“Of a truth,” said Wistaria, smiling up at
him; “we must repay the gods.”

“We must, indeed. What shall we do?
// 055.png
.pn +1
Build a thousand temples to—well, which
one?”

“I consider!” quoth Wistaria, thinking very
seriously. Then, suddenly, with a little, silvery
laugh: “I have it. Let us deify my
own august uncle. Is he not the god who
befriends us?”

“Not consciously,” said Keiki, “for I doubt
not my Lord of Catzu would fume and curse
me roundly did he know I took advantage
of his honorable disposition to sleep.”

Wistaria laughed softly.

“Now I am quite ready to swear,” she
said, “that of late my honorable uncle is
perfectly conscious when he sleeps.”

“Pray tell me,” cried Keiki, starting.

The girl nodded merrily.

“Will you tell me, then, how it is possible
for one to fall asleep in a small, rocking
boat? Could you or I do so, my Lord
Keiki?”

“Oh, not you or I; but your honorable
uncle is divinely lethargic.”

“Then, my lord, he is but lately afflicted.”

“But I do not understand, then—you cannot
mean—Oh no, it could hardly be so!”

“And why not, my lord? To me it seems
that even the gods must needs favor you,
much more an honorable mortal.”

“Your uncle favor me! It cannot be possible.”

“It is possible. It is so.”
// 056.png
.pn +1

“But he has been acquainted with me only
for the past six days.”

“And does it take a year for favor to grow,
when love—”

“Awakens in a day—an hour,” finished
Keiki, rapturously. “No, I can see how it is
possible, but I could not at once realize my
good-fortune. Moreover—”

Suddenly he broke off as a melancholy
shadow crept across his brow, troubling his
eyes. In a sudden depression he bent forward.

“My lord is troubled? Speak to me
quickly.”

“Troubled? Yes, that is so,” Keiki sighed.

“Then do, I pray you, speak your trouble
to me,” said Wistaria. Immediately she threw
herself at his feet, resting her hands upon his
knees and raising her face upward to his.
Keiki took her face in his hands. He looked
deep into her love-lit eyes.

“Yes, I will tell you, little Wistaria,” he
said, “though I fear you are already acquainted
with my secret.”

“I am not, indeed,” she denied.

“You do not know,” he asked, sadly, “that
I am of the Mori clan?”

“Of the Mori clan! And is that all that
troubles you, my lord?”

“And is not that sufficiently serious?”

“No.”

“But surely you must be aware of the feud
existing between the Mori and Catzu clans?”
// 057.png
.pn +1

“My lord, you and I do not constitute the
Mori and Catzu clans.”

“You and I,” he repeated, slowly, “do not
constitute the Mori and Catzu clans.” Then,
after a silent moment: “Alas, my lady, I fear
we do!”

Wistaria snatched her hands quickly from
his and arose. Certainly he could not love
her, she thought, if he allowed so small a
thing as that to distress him.

“If that be so—if that is what you think,
my lord, deign to inform me why you have
condescended to make suit to me?”

“I was forced to make my suit in secret,”
he said, almost bitterly.

“But your love is honest, is it not?”

“Oh, my flower-girl, can you ask that?”

She was contrite in a moment. Once more
she was at his feet, kneeling, and pressing
both his hands with her little, slender, nervous
fingers.

“Nay, then, do not look so sad, my Keiki.
It troubles me that you should allow so silly
a thing as the differences of our respective
clans even for a fraction of a moment to come
between us.”

“They cannot truly come between us,”
was his fervid reply, “for no power on earth
can actually separate us now. Are we not
sworn to each other for all time—for all eternity?”

“Then why be so sad? You, who are so
// 058.png
.pn +1
brave, cannot fear the dangers that may beset
our union.”

“No, no, it is not that. But—I sigh for
the tears of others—our honorable ancestors
and parents.”

“Then do cease to sigh at once, if you please.
Why, it is not such a terrible crime to marry
a Mori, surely!”

“No, I hope not,” said Keiki, smiling now.

“No, indeed, for my own honorable uncle
committed that same fault.”

“Fault?”

“And I believe that if we were to go to him,
and tell him the honorable truth, he would
gladly assist us.”

“Not if he knew all,” said Keiki, sadly.
“No, he must know nothing yet.”

“Indeed,” said Wistaria, “I did not know
the feeling of the Mori was so bitter against
us, and I do assure you that in Catzu the
prejudice exists not so much against your
clan, as against your lord and prince.”

“Alas, that is too true!” answered Keiki,
half under his breath.

“Well, a courtier’s loyalty to his Prince
need not at all be shaken if he marry the insignificant
niece of a rival clan. My own
honorable father was of that very clan himself.
Know you not that, my lord?”

Keiki groaned suddenly. Whereat the girl
placed her hands on his shoulders and forced
him to look into her eyes.
// 059.png
.pn +1

“My lord,” she said, “do you know aught
of my father’s history?”

Slowly Keiki drew himself up from her
clinging hands. Placing one arm close about
her, he drew her to his breast.

“Let us no longer talk of these distressful
matters.”

“Nay, I have asked you a question. Do,
I beseech you, answer me.”

“What can I say?” His voice was very
low.

“Tell me of my father—pray tell me,” she
implored, almost piteously.

“Of your father? But surely I can tell you
nothing that you do not already know?”

“I know naught of my father, save that
he was a Choshui samurai, and for some
honorable offence was banished by that wicked
and cruel Prince of Mori.”

Keiki was silent.

“I have questioned every one about me—my
uncle, his samurai, the very servants
about the castle—but none will make answer
to me, whether from ignorance or by command
of those in authority over them, I know not.
Do you, then, my lover, answer me.”

“My little flower-girl, I do not know the
offence of your honorable father, nor do I
know why or wherefore he was sent into
exile. I was but a child of five when this
penalty came upon him.”

“Then wherefore did you tremble and turn
// 060.png
.pn +1
away your eyes when I spoke of my honorable
parent?”

“Because I know that injury of some sort
was wrought against your honorable parent
by my—by the Mori, and since then so implacable
an enmity exists between our families
that nothing but blood alone can ever wipe
away the stain. Think, then, of the wrong
I do your father in loving his own daughter!”

“No, no—dear Keiki—it is no wrong, I
do assure you. If there be a feud existing
between my father and the Mori Prince, truly
you and I, who are innocent, cannot be implicated
in any way, and, indeed, it is not as
if I were about to wed one of the Mori family
itself, but—”

“In that case,” he interrupted, quickly,
“if I were indeed of this Mori family, what
then?”

For a moment the girl recoiled, shrinking
backward, and regarded him with frightened,
shocked eyes.

“That—would—be—impossible,” she said,
and she shivered with apprehension.

“If it were possible?” said the lover,
hoarsely.

“It could not be,” she insisted, “for the
Mori princes are proud and ill-favored, while
you—”

“While I?”

“—You are more beautiful than the sun-god.”
// 061.png
.pn +1

“But you have not answered me. Suppose
it were—Prince Keiki, the heir of Mori, who
wooed you?”

“I cannot, my lord. Oh, the Prince is
otherwise occupied than in wandering with
love,” replied Wistaria, smiling at the thought.
“Why, he is the head of a wicked party of
Imperialists, I have ofttimes heard my uncle
declare, and is the most cunning and base fermenter
of intrigue against our august Shogun
in the whole empire. Indeed, he has no
time or inclination for dallying with love.”

“But—if I were indeed he, what then?”

“Why, then—then,” said the girl, slowly
rising, and regarding him with shining eyes,
“then still I would say, ‘Take me.’ What
have we to do with the quarrels of our
ancestors, the wrongs or the rights of our
honorable parents? You and I are under the
sheltering wings of the god of love. We recognize
no law of country, lord, or kindred.
Let us go into the mountains together and
find refuge in a cottage where we can live
and love in peace.”

“Oh, thou dear one!” he cried.

“But why suggest such a horrible possibility?”
she continued, tremulously. “Thou
art not that base and traitorous Prince? Thou
art—”

“Thy love! That is all,” he said.
// 062.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
VII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-i.jpg w=200px align=l
N
.if-
.if t
IN
.if-
the joy and sunshine of
Wistaria’s nature, which would
have driven sadness from the
soul of a hermit, Keiki’s melancholy
was evanescent. Her
lover’s fears at the mere possibility
of their being forced apart
were soon dissipated by her.
.pi
A week passed—sped like
so many minutes. The pale
green of the spring grass was
deepening in hue and the trees
were in leaf. The lovers lingered
in the paths that led
down to the little boat-house,
whence each day they sailed
slowly down the river to the
// 063.png
.pn +1
rock island. There in the lazy, drifting boat,
the drowsy Lord of Catzu dosed back against
his padded seat, while the lovers looked into
each other’s eyes, or furtively pressed each
other’s hands.
.pi
Meanwhile their short hours of happiness
were being slowly ticked off by the god of
love, at whose shrine they had offered the
whole wealth of their hearts. The days
of their joy were numbered. That strange
honey of bliss they sipped so greedily was
soon to be snatched from their lips.

The Lady Evening Glory was recovering
slowly from her indisposition. Because the
lady herself had contracted a most wilful and
romantic marriage, she was perhaps the more
suspicious of the culpability of others. She
trusted neither youth nor maid, but Wistaria
bore the weight of her suspicions.

While gossip and idle chatter had stolen
into the lady’s chamber concerning the charms
and grace of their whilom guest, Wistaria’s
almost extravagant solicitude for her set my
lady at first to thinking, and then to acting.

The Lady Evening Glory was no believer
in the worship of the sun. Nevertheless,
some garrulous maid having carried to her
the innocent remark of her niece that she
enjoyed viewing the rising of the sun, a few
mornings later found the Lady Evening
Glory not only arising before the sun, but
wending her way through the silent corridors
// 064.png
.pn +1
of the palace until she was before the chamber
of the Lady Wistaria. Without so much as a
tap for admission, she softly pushed aside
the sliding shoji.

With the keenest of lover’s ears. Wistaria
heard the faint shir-r-r made by the sliding
doors. In the same instant down went her
own shutter. So when the Lady Evening
Glory entered the chamber she found her
niece sitting on the floor, her back set stiffly
against her casement shutter, and a deep
rosy coloring all over her face. Her guilty
eyes fell before the cold glare of her august
aunt.

The next thing the Lady Evening Glory’s
sharp eyes fell upon were the flowers. They
lay in a great, tumbled mass all about the
Lady Wistaria. There was no mistaking the
meaning of those tell-tale blossoms. The Lady
Evening Glory’s lips became a thin, pursed
line.

“The flowers? Whence came they?”

“From the honorable garden,” answered
Wistaria, trembling.

“There is no tree in all the garden with
blossoms in full bloom. They are only commencing
to bud, and will not blossom before
the first of April.”

To this undeniable fact Wistaria made no
response.

“Answer when thou art spoken to,” prompted
her aunt, sharply.
// 065.png
.pn +1

“My lady—I do not know what to say.”

“Then you leave me to my own conjectures.
You have a lover.”

“Oh no, indeed!”

“What! Flowers fresh with the morning
dew in your chamber, and you with your
hair unbound! Pray when did it become
an honorable fashion for ladies of our rank
to venture out to purchase flowers before
sunrise—and in such scanty attire?”

“My aunt, you are killing me.”

“Your health appears to me to be far from
feeble.”

“I am innocent of any wrong,” said Wistaria,
with a flash of spirit.

“Then you will not object to inform me
who presented you with these flowers?”

“An honorable gentleman,” said Wistaria.

“Indeed! And what is this honorable
gentleman’s name, may I ask?”

Wistaria hesitated. Then a sudden idea
came to her. She smiled mysteriously.

“But I do not know his name,” she said,
which was quite true, as she was unaware
of her lover’s true name.

“You do not know the name of your lover!”
cried her aunt, incredulously.

“Indeed, I wish I did.”

“Yet you accept his gift! You are entirely
without shame, girl!”

“Oh, lady! the flowers were so beautiful
I could not resist them.”
// 066.png
.pn +1

“Beautiful!” shrieked her aunt. “And because
flowers are beautiful, is that an excuse
for accepting the love of some impudent adventurer?”

“Accepting the love!” repeated Wistaria,
faltering.

“Yes, indeed, and you need not pretend ignorance
of my words. They are quite clear to
you, I have no doubt.”

“But—”

“You are well aware that by accepting the
flowers you also accept his despicable love,
and practically betroth yourself to this fellow.
He shall be flogged for his impertinence.”

“Flogged!” cried Wistaria, becoming very
pale.

“Flogged, I repeat,” said her aunt, coldly.

Wistaria shivered with apprehension. She
had not until now grasped the real seriousness
of her position.

“Your father,” continued the Lady Evening
Glory, “shall be sent for this day. We shall
see what those in authority over you think
of your conduct.”

The aunt had but to mention the father to
fill Wistaria with fear. She sprang to her
feet and stood trembling among the scattered
blossoms.

“I am guilty of no wrong, I do assure you,
my lady aunt. But I arose to enjoy the sun’s
awakening, and—and I did find these honorable
flowers on my sill, and indeed they spoke
// 067.png
.pn +1
to me of—of the coming summer, and so many
things, dear aunt, that I was fain to take
them in.”

“Then do, pray, my little dove, inform
me what you know concerning this presumptuous
fellow who placed them on your
sill.”

“Oh, my lady, he is indeed honorably
noble.”

“Indeed!”

“I do assure you. He is—” she broke off,
painfully debating in her mind the wisdom
of confessing the truth to her aunt.

“He is—?” repeated her aunt.

“Our own august guest.”

“Ah—ho! Then, if that is so, you spoke
a lie just a moment since when you said you
did not know your lover’s name.”

Wistaria attempted to speak, but broke off,
faltering and stammering piteously.

“May I inquire, then,” continued her aunt,
relentlessly, “whether you are unacquainted
with the honorable name of our august
guest?”

“Oh, my lady, I do believe that—that he
assumed another—only—just for the innocent
romance of wooing me under an assumed
title.”

“So! And pray how comes it, then, that
my son’s honorable guest should also happen
to be your lover? If in order to woo you he
came hither under an assumed name, then
// 068.png
.pn +1
it would seem that you had some previous
acquaintance with him?”

“He followed our cortege from Yedo, madame,”
confessed the unhappy girl.

“What! You do not mean to tell me that he
is that insolent Mori courtier of whom I heard
only after my arrival home?”

Wistaria pressed her hands tightly together.
She seemed overcome. Then suddenly she
raised her head with almost defiant bravery.

“He is of the Mori clan, madame,” she
said.

“The Mori clan!” The lady’s voice rose
shrilly. “How came he, then, to enter our
grounds?”

“He came, my lady, by the south river,
where there is a break in the wall.”

“But how could he know this? Answer me
that at once.”

“I—”

“Will you deign to inform me whether you
condescended so far as to answer the love-letters
of this young man, for I have no doubt
he favored you with many?”

“I wrote only one insignificant reply,” said
Wistaria.

“And what, pray, did you say in this reply?”.

“I implored him to follow us no farther.
I besought him to give up the impossible
exploit of entering our grounds, and, knowing
what would be his fate if he attempted to
// 069.png
.pn +1
do so, I also informed him that if he must indeed
enter, to do so by way of the south river,
that a portion of our grounds ran down to
this honorable river and was unprotected by
the walls, which otherwise surrounded us on
all sides.”

“So it seems that you have betrayed to our
enemy the weakness of our condition?”

“Not an enemy, lady! He is not, indeed.”

“And may I ask how your redoubtable
lover, having gained entrance to our grounds,
also contrived to wedge his way into the palace
and become a guest of our hospitality?”

“Toro—” faltered Wistaria.

Her aunt’s face flamed.

“Toro, he discovered him the first morning,
and—and—they became friends at once.”

“My son!”

“Oh yes, madame, and on my two knees, I
am prepared to beg you to show him mercy.”

“Keep your knees, my young lady, to beg
mercy for yourself. You may have need
of it ere long,” said her aunt, with chilling
irony.
// 070.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
VIII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-f.jpg w=200px align=l
ROM
.if-
.if t
FROM
.if-
the insinuations and
threats of the Lady Evening
Glory it might seem as if
Wistaria’s lover were in imminent
danger, and that the
Catzu family might be expected
to hasten instantly to cast
him out from their province
or have him imprisoned as a
trespasser and impostor. But
Japanese craft is more subtle.
Besides, the right of judgment
lay in the hands of the father
of Wistaria, who was her natural
and legal guardian. It was
necessary, therefore, that the
young man should, for the
// 071.png
.pn +1
time being, gather no suspicion of their discovery.
Consequently the Catzu family redoubled
their expressions of good-will and
friendship for their guest, while the only one
who could have warned him was placed
where she was helpless to do so.
.pi
With excessive sweetness, the Lady Evening
Glory informed the courtier that she had
heard such good reports of him from her
honorable husband that she had risen prematurely
from her bed of sickness in order
to greet him and assure him of her solicitation
for his comfort and pleasure during his
stay in Catzu.

All these marks of friendship and compliment
from the honorable lady of the house,
besides the increased cordiality of the Lord
of Catzu, would have been very delightful to
the lover, but for the fact that almost coincident
with the return to health of her aunt
it was announced that the Lady Wistaria
was unable to leave her apartments because
of a sudden illness. The lover, therefore,
in an agony of apprehension for the health
of his mistress, had no heart or ears for the
words of compliment pressed upon him by
her family.

He spent his time roving restlessly about the
grounds of the palace in the neighborhood
of Wistaria’s casement, but the blinds were
drawn tightly, morning, noon, and night,
and there was only the memory of the girl’s
// 072.png
.pn +1
exquisite face at the window to torture the
lover.

The arrival of Shimadzu, the father of the
Lady Wistaria, created no stir in the Catzu
palace. He came silently at night. If any
of the servants or members of the household
knew of his presence they were dumb concerning
the matter. The lover, consequently,
was wholly unaware of his coming.

Shimadzu was closeted for some hours
with his sister and brother-in-law. The Lady
Evening Glory was bitter against her niece.
Not merely the fact of the indelicate and unconventional
manner of the courtship, nor
even the fact that the lover was a member
of their rival clan, and through his residence
among them must have acquired information
concerning their province which would be
of value to his prince—not these things infuriated
her so much as the thought that her
son, the pride and joy of her life, the heir of
Catzu, had been led by this stranger into an
undertaking both perilous and shameful, the
outcome of which was most uncertain.

The Lord of Catzu was milder and more
lenient towards the guilty parties, possibly
realizing in his inmost soul a measure of
the responsibility. He endeavored to palliate
their offence.

As for Shimadzu himself, he had not one
word to say. He listened to the separate
speeches of his sister and brother-in-law,
// 073.png
.pn +1
and when they had concluded he simply requested
that his daughter be ordered into his
presence at once.

Wild-eyed and trembling, Wistaria was
brought in. Gone from her face, pale and
drawn with the intensity of her sufferings,
was all the sun. During the three days preceding
the arrival of her father she had been
locked up alone in an interior room of the
palace. No one had approached save her
august aunt, who brought food with her
own hands, and whose absolute silence inspired
her with a great dread. She would
speak no word, or even deign to look at the
unhappy girl. Wistaria, rendered frantic by
her fears for her lover, had ofttimes thrown
herself at her aunt’s feet, piteously beseeching
that she would enlighten her as to the fate of
her lover. But the Lady Evening Glory would
shake her skirts icily and contemptuously
from her grasp, to retire without a word of
response.

Now Wistaria prostrated herself before the
parent who had always inspired her with
such incomprehensible fear. He motioned
her to be seated, though he himself remained
standing. Mutely, mechanically, she obeyed
him.

For a moment there was silence. The deep-set
eyes of the father looked out at the young
girl, noting the piteous tremble of the hands,
the small, bowed head, the down-drooped
// 074.png
.pn +1
eyes which dared not meet his own, and all
the other evidences of her sufferings. Whatever
the thoughts of the father, whether merciful
or cruel, his impassive face revealed not
his inner feelings. In some strange way this
samurai seemed steeled against the pain of
the world itself. Suddenly he spoke, his hollow
voice smiting with a shock the frail, highly
strung girl.

“My daughter, had you a mother to love
and guide you, you would not now be unhappy.”

He paused to note the effect of his strange
words—strange because of the lack of emotion
and sympathy that should have accompanied
them. Wistaria raised her head painfully,
but she did not speak.

“Therefore,” continued her father, “I wish
to inform you that it is because of an enemy
that you are now motherless, and therefore
misguided.”

“An enemy?” repeated Wistaria, dully.

“And it is to take my revenge upon this
enemy that I am now about to impose a certain
duty upon you which may at first seem
repugnant. Before I do so, however, I wish
to remind you that you come of a proud and
heroic race, my daughter, no member of which
has ever faltered in his duty. I would therefore,
my daughter, much rather see you strong
and fearless than weak and trembling, as you
now appear.”
// 075.png
.pn +1

Raising herself bravely, with a superhuman
effort the girl grasped at her strength of will.

“My weakness, honorable father, is but
physical. Speak your august will with me,”
she said.

“That is well,” returned the samurai, briefly.
“I have a few questions first of all to put
to you. I need not say that I expect truthful
answers, and will tolerate no prevarication.”

The girl bowed her head with a certain
dignity of submissiveness.

“Of what rank is your lover?”

Wistaria trembled.

“I do not know,” she replied, in a low voice.

“He has not mentioned his rank to you?”

“Only that he was of honorably insignificant
rank.”

“Humph! Well, that is but a natural reply.
What is his appearance?”

For a brief moment a gleam of strange
pride came over her face. She pressed her
little hands passionately together.

“Oh, my father, he is honorably noble, I
do assure you. He possesses—”

“I did not ask for a rhapsody upon his merits,”
interrupted the samurai, coldly. “However,
I am satisfied as to his rank.”

A tear fell softly upon her little hand. Feeling,
rather than seeing, her father’s irritation,
she brushed it away impatiently, trying vainly
to appear brave.

“Now,” resumed Shimadzu, half to himself,
// 076.png
.pn +1
“if he is of noble rank it follows that he is
close to the Mori family. Very good.”

He turned to his daughter.

“He is a good Imperialist?”

“He is honorably loyal,” she replied.

“Loyal to his prince, you mean, or his
party?”

“Surely to both. He could not be otherwise.
He is a brave and true gentleman,
my father.”

“Very well, I have no more questions to
ask you. I shall now outline to you the duty
I have prepared for you. You are ready to
obey my will?”

“In all things, honored parent.”

“That is well. I commend you for your
filial words. First of all, I desire all possible
information concerning the young heir of
Mori.”

“But—” she faltered, “how is it possible
for me—?”

“Your lover,” said her father, quickly,
“is a Mori courtier. There is no doubt he
will give you all the information I require.”

“Oh, then, my father,” she cried, clasping
her hands together, “you will be lenient towards
him, will you not? You will permit
him to see me?”

“I have nothing against your lover,” said
her father, with slight irritation.

“Oh, father!” In a moment her face was
aglow with hope and happiness.
// 077.png
.pn +1

“I advise you to listen to me,” he rejoined,
coldly.

“Speak! speak, august father! I will follow
your commands faithfully, joyfully.”

“I wish to know the nature of this prince,
his habits, his mode of life, and the esteem
in which he is held by his people. Once
you have learned these facts, you must secure
for me specific details concerning his political
schemes against the Shogun.”

Gradually Wistaria had risen to her feet.
She had grown strangely pale. Her eyes
were frightened and apprehensive.

“You desire,” she repeated, slowly, as though
she scarce comprehended the words—“you desire
to know the secrets of—of his honorable
party?”

“Exactly.”

“You desire,” she began to repeat, “to
know the secrets—”

“More than that.”

“More. You—you—my father, you would
not injure his—his party?”

“Your apprehension, my lady, for a hostile
party, is strange for one of your training.
Are you, then, turned Imperialist?”

“No. I have no fear for myself, my lord.
But he—he—You must understand, my
lord, he believes in—loves his honorable
party—whether right or wrong. I would not
injure it because of his sake.”

“I have had enough of this weakness,
// 078.png
.pn +1
my daughter, and you must admit I have
been patient. To relieve your mind, however,
of one thing, I will inform you that I have
no designs against either this young man
or his party.”

“Oh, you lift from my heart, my honored
parent, a weight too heavy for me to bear.”

“Pugh! It seems you are determined not
to listen to my orders.”

“Speak at once. I will not again interrupt
you.”

“Very good. While I have said I have
nothing against this Imperialist party, I am,
nevertheless, desirous of knowing all their
plans and secrets. It will be your duty, therefore,
to ascertain these for me. Do not interrupt—”
as she made as if to speak. “You
would say your lover is too loyal to betray his
party secrets, even to you. Then you will use
your wit to compel him to do so.”

“I—I will do so,” she replied, drearily.

“That is not all. I wish you to force your
lover into betraying some scheme or intrigue
of his prince which would, if brought to the
attention of the Shogun, implicate him criminally.
Now I have arrived at my chief desire—in
other words, I wish to accomplish the
ruin—the death of the Prince of Mori.”

Wistaria’s head swam in vertigo. She
scarce could think or feel. Only one horrible
thought hammered itself into her mind. By
the cajolery and arts of a false woman she
// 079.png
.pn +1
was to assist in the betrayal of the prince
to whom her lover had sworn allegiance.
It was revolting, cruel, horrible. The mere
thought of it made her head whirl in dizziness.

When she attempted to speak, her words
escaped her slowly in gasps.

“I can—not—do—that!”

A terrible expression came into her father’s
face.

“You dare defy my authority?” he shouted.

“Oh, my father, put upon me any other
task but this. It is base, cruel, cruel. And
I—I am only a weak woman—”

“That is true. Do not, then, I advise you,
attempt to pit your weakness against my
strength. If you are so lacking in all those
qualities admirable in a woman and a daughter
of a noble race, I shall take means to force
you to do your duty.”

A sudden wave of courage swept over her.
She ceased to tremble, though the samurai
was fierce and menacing. There sprang into
her eyes a light of defiance.

“You have reminded me, my father, that
I come of a race of proud and heroic men.
Then let me tell you that I, too, am conscious
of possessing the intrepid blood of my ancestors,
and that you can force me to do nothing
against my will.”

As she spoke she had backed slowly across
the room, away from her father, as though retreating
from a blow. Now she stood against
// 080.png
.pn +1
the wall, her arms spread out on either side,
the hands clutching the partition.

“In ten minutes I shall show you, my lady,”
said her father, between angry, clenched teeth,
“the fate of one who dares defy her honorable
parent.”

“Do so,” was her astonishing response.
“Kill me, break all my honorable bones, my
lord. We all must suffer and die!”

“You are too quick to choose your method
of punishment, my lady. I have a more
subtle means of teaching you the duty of a
child to its parent. Do not imagine that I
shall kill your body. It is your mind and
heart I shall crush.”

“What do you mean, my lord?”

“You will understand, my lady, when your
lover is paying with his life for—”

“Oh no, no, no, no!” she cried, wildly, her
hands groping through blinding emotion as
though she would push away from her some
horror too awful for utterance. “No, no, no!”

She fell down at her father’s feet, burying
her face in the folds of his hakama, her hands
clutched about it frantically. “Oh, my father—no,
no, no!”

She could say no more.

“You will obey my commands?” inquired
the father, bending over her.

“Yes, yes—oh, my lord—anything on earth
you may command. Only spare him, I beseech
you, I pray to you, as I would to a
// 081.png
.pn +1
god!” She fell to moaning and crying with
the weakness of hysteria, no longer brave,
defiant.

He raised her not ungently. Holding her
hands firmly, he looked sternly into her face.

“Listen to me, my daughter. The task
may seem to you horrible. It should not be
so. It is a righteous, holy cause you serve.
I have sworn to the dead, pledged myself, to
encompass a certain vengeance, which must
not escape me now. I have lived for no other
purpose. If I have seemed a cold, unfeeling
father, stern, unsympathetic, and unloving,
it is because I have a mission in life greater
than that of a father. It is you who must
help me to attain this ambition. Vengeance—honest,
righteous vengeance—for a wrong
done me and mine is a holy cause. No Japanese
girl can regard it otherwise. The Prince
of Mori is our bitter enemy. We must accomplish
his undoing—his death!”

“Yes, yes,” she said, between her chattering
teeth; “and you will not harm <i>him</i>?”

“I repeat I have nothing against this man.
It is his prince whose proud spirit I will break!
Kill!”

“Yes, yes—only <i>his</i> prince—the old prince.
You wish me to kill him? Yes, I will do
so.”

“No; it is the young prince who must
die—the son of the Prince of Mori. Do you
not understand that I accomplish a more
// 082.png
.pn +1
complete revenge by compassing the death
of him who is the salt of his life?”

“Yes, yes; I see it clear. I must kill the
innocent. Ah-h! Oh, it is cruel, cruel!”

She was weeping brokenly, piteously at his
feet again, her physical strength quite gone.

The samurai leaned over her.

“Soon, my daughter, you will have regained
your strength and will. From your attitude
of a little while ago I am made aware that
you are possessed of such qualities as might
impel you to attempt to betray your father.
Be assured that you shall be given no opportunity
for doing so. For your own good
I would advise you to lay the honorable force
of repression upon your disturbed spirits,
and bring yourself to do that which I have
set for you with completeness and swiftness.
In this way you will render a service to your
father and family, and save the life of this
man you love.”
// 083.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
IX
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-a.jpg w=200px align=l
PRIL
.if-
.if t
APRIL
.if-
danced lightly over the
land. Merrily she flung her
rainbow showers of sweetest
water upon the earth, the trees,
the fearsome grass which March
had coaxed in vain to do more
than peep its head above the
soil. Now the land was covered
with a mantle so soft and tender
that its young life seemed
a thing that it were wanton to
crush beneath the foot.
.pi
Early, early in the morning,
before the birds and flowers
had cocked up their little heads
to seize the first sun-kiss, a
lover stood in a garden all
// 084.png
.pn +1
made of gently sloping hillocks, crowned
with trees whitened, as if frost-laden, with
the full bloom of the cherry and plum. And
the lover’s voice called softly and tenderly
to his lady’s casement:

“Lady Wistaria! My sweetest Wistaria!”

At first there was no response. Moving
nearer the casement, he called again:

“Sweetest, dearest one, will you not come
to your window for a minute—but a fraction
of a minute?”

Softly a hand slid back the shoji—a slender,
small, expressive hand of perfect form and
contour, and then a young girl’s face appeared
at the opening. Her eyes were very
dark, and infinitely, intensely sad in expression.
Indeed, one might almost wonder
whether their very brightness was not caused
by the dews of unshed tears. She was pale.
There was no color in her face at all, save
that of her red lips.

So pale and ethereal she seemed to her
rapturous lover that, for a moment, he was
filled with an eerie fear—was she mortal, or
one of those fragile spirits who abide on the
earth for a season only? Then, all in a moment,
her eyes meeting those of her lover, the
sadness of the night passed from her like a
shadow which is vanquished by the sunlight.
An instant later she was again pale.

“Speak to me at once,” implored the lover,
“for but a moment since I thought you a
// 085.png
.pn +1
spirit. Dearest one, assure me that my passion
is not in vain, and that my eyes deceive
me when they fancy that yours are sad.”

Her voice faltered and trembled at first.
Gradually she steadied it.

“My honorable eyes,” she said, “are not always
faithful mirrors of my heart. Yes, indeed,
you are deceived, my lord. Look again.
Surely you will see that—that they do smile.”

“Yes,” he replied, regarding her somewhat
wistfully, “it is true. They do smile, and
yet—” He hesitated. “You do not appear
happy, Fuji-wara.”

A strange little laugh escaped her lips.
But she made no reply. She had turned her
eyes from his, staring out before her. As
the trouble deepened in the lover’s eyes, he
reached up, touching very gently the small
white hand on the sill. The light touch of
his hand startled her. Before he could speak
she had recovered herself, leaning farther over
to him. Her words sounded strangely harsh.

“My lord, do let us resume our conversation
concerning this brave cause to which you
adhere.”

He flushed warmly.

“It seems incongruous,” he replied, after a
moment, “that a tender maiden should be
interested in political conflicts.”

“That is very unkind, my lord. You do
not credit me, then, with any other quality,
apparently, than that of pale softness. Indeed,
// 086.png
.pn +1
my vanity has saved me from the knowledge
that the gods have been most unkind.”

“Nay, do not speak so,” he tenderly chid
her. Of late he had chafed not a little at
her persistent waiving aside of all tenderer
subjects to discuss those of larger import
to men alone.

“Well, then,” she persisted, “say that I am
capricious, whimsical, what you will. But do,
pray, humor me, and if I find it necessary”—she
stammered over her words—“if I find it
interesting to discuss such matters, pray allow
me to do so.”

“Do so, then, at once, dear one! I am all
ears to listen and all tongue to reply.”

“Pray tell me, then, are you truly an Imperialist
at heart, or merely so in name because
you are a Mori?”

“Pray tell me where my insignificant sympathies
should lie, and there I swear to you
shall they be.”

She protested that he but begged her question.
Did he, then, consider, because she was
but a weak maiden, that her interest in such
a matter must needs be a slight thing? Was
she not herself a daughter of a samurai, and
did not the flame, the fire of patriotism glow
unceasingly in her breast also?

“Dear Wistaria,” entreated the lover, “I
pray you do not disturb your gentle bosom
with these questions which are meant for
soldiers, not for maidens.”
// 087.png
.pn +1

“Nay, then,” she replied, and there were
tears in her voice now, “why will you persist
so? You are quite wrong, too. Let me repeat:
I am the daughter of a family whose
women have had their honorable share in
the affairs of the nation.”

“True, but your house has stood always
on one side only. They have never deigned
even to hear the argument, the pious, patriotic
cry of the other side.”

“My house! Well, my lord, and am I a
house?”

He kissed the slender hand on the window ledge.
It reached just to his lips.

“Nay, I swear you are a goddess. It could
not be possible that one so good and fair would
favor an evil cause.”

“Evil? Ah, then, my lord, is the cause of
my house an evil one?”

He looked up into her eyes earnestly.

“I should be a traitor, my lady, did I take
advantage of the friendly hospitality your
house has offered me to repay it by sowing
seeds of mischief.”

“But if the seeds were not mischievous,
my lord? If they were worthy and good?”

He dropped her hand abruptly, and paced
for a time up and down the small grass-grown
walk beneath her window.

In the shadow of the room behind the Lady
Wistaria another face appeared for the space
of a moment only. Long, lean, cadaverous
// 088.png
.pn +1
it was, wherein fierce eyes burned like living
coals. With a shudder, Wistaria clutched her
hand over her heart. Back to her casement
came the lover.

“My sweetest girl, do not let us discuss so
melancholy a subject.”

Impatient to speak with her of other matters
nearer his heart, the lover let full, passionate
appeal shine in his eyes. Wistaria’s
paleness deepened, if that were possible. Her
eyes grew humid with repressed sadness.
Her voice trembled and broke in spite of her
words.

“Melancholy, my lord? Nay, you would
treat me as a child. You would turn my
heart from a lofty subject with the graceless
remark that it is too melancholy for me.”

“Lady, I would turn your heart to the
holiest of all subjects on earth.”

“Ah, what is that, dear Keiki—No, no, no!
Pray excuse my honorable rudeness. Do,
pray, my lord, rather perceive my intense
curiosity in the matter of which we have
spoken. Then when you have enlightened
me, speak whatever you will, my lord. I
will listen.”

“And concerning what am I to enlighten
you?”

“The question which cuts our country into
two bitter factions, each defiant and warlike
towards the other.”

Into the lover’s face there crept vague, baffled
// 089.png
.pn +1
perplexity mirroring the thought beyond.
Coquetry, or desire for political truth—which
swayed his mistress? If the former, there
was no combating it; if the latter, then—why
then he would speak her true. He said:

“Will you tell me, then, whom you have
been taught to regard as the ruler of Japan?”

“Why, our good Shogun Iyesada,” she returned,
promptly.

“Yet he is not so regarded by every one
in Japan.”

“Why is that?”

“Because there are many who would see
our rightful sovereign, our divine Emperor,
upon the throne.”

“But, my lord, his Imperial Majesty is, indeed,
already upon the throne, is he not?”

“Only nominally. I fear, my lady, that
you have not read the <i>Dai Nihon Shi</i> of the
Prince of Mori?”

“No, but I am much interested in it.”

“The history,” continued the young man,
with vehement bitterness, “was purged repeatedly
by the Yedo censor of the Shogun.
It dared to speak the truth to the people. I
do assure you it was not destroyed, however,
before it had done its work well.”

“How? Pray do tell me all about it.”

“Have you never heard that pious—fanatical,
if you will—cry, a barely half-muffled
war-cry now, ‘Daigi Heibunor!’” [the King
and the subject].
// 090.png
.pn +1

His voice rose with a growing passion.
Into his eyes leaped the gleam of the patriot.

An exclamation escaped the lips of the
young girl.

“Oh, my lord, do not speak so loudly. I
would feign warn you. I—I—”

She broke off in her agitation. But her
apparent fear for him only filled her lover
with a great joy. His voice softened.

“Fuji-wara, will you suffer yourself to listen
hereafter to a confessed traitor?”

“Dear lord, traitor to the wrong?”

“Oh, dearest girl, can it actually be that
you sympathize with our noble cause?”

“I—I—Tell me, do, pray tell me, with
whom does the young Prince of Mori sympathize?”

“Oh, the rascal is a descendant of the Mori
of whom I spoke just now.”

“And an adherent to his views?”

“Possibly.”

“You do not know for a fact,” she urged,
tremulously, “just to what party the Prince
does adhere?”

“My lady,” replied the lover, with some
constraint, “the Prince has his pride of caste.
He is also not without the inherited germs
of patriotism in his soul.”

“And still they do say that he is as silly
as a butterfly, and so given to frivolity that
his head can hold no serious thought.”

“I do assure you,” replied the other, flushing
// 091.png
.pn +1
warmly, “that our prince is not all he
may seem.”

“My lord, I have conceived the most overwhelming
interest in this young Prince Mori.”

“Indeed!” The young man started back
in humorous dismay. The girl smiled now,
a little, dreary smile.

“Be assured, my lord, that the interest is
not of a sentimental nature. But it would
seem that the young Prince was surely born
for a great purpose.”

“Yes?” inquired the other, eagerly.

“And that is, to follow in the steps of his
honorable ancestor.”

“Oh, dearest girl, you fill my soul with
joy! I am ready to swear that your sweet
heart beats for the right—the noble cause
to which—”

“The Prince Mori is sworn?” she interrupted,
quickly.

“Ay! and all the patriotic sons of Japan!”

“And what do these sons of Japan propose
to do? What are the plans of the Prince
Mori?”

“My lady!”

“Pray, why do you start so, Keiki-sama?”

“You ask a weighty question with the
same lightness you would bestow if inquiring
about the weather!”

“Then the tones of my voice do me injustice.”

“Wistaria, I swear I will not speak another
// 092.png
.pn +1
word on this subject. No—not even
to you.”

“But—”

“No, no. I swear I will not.”

“My lord—”

“Did I arise an hour before the sun, think
you, to preach politics to my mistress?”

“You recall the hour to me now. It seems
I must bid you farewell. My maid even
now is tapping on my door. Do, pray then,
depart.”

The young man appeared cut to the heart
at the parting. He sighed so deeply that
Wistaria could not bear to gaze upon him,
and, conscious of the impatient presence within,
she drew her windows back hastily and
shut out the sight of her lover from her. Then
she faced her father within.

“You have heard all, honored parent?”

“Everything.”

“You are a witness of my continued efforts.
I fear we have learned all there is to know.”

“Your opinion was not asked,” replied the
father, coldly. “Your services are all I require.
You will resume them to-morrow.”

The Lady Wistaria prostrated herself before
her parent with the utmost humility.

“I am prepared to obey your august will in
all things,” she murmured, in the most filial
and submissive of voices.
// 093.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
X
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-t.jpg w=200px align=l
HE
.if-
.if t
THE
.if-
aged castle moat was darkly
melancholy, though its banks
on either side were beautiful
with the damp grass and the
meeting willow and wistaria.
Cold, still, and deep were its
waters. At night it seemed
grewsome and uncanny, perhaps
because of the tragedy of
its history, which every Catzu
courtier knew. Even in
the bright sunlight its beauty
was seductively sad, for its
dark waters were covered with
white lotus, mingled with
red and purple, with golden
hearts, whose little cups
// 094.png
.pn +1
each held one drop of dew—a glistening
tear.
.pi
Wandering dejectedly along the banks of
the old moat, Keiki vainly sought in his
mind for some clew to the phenomenal change
in his mistress. Though at times her eyes
seemed drowned in tears of tenderness, more
often they were coldly glassy. Her conversation,
too, was spasmodic, devoid of all
endearment, and of a sort alien to lovers.
When he had first seen her after the illness
which had kept her from his sight for some
days, he had lost all self-control in the joy
of beholding her once more. In ardent imagination
he revived the memory of those
dream-days on the little rock island of the
twenty geishas, but though she appeared
to have recovered her health, she no longer
accompanied him upon such excursions. Indeed,
she was rarely seen in the Catzu palace,
except on the formal occasions of the guest-room.
Keiki had been forced to content
himself with those early morning meetings
at her casement, so brief, so unsatisfactory.
For she no longer murmured shy words of
love and happiness. She talked, instead, of
ridiculous matters, the politics of the country!

Nevertheless, through her apparent sympathy
for this cause so close to the heart of
the young man, she had revivified those thrills
of patriotism which, for the nonce, he had
// 095.png
.pn +1
pushed aside to devote all his heart and mind
to the sweeter employment of loving.

In a moment of enthusiasm, only two days
before, he had confided to her the far-reaching
plans of the Mori princes for their country.
She had begged him with tears in her eyes to
tell her of them; then, before he had half
finished, she had entreated him wildly to tell
her no more, and the next instant, piteously,
tremblingly, begged him to continue. And
then as he went on she had dropped her head
upon her arms and buried her face from his
sight. Her emotion had thrilled him. At the
moment he could have fallen on his knees,
beseeching her to do something to hasten
their marriage so that he might return to
Choshui to do his part in this noble cause.
Before he could speak, however, she had
raised her face and gazed for a moment upon
him with such an expression of penetrating
agony and appeal that he had sprung towards
her, hastily crying out her name, “Wistaria!
Wistaria!”

A moment later she was gone. The following
morning he had waited in vain in
the garden beneath her casement. Over and
over again he had tapped upon her shutters
and called her name, but there was no response.
He had met with the same experience
this morning. Keiki was very miserable.
Since the change in her seemed inexplicable,
his confidence was shaken—not his confidence
// 096.png
.pn +1
in her faith or truthfulness, but in her love.
He began to torture his mind with the possibility
that she might not love him, that she
had been but a girl, after all, who, flattered
by his manner of wooing her, had thought
she returned his affection. His faith in her
purity of soul was so perfect that no slightest
thought of any designs upon his political
schemes ever occurred to him in connection
with Wistaria.

Thus unhappy, worried, and very much in
love, Keiki walked moodily along the bank
of the old castle moat, his old assurance and
egotism completely gone from him.

Suddenly as he strolled along something
struck him sharply on the temple. Stooping,
he raised from the ground what seemed to
be a soft pebble. Examining it more closely,
however, he perceived it to be a lady’s fine
paper handkerchief rolled into a little ball.
Half wonderingly, half idly, Keiki undid it.
A faint, familiar perfume exuded from it
as he shook it out. In an instant he was
pressing it rapturously to his face. It was
from Wistaria. Tenderly turning it about and
enjoying its sweetness, he found as he was
smoothing it out a little word in the centre:

“Go.”

The lover became pale as death. He read
it again, then repeated it aloud—“Go!” Its
meaning was plain. He did not doubt for
an instant from whom it came. That one
// 097.png
.pn +1
little word from her explained everything—the
change in her, her realization that
she did not love him, and this silent means
of telling him the truth. He crumpled the
handkerchief in his hand. A moment later
he was pacing—almost running—up and
down along the bank of the silent, mocking
moat. He could not think. He could only
feel. Then he threw himself prone upon the
ground, his face buried in the long grasses.
He was smothering and choking back the
hoarse, terrible sobs of a man—one who had
been trained in the inflexible school of the
samurai.

The day passed over his head. The sky,
ruddy with the setting sun, paled gradually,
until it seemed as though a veil were drawn
softly across it. Still Keiki gave himself up
to his despair. For him it seemed that the
sun had gone out, life had ceased.

As the shadows continued to spread their
batlike wings over the heavens, darkening,
darkening the skies, until only an impenetrable
vault of darkness dotted with myriad
magic lights was above and about him, he
still lay there.

A rustle disturbed the grass. Possibly
a hare running by. Keiki heeded it not.
Something was stirring, moving near him.
Mechanically, dully, he listened. Some one
had lost his way among the willows and with
his hands was feeling his way. From his
// 098.png
.pn +1
own despair Keiki was recalled by the sudden
acute knowledge of possible danger to this
person who had evidently lost his way. One
false step towards the boggy grass, and beyond
was the treacherous moat, whose water-flowers
and reeds hid its dark surface. Suddenly
he sprang to his feet and called out
hoarsely:

“Who is the honorable one?”

He fancied he heard a cry. He ran towards
it, then stopped short. He had come upon
her there in the willows. Her kimono shone
out startlingly white with a stray moon-beam
upon it, but her gown was not less white than
her face, which stared into the darkness like
that of a statue.

Slowly he went to her as though drawn
by subtle, compelling hands. Close to her,
almost touching her; he did not speak, because
he could not. Bitter words had sprung
to his lips only to die before birth. He perceived
that she was trembling from head to
foot. Her hands stood out from her sleeves,
each finger apart, and they trembled, quivered,
shook.

With an inarticulate cry he caught them
in his own, inclosing them warmly, almost
savagely, in his grasp. Then his voice came
to him. It was very husky and strange.

“Speak!”

“Go!—Go!”

This was all she whisperingly cried. She
// 099.png
.pn +1
kept repeating it over and over between her
chattering teeth. As he wound his arms
about her shivering form he found that she
was dripping wet. Could it be that she had
fallen into the moat? By what miracle of the
gods, then, had she been saved? The dark
waters were so deep—so deep!

“You are wet and cold! You have met
with an accident?”

“No, no,” she said. “It was the honorable
grass—so wet—so cold, like a lake. I crawled
through it, on my hands and knees, close to
the moat.”

“But why did you do it, why did you do
it?” His voice was imploring.

“To come to you. To be with you—to—”

He clasped her closer, warmed to the soul
by her words.

“Ah, then it is not true,” he cried, “and
you do still love me, Fuji-wara?”

“Better than my soul. Better than my
duty to the gods,” she whispered.

The sound of her voice was muffled. Her
words literally sighed through her lips. He
could not comprehend; he knew only that she
loved him, had come to him, and now she
was all water-wet, pale-eyed, and trembling
as one who sleeps with fear. And because
that strange voice hurt his soul, he covered
her lips with his hand. She made no remonstrance,
but sank into his arms, almost
as if she had fainted. But looking down he
// 100.png
.pn +1
saw her eyes were wide open, shining like
dark stars. They startled him. They were
like those of a dead woman. He shook her
almost roughly in his fright.

“Wistaria! Speak to me! What is it?
Tell me your trouble.”

“Trouble?” she repeated, dazedly. “Trouble!”

Then she remembered. She grasped his
arm till her fingers almost pierced through
the silk into his flesh.

“You must go—go! Go quickly—run all
the way. Do not stop one moment—not one
little moment.”

“Go away? Run? What are you saying?”

“Listen! In a moment, perhaps, I may
not have power to speak. My strength is
failing me. I thought you would obey the
word I sent you. But I saw you fall down
among the grasses, and all day long I have
watched from my window, waiting, waiting,
waiting to see you depart. No, no—listen
unto me—do not speak. I escaped the vigilance
of my jailers—my executioners. Oh,
will you not understand? I have come through
perils you cannot imagine to warn you—to
beg you on my knees to go away at once.
Hasten to Choshui!”

Her breath failed her. She had been speaking
quickly, in sharp gasps.

“But I do not understand,” he said.
// 101.png
.pn +1

“Your prince—your august prince is in
danger!”

“What?”

“The Prince of—the young Prince Keiki,”
she gasped.

“The young Prince Keiki!” he repeated, incredulously.

“Yes, yes; they have discovered his secrets—they
will arrest him for treason and—”

He almost shouted.

“His secrets! The cause! Oh, all the
gods!”

“You can save him. There may be time.
They will take him and cast him into a dungeon
and kill him!”

“I must set off at once,” excitedly he muttered.
“What could have happened in my
absence?”

Her shivering, trembling presence recalled
him. He was distracted at the thought of
leaving her. He could think of nothing else.
He tried to see her white face in the darkness,
but could only trace the pale outlines. Suddenly
he took it in his hands.

“Fuji-wara,” he whispered, in a voice of
mingled love and agony. “How can I leave
you? How can I do so? And yet you would
not have me act the part of a coward, the
false traitor. You would be the first to bid
me go.”

“Go, go!” she cried, releasing herself from
his hands feverishly.
// 102.png
.pn +1

“And you?”

“Lead me back into the path. I shall find
my way from there.”

Leading her, he questioned anxiously:

“There is danger for you here, Wistaria?
Tell me, or I shall not depart.”

She turned the question.

“Last night there was a slight earthquake
in the province. There is always danger.
But you and I have pledged each other. For
the time of this life and the next, and as many
after as may come, I will be your flower-wife
and you my husband.”

At parting he kissed the hem of her kimono
and the little, water-soaked foot beneath.
// 103.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XI
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-w1.jpg w=200px align=l
HEN
.if-
.if t
WHEN
.if-
the tender veil of the
first hours of the morning was
raised from the face of the
sun, the early light revealed
a small, still, white face at a
window where the morningglory,
rising from the midst
of spring roses, mingled with
the wild ivy of Japan, clambered
up and encircled the casement,
and nodded until the
blossoms touched and caressed
the small, dark head. The eyes,
darkly overcast with ceaseless
watching, stared out through
the mist of the morning, across
the musk-laden gardens and
// 104.png
.pn +1
over the silent moat, trying to pierce with
the vision of love the distance beyond the
lines of the province.
.pi
Thus all night long had the delicate Lady
Wistaria crouched at her casement. Did the
night winds stir the long grasses or rattle the
boughs of the trees and bushes, the young
girl started and trembled with unspeakable
fear. Did the steady beat, beat of the wooden
sandals of the guards at the palace gates for
a moment cease or increase their rhythmic,
orderly tramp, her heart bounded up, then almost
stopped its beating. The slightest sound
or stir made her tremble and quiver. Only
the nightingale, softly, piercingly, ceaselessly
singing throughout the night, comforted and
soothed her like the song of an angel. Under
its soothing influence she had fallen asleep,
with her little, tired head upon her arms. But
even while she slept, she sighed and trembled.
Awaking before daybreak, she heeded not the
shivering breezes of the passing night, but
waited for the sunlight.

An alert guard of the palace gates, after the
night watch, was wending his way through
one of the paths which led out of the grounds,
when he thought he heard some one calling
his name. It was very early. But for the
chirping of a few waking birds, the gardens
were very silent and still. He stopped
short in his walk and listened. There it was
again—a woman’s or a child’s voice, calling
// 105.png
.pn +1
his name, softly, almost appealingly. Turning
sharply, the guard retraced his steps down
the path, looking about him anxiously as
he neared the palace.

“O—Yone! Yone-yara!”

He turned in the direction of the voice.

“O—Yone! This way! It is I—your
lady!”

Then the guard saw the Lady Wistaria
leaning far out from her casement. He ran
forward and dropped on his knees, touching
the earth with his head.

“Closer! Still closer!” she called, in a
whisper.

“Yes, my lady!”

He knelt close under her casement, his
head bent, and respectfully attentive.

She whispered.

“I wish you to do me a service; will you
not, Yone?”

“Oh, my lady!” was all the young man
could stammer, out of his eagerness to serve
her.

“I know you are tired after your watch,
and it was long—so long!” She sighed, as
though she, too, had kept the watch with
him.

“No, no!” cried the young guard, hastily.
“Indeed I am honorably fresh, my lady. Do
not spare me any service.”

“Then do you please run as swiftly as your
honorable feet will carry you to the home
// 106.png
.pn +1
of Sir Takemoto Genji, and bid him hasten
to me here at once, without one moment’s
delay. Now hasten—do not wait!”

Like a flash of wind the young soldier
had sprung to his feet, had leaped across
the small division to the bridge spanning
the moat, and was speeding through the
wooded park beyond.

In less than fifteen minutes the samurai
Genji was bending the knee to the Lady Wistaria.

“Thy service, my lady!”

“Oh, Sir Genji,” she cried out, throwing all
caution to the winds, “I am in such dire
trouble—such fearful, cruel trouble!”

“Why, my little lady?” The big samurai
was on his feet, regarding her with amazed
eyes.

“Yes, yes—I know it seems incredible to
you that I should have trouble of any sort,
but indeed it is so, and—”

“Aré moshi, moshi!” soothed the samurai,
patting her hand reassuringly.

“You will be my very good friend, will you
not, Sir Gen?”

“Friend! Command me to cut myself in
half and I will do so at once!”

“Last night,” she whispered, “he—”

He nodded comprehendingly, certain that
only one “he” could exist in my lady’s mind.

“—he escaped!” she gasped.

“Escaped?”
// 107.png
.pn +1

“Oh, you know—you know of whom I
speak.”

“Yes, yes—certainly; but how do you mean—escaped?
He was our honored guest, was
he not?”

“His prince is my father’s mortal enemy.
My father has been my jailer for many days
now, and I—I have been forced to cause him
to betray his prince. Oh, will you not understand!”

“Hah! It is all quite plain! But why did
you not inform me sooner?”

“Because until yesterday my father kept
so constant a watch over me that I could
make no movement he would not have perceived.
But do not ask useless questions
now, Gen. Help me. Tell me what to do—what
to do.”

“You say he has escaped? When and
how did he go?”

“Last night, Gen. I climbed down the
vine of the casement here. See, it is strong.
My father for the first time had not been near
me all day, and I thought I was safe from
observation, though indeed I could not be
sure. But I went to him and warned him
of the danger, and he has gone to Choshui.”

“That is very well, then.”

“But my father may know the truth and
will track him through the woods. I cannot
live for the fear, the august dread, of what
may befall him.”
// 108.png
.pn +1

“Do not tremble so, my lady. Things are
not so dark as they seem. It is quite impossible
for your father to have overheard
you; he left Catzu at noon yesterday.”

“Ah! Then if that is so, it will be too
late to warn the young Prince Mori,” she
cried.

“But do not think of this prince, my lady.
Be happy that your august lover is safe.”

“Oh,” she cried, despairingly, “but I cannot
have the death of this innocent prince upon
my hands. I should die if anything happened
to him.”

“Well, do take some comfort, my lady.
You say your lover departed last night. Very
good. The samurai Shimadzu left yesterday
at noon. Yet the young man, I am ready to
swear by my sword, will be the first to reach
Choshui.”

“Oh, but vengeance and hatred will lend
wings to my parent’s feet.”

“And the wings of vengeance and hatred,
my lady, are not so fleet as those of the wings
of love. Be assured.”

“Sir Gen, you do not know, you would not
believe all I have suffered.”

Sir Genji’s brows contracted. Ever since
he had followed her to the old Catzu palace,
when she was a tiny, bewitching little creature
of five, with laughing lips and shining eyes,
a flower ornament tumbling down the side
of her hair and a miniature kimono tied about
// 109.png
.pn +1
with a purple obi, she had been his favorite.
He could scarcely believe it possible that any
one could be cruel to this beautiful young
girl. His looks just then bode ill for any
one who should cause her pain. Nevertheless,
for many days now the young girl’s
chamber had been not unlike that of an inquisitorial
prison. It was true there were
no thumb-screws or neck-halters or burning-irons
within, but there were instruments
of torture more refined and excruciating in
their torture, because they pierced the mind
rather than the body.

If the girl awoke screaming in the night,
one could be sure that some creeping, spying
presence had entered her chamber and had
grown upon the consciousness of her dreams,
rudely awakening her to the fearful nightmare
of an unseen presence. In the early
morning she was awakened from her sleep and
forced to carry on those nerve-shocking, heart-breaking
interviews with her lover. She fell
asleep at night with the intuitive knowledge
that one watched unceasingly in her chamber.
She might make no stir or movement
unobserved.

This Sir Genji heard for the first time.

“And I may rely on you for the future?”
she asked, in conclusion.

The samurai raised his sword.

“With this, gentle lady, I’ll serve thee and
him,” he said.
// 110.png
.pn +1

Then with a quick movement he flung the
sword to the ground.

Three days passed away. She seemed like
one in a dream, under a spell, as she hung
over her flowers. Under the fruit-trees she
wandered. Their petals, odorous and dewy-laden,
fell around and upon her like a cloud
of summer snow-flakes. They made her
quiver with memories that caused her pain.
She ran through the grasses away from them,
her little feet scattering the petals before
her, seeking the banks of the moat far away
from where he had been wont to stand at the
dawning, pleading for her love.

But the lotus with the dew in its cups smiled
but to weep. She threw herself down by the
water’s edge, and swept with her hand the
lotus back from the surface of the water.
The flowers at her touch left one little oval
spot, out of which her small face shone up
at her with its startled eyes of tragedy. She
fancied it a magic mirror wherein the face
of the divine goddess of mercy was reflected.
So she prayed to the goddess very softly,
and quite as one whose mind has been over-weighted
with trouble, for peace and mercy
for that wilful and foolish Lady Wistaria,
whose lover had passed out of her life and
gone the gods knew whither. And the lips
of the goddess in the water moved in soundless
response, but, “He is gone—gone!” said
the hapless Lady Wistaria.
// 111.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-t.jpg w=200px align=l
HE
.if-
.if t
THE
.if-
Lady Wistaria was carried
to her father’s home at night.
There was no gorgeous cortège,
no gayly bedecked attendants
or retainers to bend the back
and knee to her. She travelled
alone, in a covered palanquin
borne on the shoulders of hired
runners, beside whom the tall,
lank figure of her father strode.
They set her down in the heart
of the city, the rest of the journey
being made on foot. When she
had last visited her father’s
home he had carried her on
his back, after he had dismissed
the palanquin, for she
// 112.png
.pn +1
was then but a small girl of ten. Now she
walked silently, dumbly, by his side. As
they reached and passed through the silent
little village that had impressed her as a
child, strange fancies flitted in and out of
Wistaria’s mind. There was none of that
strange up-leaping of the heart, experienced
on returning to a home not seen for years.
The old mystic horror and fear of the place
had taken possession of Wistaria, but now, with
a woman’s wide-open eyes, her wonder and fear
began to form themselves into vague fancies.
.pi
Slowly passing along the silent, spiral
streets, climbing up and around hillock after
hillock, they came finally before the small,
whitewashed house with its dark, empty, cold
interior. The old, old woman who had fondled
and sung to the child Wistaria came hobbling
and mumbling to the door. She wept
over Wistaria’s hands, caressed them, and
drew her head to her bosom with a crooning
laugh that was almost a sob.

“I am very weary and would fain retire at
once,” said Wistaria, as she returned the old
woman’s caress.

Madame Mume attended Wistaria tenderly
towards the stairway which led to the upper
part of the house. But, as she did so, Shimadzu
called to his daughter in his hollow
voice of command.

“Stay,” he said. “I have much to say to
you to-night.”
// 113.png
.pn +1

Bowing obediently, if wearily, to her father,
Wistaria handed her cape to the old woman
and mechanically followed him into the
ozashiki.

“My daughter,” began the father, “do you
know where you now are?”

This strange question surprised Wistaria,
but she replied, with a gentle smile:

“In my honorable father’s house.”

“That is true, but do you know where
your father’s house is situated?”

“No.”

“Very well; I will tell you, then. My house,
though seemingly apart, because of its situation
on the hill, is built in the heart of an
Eta settlement.”

“Eta?” repeated Wistaria, mechanically.
She had heard the word somewhere before,
but just what it signified her mind at the
moment could not recall. So she repeated the
word again, as though it troubled yet fascinated
her. “Eta!—Eta!”

“Eta,” repeated her father. “In other
words, the social outcast, the despised pariah
class of Japan.”

Then silence fell like a swift, blank darkness
upon them. Wistaria trembled with a creeping
horror she could not fathom or grasp.

Somewhere, somehow, vaguely, dimly, she
had heard of this class of people. Perhaps
it was at school. Perhaps her aunt had
instructed her in their condition. One thing
// 114.png
.pn +1
was certain, she was suddenly made aware
of just what the one word Eta signified.

It described a class in Japan upon whom
the ban of ostracism and isolation had been
placed by an inviolate heritage and a cruel
custom. So virulent and bitter was the prejudice
against them and the contempt in
which they were held, that in the enumerations
of the population they were omitted from
the count and numbered as cattle.

Herded in separate villages, their existence
ignored by the communities, none but the
most degraded tasks were assigned to them—that
of burying criminals, slaughtering cattle,
that of the hangman and public executioner.

Whence they had come, why they were
held in the contempt of all other citizens,
what their origin, none could tell. When
had there been a time in the history of the
nation that they did not exist? Some old
histories aver that they were originally captives
from the great Armada of the Tartar invaders
who dreamed of conquering the sacred
realm. Others declare that they were the descendants
of the public executioners from time
immemorial; and again, more recent students
assert that they were descendants of the family
and retainers of Taira-No-Masakado-Heishimo,
the only man in Japan who ever seriously
conspired to seize the imperial throne
by armed force. Whatever their origin, they
were the outcast people of the realm. They
// 115.png
.pn +1
were not permitted to mingle with or marry
outside of their own class, and any one who
chose to marry among them must either suffer
the penalty of death or become one of them.

The long silence which ensued after Shimadzu
had spoken the word Eta was broken
by the Lady Wistaria.

“And why,” she asked, with a tremor she
could not keep from her voice—“why does
my honorable father make his home among
this outcast people?”

“Because,” quickly came the passionate
response, “your honorable father is an Eta,
as is also my lady his daughter.”

Wistaria’s eyes, wide with shocked surprise,
stared mutely up into her father’s face.
What! she—the Lady Wistaria, the dainty,
cultivated, carefully guarded and nurtured
lady—an Eta girl! Her mind could not grasp,
would not hold the thought.

“Listen,” said her father, slowly. “I was
born in a city of the south, the seat of a daimio
of eight hundred thousand koku. My
father’s house stood within the outer fortifications
surrounding this prince’s castle. I
was trained in the school of the samurai. I
grew up, honoring and swearing by this
prince. When I became of age I entered his
service. No love of man for woman was more
persistent than my loyalty to his cause. Devotion
to him was my highest ideal.

“My prince had a bitter rival and enemy.
// 116.png
.pn +1
He was a good and powerful lord, though a
Shogun favorite. This lord loved my sister
and was loved by her. In an evil moment
I listened to her entreaties, and forgot my
allegiance to my prince in so far as to assist
his rival to win and wed my sister, now the
Lady of Catzu. Immediately I brought down
upon my head the bitterest detestation of my
own prince. I was assigned to the poorest
and most degrading of posts, that of the spy
and the suppressor of petty broils, and finally
detailed to live in and protect a certain Eta
settlement. So much of my time was thus
forcibly spent among these people that I came
to study, to understand, and finally to sympathize
with them.

“I was young, as I have said, impressionable,
and I had been trained in the school
of chivalry. It fell to my lot to be the protector
of an Eta maiden of such beauty of
person and purity of soul that—”

He broke off in his recital, and, to clear his
husky voice, raised with a shaking hand a
tumbler of sake to his lips and swallowed it
at a gulp. He began again, with passionate
fierceness. His eyes glittered with inward fire.

“I married the maiden!”

With a sudden little sob, Wistaria moved
closer to him and drew his hands up to her
lips.

“My mother?” The words passed her lips
as a quick, burning question.
// 117.png
.pn +1

“Thy mother,” he repeated, and then she
saw in the dim light of the room the great,
shining tears roll down the hard crevices in
her father’s face. She moaned and crept closer
to him.

“For her I became an Eta—an outcast.
Do not shudder, my daughter. Has the word,
then, so evil a sound? Then I perceive you
have been wrongly bred—in the school of
prejudice. The Eta, though an outcast, is
a human being—more human, indeed, than
many of our disdainful lords who ride over
their heads and trample them like insects beneath
their feet.”

“Tell me of my mother,” she whispered.

“Of her antecedents I know naught and
care less. Her honorable grandmother still
abides here in my house.”

“Old Madame Mume?”

“Yes.”

“Continue. Pray do so.”

“After my marriage I was cast off immediately
by my prince, my titles and honors
were taken from me, my property confiscated.
For all this I cared nothing. I was content
and happy to be left at peace with my wife.”

His long, thin fingers unclenched.
He moistened his lips, biting into
them.

“Did I say that this prince under whom
I served was arrogant and cruel? Did I tell
you he had a heart of flint and a pride so
// 118.png
.pn +1inc
indomitable that he would not brook one of
his samurai being other than of noble birth?
Six of his vassals, the most graceless and
worthless in the province, to humor his pleasure,
undertook to seek me out in my exiled
happiness and engage to make life intolerable
for me. Whether their actual intention was
evil or not, I cannot say; that they wrought
evil is all I know, and that they came with
the express knowledge and consent of their
prince.”

Wistaria observed that her father was trembling
so violently that he scarce could speak.
She pressed his hands convulsively within
her own.

“Speak quickly, my father,” she implored.

“They murdered her,” he whispered, hoarsely.
“Curses and maledictions upon their
souls!”
// 119.png
.pn +1
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XIII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-t.jpg w=200px align=l
HE
.if-
.if t
THE
.if-
he death of the mother of
Wistaria had taken place the
day after the girl’s birth. Her
father had left his young Eta
wife to go to the village to
purchase medicines and food.
She was in the care of her grandmother,
who was old and weak,
and powerless to protect her.

The Mori samurai, all of them
in a state of savage intoxication,
had come to the house
demanding and calling for Shimadzu.
They had been drinking
heavily all day, and swore
they would have their final cup
with their former comrade.
// 120.png
.pn +1
.pi
When Madame Mume assured them of his
absence, they insisted upon entering the
house, and, pushing past the old woman,
straightway took possession of the place.
One of their number suggested that in the
absence of Shimadzu they must be entertained
by his Eta wife, whereupon the others,
taking up the cry, boisterously began to
shout for the hostess of the house.

Meanwhile the young wife, very weak and
ill from her recent confinement, listened with
feverish excitement to the loud voices and the
bedlam of noises now rattling through the little
cottage. Fearful for the safety of her lord,
in a moment of delirium she arose from her
sick bed to go to them, staggering through
the dividing rooms until she came to the ribald
debauchees.

As she pushed aside the sliding doors and
stood in the opening, her white bed-robes about
her, she seemed like an apparition. A sudden
silence fell upon the revellers. It was broken
by a samurai whose sake cup dropped from
his nerveless hand to the floor, where it shattered
into fragments.

The next instant there was a general movement
towards the figure between the shoji.
That simultaneous, half-savage advance seemed
to snap the last vital cord in the woman.
When they reached her she no longer swayed
between the shoji. They bent over her in various
attitudes of horror, where she lay prone
// 121.png
.pn +1
at their feet, a white, crushed thing whose delicate
life had been brutally snuffed out forever.

With a loud cry of fear and dismay they
rushed from the chamber, out from the house
into the open air, where their befogged brains
still seemed to behold a vision of an avenging,
pursuing spirit.

Hearing the wailing cries of the old grandmother
while he was yet afar off from the
house, Shimadzu began to run at his utmost
speed, a premonition of disaster forcing itself
upon him. Up the hillocks he sped. A moment
of fearful, striving effort and he was beside
the old woman. Something froze in Shimadzu,
paralyzing his faculties. Power of
speech and movement was gone.

The old woman caught his arm, shook it,
and gazed with her fading eyesight into his
staring eyes.

“Master, master!” she cried.

He only stared at the figure upon the floor.
The old woman rushed from the house, shrieking
and calling aloud for help. Neighbors
came rushing up from the little village below
and began to fill the house. They tried to
arouse the stricken samurai, but he heeded
them not. But when they attempted to move
the young wife, a strange guttural sound of
savage protest escaped his lips, so that they
dared not touch her.

Then the neighbors mingled their cries with
those of the old woman, and the house of
// 122.png
.pn +1
death was rendered hideous with their ceaseless
moaning and the muffled beating of
Shinto drums.

All night long the samurai crouched in
that paralyzed attitude by the side of his
wife. But in the morning strong and stout
armed men from the village, disregarding
his cries of protest, lifted the body of the wife
upon the death-couch, drew the lids over
the staring eyes, closed the frothed mouth,
where the teeth shone out like small white
fangs, and folded the frozen white hands
across her breast. Then the samurai came
back to life—vivid, horrible, insane life.

Some kindly woman brought in the little
Wistaria and held her towards him with a
pitying exclamation, knowing that this little
life could not but comfort the bereft man.
He seized the child wildly in his arms. Then
holding his one-day-old babe over the dead
body of his wife, he swore a fearful oath of
vengeance.

From that day the samurai had but one
purpose in life, but one hope and ambition:
to encompass the ruin and death of those he
deemed the murderers of his wife. It happened
that he came of a powerful family, who,
in all his troubles, had offered him their sympathy
and would gladly have received him
back among them in spite of his marriage to
an Eta girl. They were in high favor at court,
and now they carried his case to the Shogun
// 123.png
.pn +1
himself. The exiled samurai was forthwith
ordered to appear before the Shogun, who had
been deeply impressed and touched by his
sorrows, and who had cause for prejudice
against his former lord.

The Shogun offered to force his lord to
restore to the samurai his estates and rank,
but Shimadzu fiercely refused to accept these
favors, wildly declaring that he would rather
be buried alive than enter the service of such
a lord. The Shogun, still anxious to please
his family, begged him to make some request
which it would be in his power to grant,
whether for service under another lord, or
at court in attendance upon his own person.

“I have but one request to make, my lord,”
responded the samurai.

“That is?—”

“To be made the public executioner.”

All these things the Lady Wistaria now
learned for the first time. She was as one
struck down by a sudden shock of grief. In
one little hour she had fallen from a great
height, and had learned of things that had
caused her to quiver with anguish and shame.
She could not at once share the thought of
the father whose wrongs haunted him, demanding
vengeance and justice. She thought,
instead, of other things. She was the daughter
of the public executioner, the hangman!—an
Eta girl—an outcast! The odium of it
all crushed her. In that hour of agony
// 124.png
.pn +1
her imagination conjured up the noble, highborn
face of her lover, torturing her soul with
its infinite distance from her. She knew now
that he was as far beyond her reach as the sun.

“Shrink not, my daughter,” came her
father’s voice harshly upon her thoughts;
“your father’s hands are not stained in the
blood of any of his fellow-men save those
who were his by divine right. To underlings
I gave the punishment of the public criminal,
but to myself I kept the sacred task of seeking,
tracking, ruining, and killing with my own
hands the destroyers of my house.”

“Then,” said Wistaria, in a strangely pleading
voice, “you have avenged my mother.
All is done, all is finished. Oh, my father,
let us forget all this past, and go away where
we may not be known and pass our days in
peace until the end.”

“Nay, all is not done,” replied the father.
“You forget that while I have had the holy
joy of executing the six murderers of my wife,
their prince still lives.”

“Ah!”

“Once I served under him, honored him
above all men; now I desire nothing else
on earth but to bow his head in the dust.
He is a great prince, beyond my reach, but I
have sought and found a better means of
striking at him. For this purpose, my daughter,
I need your aid.”

“You mean—” she began.
// 125.png
.pn +1

“This Prince of Mori is the man. Now
you understand. His heart, his whole life,
is wrapped up in his son. But yesterday,
my daughter, I caught that son in the trap
which I set through you. To-morrow he
pays the penalty of the sins of his father.”

Wistaria tottered to her feet. Then she
fell on her knees and crept upon them to her
father.

“Father, dear, my father, I beg, I implore
you to show mercy.”

“For whom do you ask mercy, my lady?”
asked the father.

“For the innocent—this young Prince
of Mori.”

“You—you ask mercy for this prince!—you,
the daughter of a murdered woman!”
In an instant she was sitting up stiff and
rigid.

“My lord,” she said, “I am, indeed, too insignificant
and unworthy to be thy daughter,
but for one small moment I did forget our
wrongs and fain would have spared my soul
the sacrifice of innocent blood.”
// 126.png
.pn +1
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XIV
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-e.jpg w=200px align=l
ARLY
.if-
.if t
EARLY
.if-
in the morning the
inhabitants of the little Eta
village were startled by the
unusual sound in the streets
of the “clip-clop” of palanquin
runners’ sandals. The Eta
were not used to being carried
in gilded norimons, or of travelling
in any other fashion
than on foot. Consequently,
the spectacle of an exquisitely
finished norimon, carried on
the shoulders of liveried attendants,
created as much stir
as it is possible for the placid
Japanese to manifest. The
bamboo curtains of the norimon
// 127.png
.pn +1
were closely drawn. The runners sped swiftly
along, paying no heed to the raised shutters
or the curious eyes at the wall holes. On
either side of the palanquin two couriers or
personal samurai walked.
.pi
The runners stopped before the house of
Shimadzu, and, having thrown aside the
curtains, bowed low as they backed before
a veiled lady, who stepped from the norimon.
The lady, however, unmindful of her bending
servitors, hurried up the gravelled pathway
to beat upon the door with her delicate
fists.

The early morning visitor entered the
house before the Lady Wistaria had descended
from her chamber. When she threw back
the covering from her head, the proud face
of the Lady Evening Glory appeared with
all its cold beauty and strange pallor. Her
lips trembled so that she could not keep them
together.

She had travelled all night in the utmost
haste to throw herself at the feet of her brother,
praying his mercy for the young Prince of
Mori. She did not wait for her brother to
question her, but began at once a pitiful, disjointed
tale concerning her son Toro.

The young man had involved himself in
great trouble in the Choshui province, and
was now held a prisoner by the Prince of
Mori. Toro, the foolhardy, imitating the actions
of the young courtier of the Mori clan,
// 128.png
.pn +1
had fared badly. Caught scaling the walls
surrounding the palace of the father of the
Lady Hollyhock, he had been arrested and
brought before the Prince of Mori. This
nobleman had at first intended to return the
young fellow to his neighbor courteously,
with some satirical rebuke which would scorch
the vanity of the boy’s father, but just at
this juncture had come the fearful intelligence
of the arrest, secret trial for treason, and
sentence to death of the young heir of Mori.
The old Prince, rendered frantic with fear
and anguish, despatched word immediately
to Catzu that unless the Prince Keiki were
spared, the same fate should be meted out
to the young Catzu Toro.

So the Lady Evening Glory had come
now to her brother to demand, to beg the
pardon of their enemy, this young Prince
of Mori, while her husband had hastened
to Yedo to seek the aid of the Shogun. Nevertheless,
both father and mother knew that
the fate of their son depended not upon the
august Shogun, but upon their brother, the
samurai Shimadzu, for the Shogun would
scarcely have time to send forces to compel
Mori to release Toro before the execution of
Keiki took place, which would be undoubtedly
the signal for the immediate despatch
of Toro.

The unexpected answer the lady received
from her brother stunned her so completely
// 129.png
.pn +1
that she was robbed of all hope. Now she
suffered in turn all the pangs of frantic despair
and agony that her niece had so lately undergone
through her agency.

“What!” cried the samurai, with stern
derision, “permit the consummation of the
work of a lifetime of misery and torture to
slip through my aching fingers now? Not
for a thousand nephews!”

Yet he endeavored in his rough and stern
way to comfort his sister with these strange
words:

“Catzu Toro is of samurai blood. It behooves
him, therefore, to give up fearlessly
his life for the honor of his family. He ought
to bless the gods for the opportunity.”

The mother wept, prayed, threatened. All
in vain. Shimadzu was inflexible. Meanwhile
the hour which had been set for the
execution of the young Prince of Mori approached
with more than the natural speed
of time, and the Lady Evening Glory’s couriers,
the samurai Genji and Matsue, waited in
agonized impatience for word of truce to carry
to the old Prince of Mori.

Finding all her efforts to move her brother
unavailing, the Lady of Catzu sought desperately
though impotently to bar his egress
from the room. She clutched the dividing
shoji which opened into the corridor, then
placed her back against them. When Shimadzu
turned to the doors on the opposite
// 130.png
.pn +1
side she rushed before him, and again sought
to prevent his departure. Firmly, but not ungently,
Shimadzu put her aside, whereupon
she fell down at his feet, clasping her arms
about his legs, while her lips emitted strange
and piteous outcries.

Yet what could the utmost strength of a
delicate lady do against that of a samurai
man? With one quick movement he freed
himself from her clinging hands. The next
moment the Lady Evening Glory was quite
alone. She suddenly realized that the gods
had denied her all succor, and crawled across
the room until she stood in front of the
small shrine in the place of the tokonona.
There she prostrated herself, but her lips
could not frame themselves in petition to the
gods.

How long she lay thus she could not have
told. Gradually she became conscious that
some one was kneeling beside her, and that
a soft and tender hand was smoothing back
the wild hair that escaped about her face. A
gentle voice whispered:

“The gods are good—good! Take heart!
They will not desert us! The gods are good!”

Then the proud Lady of Catzu, raising herself
to a kneeling posture, gazing up into
the bending, pitying face above her, saw her
niece, whom she had so vindictively persecuted.
Before she could speak one word, Wistaria
drew her hand to her breast. Then the
// 131.png
.pn +1
bereaved mother gave way to a passion of
tears of weakness and despair.

“You are calmer now, dear aunt,” said
the Lady Wistaria after a while. “Weep no
more, I pray you. But try rather to bring
your mind to think clearly with mine. We
must conceive some way by which we can
outwit my honorable parent. We have yet
two hours before the time when my father
will depart for—for his prisoner.”

But the after-effects of weeping, great sighs,
rendered the Lady Evening Glory speechless.
She could only shake her head hopelessly,
helplessly.

“All night long,” said Wistaria, “I have
kept a vigil. I have thought and thought
and thought, until my brain has seemed
ready to burst. I, too, my lady, have yielded
myself to such despair as you now feel. I
suffer more than the pain of one who loses
a beloved, for I am tortured with the knowledge
that I am guilty. Oh, lady, was it not
I who betrayed this prince, and would I not
be the indirect cause of dear Toro’s death
also? Therefore it is my task to save the life
of this prince, if that can be done.”

“But it cannot—cannot,” moaned the Lady
Evening Glory. “Thou knowest not thy
father!”

“And yet,” said Wistaria, slowly, “I have
thought of one way.”

“Anata!”
// 132.png
.pn +1

“Tell me first, my lady, is it not so—that
one who marries an Eta is forever after disgraced—branded?”

“Yes, yes, that is true—but—”

“It is of importance that I know all this.
Now is it not also true that my father’s chief
ambition is to break the pride and spirit of
the old Lord Mori?”

“Yes, it is so, it is so.”

“Then, my lady, be comforted. Mayhap
I shall find a solution to all our troubles.”

Arising, gently she took her arms from
about her aunt to hasten into the adjoining
chamber. Her voice addressing the Madame
Mume came to the Lady Evening Glory.

“Tell my honorable father,” she said,
“that I beg for just one minute of his honorable
time.”

When she returned to her aunt her face
had a wan little smile of hope on it. The
samurai Shimadzu followed her into the
room. Wistaria prostrated herself before him
with the utmost humility.

“You have asked for an audience, my lady.
Speak quickly, for I have work to do ere
long.”

“Honored parent,” said Wistaria, with her
eyes upon his, “I have thought much upon
what thou wert pleased to tell me last night.”

“Indeed.”

“And, my father, the more I have thought
of the matter the greater have the wrongs
// 133.png
.pn +1
of my father and mine, those of our house,
appeared to me to be.”

“Thou speakest now,” said the samurai,
quietly, “as becomes an honorable daughter.”

“Oh, my father, so deeply do I feel the
wrongs of our house that I have felt that even
the very death of this young prince would not
be a sufficient vengeance.”

She was speaking slowly and distinctly,
so that each sentence should take effect upon
her father.

“Having broken the heart and spirit of
my enemy,” said Shimadzu, “I shall have accomplished
all. It will be sufficient, and my
work, my duty, will then be consummated.”

“But think you, my father, that by the
killing of this prince you will indeed have
broken the heart and spirit of your enemy?”

“Ay! For I shall have robbed him of
that thing which he prizes above all else on
earth—his son!”

“But has he not seven other sons who
would quickly fill the place of this one?”

“That is so. Were it possible for me to
have seven instead of one Mori prince for
execution this day, I would be seven times
the happier.”

“August father, you have taught me, and
I have learned, that death is not the greatest
of sorrows that can befall us. Execute this
prince and he will quickly pass into another
world, where the fates may befriend him.
// 134.png
.pn +1
He will be beyond our reach. In the eyes
of his parent he will have died an heroic and
exalted death, since he gives up his life for
what he deems a noble cause. Oh, my father,
in all the empire of Japan, what Imperialist
would not envy him such a death? No, the
death of this prince would be inadequate revenge
for the wrongs we have suffered. Far
better if he could be forced to live so that he
might suffer the devils of pain to gnaw at
his heart all the rest of his life.”

“Thou wouldst have him spared for purposes
of torture?”

“Yes, honored father.”

“Thou art indeed a woman,” said the samurai.
“Yet a samurai’s sword has never
been turned to such a purpose.”

“That is right, for your honorable sword
is not sufficiently sharp, my father.”

“Thou speakest darkly, my daughter.”

“I have thought darkly of our wrongs,
my father. I have found a more refined revenge
to inflict upon this prince, one which
would wound him more deeply than the death
of one of his eight sons.”

“Well, and what is your revenge?”

“First answer me this: What would be the
feelings of this proud and arrogant prince
if his idolized heir were to be guilty of
that very fault for which he exiled his samurai?”

“What fault?”
// 135.png
.pn +1

“The fault of marrying into a degraded and
outcast class.”

The samurai started. Then a strange
smile flitted across his thin face.

“His pride would fall. Such a calamity
would crush—bend—kill him!”

“True. Then if his pride is such, let us
strike at it before his heart. I think I see a
way by which this can be accomplished.”

“How?”

“Bring this young prince hither. Leave
him to me!”

“To you!”

She went very close to her father and raised
her face upward so that he might see it perfectly.

“Look upon me, honorable parent. Am
I not fair? Bring hither this son of an evil
prince, and in twenty-four hours he will be
ready to wed an Eta maiden.”

“An Eta maiden!” suddenly shrieked her
aunt. “Who? Not—” She made an indescribable
gesture towards the girl.

“I,” said Wistaria, throwing back her
head—“I am an Eta maiden, my lady.” She
bowed very low, then moved towards the door.
Before passing out she turned.

“I go,” she said, “to garb myself in the
dress of an Eta maiden. But do not believe,
my lady aunt, that I shall have lost that
beauty with which the gods have blessed me,
and with which I shall win and wed this Mori
// 136.png
.pn +1
prince to the disaster of his household and
the triumph of my father’s.”

With that she was gone from the room.
They heard her light feet flying up to her
chamber above.

“It will crush—bend—kill the father!” muttered
the samurai, softly. “It is well!”

“It is well!” repeated his sister, but in a
different tone.
// 137.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XV
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-t.jpg w=200px align=l
HE
.if-
.if t
THE
.if-
young Prince of Mori, no
longer the Shining Prince Keiki,
lay huddled in a corner of
his dungeon. Vainly he had
thrown his weight against the
stone doors, only to rebound,
baffled and bruised. Vainly he
had called in piercing accents
for help. There came no
response from man or gods.
Only his frantic voice, fleeing
like the wind through the passage-ways
of the empty prison,
dark, damp, and for long unused,
seemed to call back to
him in the mocking tones of a
demoniac.
// 138.png
.pn +1
.pi
A prisoner! A prisoner! He, the heir of
Mori, the hope, the idol of the brave Imperialists,
the son of the most powerful prince
in all Japan, barring not even the Shogun
himself! A prisoner! Penned like a common
criminal within the stone walls of a loathsome
dungeon! It could not be true. It
was a hideous nightmare, caused by that
terrible, ceaseless, excruciating pain in his
head, and the mad turmoil in his brain.

He had been captured on the outskirts of
his father’s province. He was alone, with
not one vassal or retainer in attendance upon
him. He had made the wildest resistance.
More than one samurai paid with his life
for the capture of the Shining Prince. Overpowered
by such numbers that it seemed madness
not to yield, Keiki could not be taken
while a spark of life remained in him with
which to resist. Only when he was beaten
quite senseless were the Shogun’s officers and
the Catzu samurai able to capture the Prince.
Even then many of the samurai refused the
inglorious task of carrying away the young
Prince, who had fought against them with
such desperate bravery. To drag his unconscious,
bleeding, helpless body before his
judges would be beneath the dignity of a
samurai. So the office was assigned to some
of the Shogun’s spies.

When Keiki had returned to consciousness
he was as one in a dull dream, a nightmare,
// 139.png
.pn +1
wherein painful events wove a net about
him from which he could not stir or move to
save himself.

The trial had been a brief one. A few questions,
a multitude of proofs, irrefutable evidence,
the testimony of some false samurai
now become a ronin, a private statement by
the samurai Shimadzu—that was all. No
word or question whatever was addressed to
the prisoner, nor was he given the opportunity
to speak in his own defence, had he
been in a condition to do so. He stood between
two guards, one on either side, while
four others stood before him and a score at
his back.

Keiki was quite beyond understanding
the proceedings, and only the Spartan will
of the samurai lent to him that almost unnatural
strength by which he stood stoutly
upon his feet while his head swam. Out of
a multitude of surging words and sentences
only one word reached his ears and penetrated
to his consciousness—

“Treason!”

And the word called up a haunting memory
of a dark and stagnant moat wherein the
sacred lotus blossoms, symbolic of the purity
of woman, hid the treacherous waters beneath,
of a sloping bank where the grasses
grew high over his head, and the willows at
the bottom waved in a foot of water. A young
girl’s face shone out of this strangely mixed
// 140.png
.pn +1
background. It was very long ago, it seemed
to Keiki, and though her face was quite dim
to his vision now, he remembered that it was
like unto the lotus, perfectly pure and peerlessly
beautiful, only behind her beauty, unlike
that of the lotus, there were no treacherous
deeps of darkling waters. Keiki remembered
vaguely now that she had crawled through
the willows, through the moat, perhaps, to
come to him to warn him of this treason.
Treason? Whose?

Thus Keiki’s tangled mind followed not
the mockery of the trial, nor heeded the sonorous
voice of the crier, who echoed the words
of the Lord Judge, and shouted mechanically:

“Guilty! Death!”

A small company of armed men led him
from the judgment-hall. They made a long
journey, marching by night. Passive, stupidly
indifferent to everything, Keiki was led to
prison.

Only when they had locked him within the
empty stone cell, did the old, passionate rebellion
that had swayed him so savagely
when he had resisted capture break out with
renewed fury, driving in a flash his apathetic
dulness from him.

His captors had taken his two swords from
him, the two proud swords from which a
samurai must never part. The Prince was
to become lord over the samurai, yet he had
been trained in the same school, and with as
// 141.png
.pn +1
severe a discipline as that of the simple soldier.
Had they left him these, his samurai swords,
in all probability the Prince would have ended
his misery. As it was, he spent the night
in fruitless, impotent raving. Morning found
him exhausted. Even the samurai’s great
power of will over the physical body could
avail him no longer.

When the samurai Shimadzu unlocked the
door of the cell no desperate, wild-eyed prince
leaped at his throat. The young Prince of
Mori lay stretched across the floor of the
dungeon. The glittering cords of his coat,
the golden hip-cape, with its billowings and
embroiderings of dragons and falcons, all
the late luxurious finery which had earned
for him the sobriquet of “The Shining
Prince,” and which were also the insignia
of his high rank, were now torn and stained
with the cruellest of colors. The dark hair
fell back, clotted with the perspiration on his
noble brow, from which the blue veins started
through the fine skin. The long lashes
covered the eyes and swept the almost boyish
curves of the death-white cheeks. His lips
were parted, and he was still raving, but in
the babbling, weak, piteous fashion of one
delirious from loss of blood.

After feeling the Prince’s hands and head,
Shimadzu was satisfied with his condition.
Roughly binding up a bad wound upon the
shoulder, he called for a stretcher. Borne
// 142.png
.pn +1
upon this temporary couch, straightway the
Prince was carried to the home of the executioner.

Meanwhile Wistaria had made ready for
the reception of their expected guest. Having
taken off her silken omeshi and removed
the jewelled ornaments from her hair, she appeared
in a rough cotton kimono, of a bright
red-and-yellow pattern, such a garment as a
laboring woman or one of the heimin would
have worn. But she had taken especial pains
with her hair and face. The shining, dark
locks, which formed such a charming frame
for her beautiful face, were spread wide and
folded back, so that their beauty might be
exaggerated. Because she was pale, as one
about to die rather than to wed, she had
rubbed upon her cheeks, chin, and brow brazen
red paint, something previously she would
have scorned to touch. Instead of brightening
the pallor of her face, however, it only
heightened its haggardness.

Wistaria sat in the centre of the chill, empty
guest-room. She was smiling. She had been
smiling ever since she had descended from
her chamber. Her eyes were glassy, and
shared not in that forced, blighting smile
which she wore upon her lips. Very still,
like an automatic puppet with the works
unwound within it, she sat.

The Lady Evening Glory, on the other
hand, flitted back and forth like a restless
// 143.png
.pn +1
spirit. Sometimes she paused by the little,
waiting figure, stroking the shining head.
But in her heart the proud Lady of Catzu
had little sympathy for the one who was to
be sacrificed to the vengeance of a samurai.
When she recalled that her niece was renouncing
her lover to whom she had pledged herself
to all eternity, she thought, with the selfish
egotism of one who has outgrown her own
heart, that in marrying a prince, even though
she won him by trickery, certainly her niece
would be faring better than if she had bestowed
herself on one of his vassals.

Then, too, Wistaria, after all, was merely a
female—an Eta maiden. So the lady’s selfish
mind fed itself upon one thought, mingled
hope and suspense for the fate of her son.

When the sound of tramping feet were
heard without, the Lady Wistaria did not
stir, but the cold and stately Lady of Catzu
went rushing across the room to fling herself
against the window. The tramp of feet grew
louder, deeper, heavier. They smote upon
Wistaria’s ears like the beat of Shinto drums
at a funeral. Still she did not stir, not even
when the doors of the house were pushed
wide apart and the tramping feet entered,
passed through the outer room, and then
into the guest-room. The set smile upon
her face deepened. Wistaria laid her head
to the mats, prostrated herself in exquisite,
humble greeting.
// 144.png
.pn +1

Thus, for some time, she courtesied low.

Some one pulled her sleeve. She sat up
and stared at the figure on the stretcher.
They had set it down beside her on the floor.
Somewhere in another part of the house she
heard dim voices, above them all her father’s
deep, hollow voice, sounding strange—clear.

A sort of awe and horrible reverence fell
upon her as she clutched her aunt’s hand.
Then the two half crept, half crawled, close
to the stretcher. Wistaria looked at the
face, looked, and looked, and looked again.
A heart-rending shriek burst from her lips.
She fell across her lover’s body, spreading
the wings of her sleeve over and about him,
as though to shield and protect him from all
harm.
// 145.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XVI
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-b.jpg w=200px align=l
ROTHER,
.if-
.if t
“BROTHER,
.if-
you were surely
blind that you did not recognize
your prisoner,” said the Lady
Evening Glory, after the lovers
had been carried from the room.
.pi
“His appearance, my lady,
had no interest for me.”

“Now that you are aware
he is her lover, what then?”

“All that is very fortunate.
Whatever doubt I may have
felt as to my daughter’s ability
to ensnare this Mori prince
into marrying her is now set
at rest. She already possesses
his affection. Nothing remains,
therefore, to be done save to
// 146.png
.pn +1
bring about their early union. This shall be
effected just as soon as the young man regains
sufficient strength. Meanwhile—”

“Meanwhile?”

“You have permission to despatch word
to Choshui that a delay has been granted
to the Prince. This will keep them for a time
from attacking Catzu Toro. Also, the shogunate,
availing itself of the time to march upon
Choshui, will rescue your son.”

“But will not the Mori immediately retaliate
by sending troops here to attempt the rescue
of their own prince?”

“Not so, since the whereabouts of their
prince is entirely unknown to them. As
you are aware, his trial was in secret. Only
the shogunate is acquainted with his present
abode. The secret will be guarded, rest assured.
In fact, for the very purpose of forestalling
any such attempt on the part of the
Mori, they have placed at my service a company
of soldiers and a large number of spies.”

“What are your intentions with regard
to this Mori prince?”

“He shall marry, as you already know, the
Lady Wistaria, and in that way will become
an outcast, both legally and morally.”

“And after their marriage?”

“Immediate notification of the fact to his
father.”

“And after that? What of the order from
the shogunate touching his execution?”
// 147.png
.pn +1

“It shall be destroyed. I have given my
promise to my daughter.”

“But when this fact reaches the shogunate
people they will resent it, and will never permit
so valuable a prisoner to escape them. They
will send troops, if necessary, to take him from
you. In the event of your refusing to execute
him, they will find another who will do so.”

“Very well, let them do so. I have no doubt,
however, that the Prince Keiki will escape
them. But having become an outcast, he
will be useless as an Imperialist leader.”

“Which does not alter the fact that the
Shogun’s men will continue to fear him.
Even now, you say, their spies and soldiers
are lurking about on all sides. I tell you it is
quite impossible for him to escape them now.”

“Well, all that is his affair, my lady. So
far as I am concerned, on the day of his Eta
marriage I shall destroy the order of execution.”

“Which would be a criminal act, and one
that would place you under the ban of the
law.”

“That is true, but I shall answer, I assure
you, for whatever unlawful acts I have committed
during my lifetime to a higher tribunal
than any that could be formed by the august
shogunate.”

“Brother, what do your words imply?”

“Sister, I cannot answer that question yet.
When my purpose in life is accomplished you
// 148.png
.pn +1
shall have the answer. And after that, will
you perform a favor for me?”

“Certainly.”

“The Lady Wistaria will be alone.”

“Alone? She will have a husband.”

“She will be alone, I repeat. Do you suppose
I should rest peacefully in my grave
with the knowledge that the blood of Mori
was mingling with my own? I repeat once
more, my daughter will be quite alone, sister.
Be gentle with her, and as tender and kind
as it is possible for one woman to be to another.
She will not lack for worldly wealth,
for I shall leave her a fortune. I do not wish
her to return to Catzu. I desire that a small
temple shall be built for her somewhere in a
quiet and remote region. There I wish her
to become a high priestess, to devote the remainder
of her life to works of holiness and
charity. In this way she will atone for the
many sins of her father, and the gods will
listen to her prayers and show charity to his
soul.”

“Oh, brother, from your words I begin to
have lamentable fears that you contemplate
committing some frightful harm to yourself.”

“We are children of the same father, my
lady. Your words surprise me. Surely they
are unbefitting one of your blood and rank.
Do you see any disgrace in my contemplations?
I would rather wish that you would
// 149.png
.pn +1
urge me to that deed you appear to dread, for
otherwise my life would be without honor.
Therefore lay aside your unworthy fears and
assure me that you will carry out my wishes.”

“I shall do so, ani-san” (elder brother), she
replied, somewhat brokenly.

“That is all, then. Why do you wait?”

“For a letter signed by you as executioner,
stating that the execution has been postponed
indefinitely. We must put Toro’s safety for
the next few days beyond a doubt.”

Hastily writing a few words upon paper,
the samurai handed it to his sister, who seized
it eagerly. Then, having examined the scroll
carefully, she murmured a few words of thanks
and prepared to leave the room. The samurai
stayed her.

“One moment. By whom do you send this
paper to Choshui?”

“I have two couriers.”

“Well, but one of these samurai must attend
you to Catzu.”

“Certainly.”

“Then only one can be sent to Choshui.”

“But why so? I shall not leave here until
my couriers return with intelligence as to
the fate of my son.”

“I can assure you, my lady, that your
couriers will not return, and I should advise
you to part with but one of the two samurai
attending you.”

“Why—?”
// 150.png
.pn +1

“The Mori people will not let this courier
depart, rest assured, unless he divulge the
hiding-place of their prince. This no samurai
would ever do. If your courier has not the
wit, therefore, to deceive the Mori, I am very
much afraid his life will be endangered by
this undertaking.”

“And what samurai,” inquired the lady,
quickly, “would not welcome the chance of
thus giving up his life in the service of his
lord? What I have to decide now is, which
of the two samurai to send, for each will claim
the privilege of the undertaking.”

“What are their names?”

“Sir Nishimua Matsue and Sir Takemoto
Genji. The former has been in my lord’s
service for twenty years, and is so trusted
by him that whenever I am forced to travel
alone, as at the present time, my lord intrusts
me to his especial care. You are already acquainted
with the history of the other, Sir
Genji. He was one of your own comrades in
Choshui, but after your exile he deserted the
Mori and became a ronin. Afterwards my lord
pressed him into our service, and he became attached
personally to Lady Wistaria. You will
see, therefore, that it is a difficult matter for me
to choose between these two brave gentlemen.”

“Not at all. There is not the slightest
doubt in my mind as to which is the most
fit for the service. Bid the samurai Genji
come hither, if you please.”
// 151.png
.pn +1

A few minutes later the big samurai Genji
and Shimadzu were bowing deeply to each
other. From their low bows of silent courtesy
it was hard to believe that these two men
had once been the closest of friends and comrades
in arms. Now they met again after
many years of separation, yet neither exhibited
that emotion which lay at the bottom
of their hearts. Shimadzu did not even
allow opportunity for the usual exchange
of compliments, but went straight to the
point.

“My good friend, your lady, my honorable
sister,” said he, “has an august mission for
you to perform, but one fraught with exceeding
great danger, and of a delicate and diplomatic
nature withal.”

The samurai bowed calmly, as though the
fact of the danger were as indifferent a matter
to him as the mission itself.

“In fact, she wishes you to carry word to
Choshui of the postponement of Prince Keiki’s
execution. I need not point out to you the
dangers of such a mission. The Mori will
insist upon your revealing the place of imprisonment
of their prince, and upon your
refusing to do so will take drastic measures
to compel you. These perils, however, will
be to your liking, I am sure.”

“To my liking, that is so,” said Genji,
“but—”

“What?” interrupted the Lady Evening
// 152.png
.pn +1
Glory. “You hesitate! You do not set off
at once!”

“I do not hesitate, my lady,” replied the
samurai, bowing respectfully. “I refuse. I do
not set off at once because I am not going.”

The Lady Evening Glory could scarcely believe
her ears. Never in her memory had a
samurai refused to do the bidding of his lord
or lady. That Genji, of all samurai, should do
so, astounded her. Nevertheless she brought
herself to listen to his amazing words.

“My lady, long before I entered the service
of my Lord of Catzu I was a ronin, an independent
samurai who owed allegiance to
no lord or prince. I was induced to enter
your service not for love of your lord or desire
to ingratiate myself with the Shogun powers,
for, though a deserter for personal reasons, I
was of the clan of Choshui, and an Imperialist
at heart!”

“Such insolence,” said the lady, furiously,
“shall be punished with thy insignificant
head.”

“Tsh!” interposed her brother, angrily.
“Permit our good friend to speak. I have a
liking and understanding for his words.”

“As I have said,” repeated Genji, “it was
neither for love of thy lord nor his cause that
I entered his service, but because I desired to
be near to, and to serve with my life, if necessary,
the orphaned daughter of my old friend
and comrade, the Lady Wistaria.”
// 153.png
.pn +1

“It is well,” said the Lady Evening Glory,
sharply, “that you did not acquaint my Lord
Catzu with all this. If my memory serves
me correctly, you came to Catzu with great
protestations and promises of allegiance and
loyalty to his lordship.”

“And,” said Genji, “during the time that
I have served the Lord Catzu, there has been
no samurai whose allegiance has been more
unswerving than mine.”

“And yet,” said the lady, scornfully, “at
the first test the allegiance you boast of is
found wanting.”

“I respectfully beg to call your attention,
my lady, to the error and injustice you commit
in making such a remark. In following
my inclination at this present time I expect
to be discharged by his lordship, or I shall
submit my resignation to him. Under the
circumstances, I am once more a free samurai,
and, being out of service, I am at perfect
liberty to serve whom I please. Nevertheless
I shall take delight in obeying any commands
you may be pleased to bestow when I am at liberty
to do so. At present I am not at liberty.”

“May I inquire,” she asked, with her cold
eyes disdainfully fixed above his head, “why
you condescended to accompany me?”

“Certainly. I had a fancy that you were
about to set off for the place where the Lady
Wistaria might be residing. Consequently I
besought you to permit me to attend you.
// 154.png
.pn +1
What is more, I had reason to believe that
the Lady Wistaria would be in need of me.
Hence, here I am, and here I remain, the
gods permitting.”

“If you suppose, Sir Genji, that by pretending
zeal in behalf of my honorable niece you
can excuse your conduct towards those in
whose service you rightfully belong, you will
soon discover your error, I assure you.”

“There I disagree with you,” interrupted
Shimadzu, suddenly. “It is my opinion that
my old friend’s loyal zeal for the insignificant
Lady Wistaria excuses him from any
seeming lapses in his service to his lord,
and in this I believe the Lord of Catzu will
agree with me. Therefore, sister, let us call
a truce to this harsh and useless exchange
of bitter words. Instead, let us beg that Sir
Genji will condescend to accept our gratitude
for his loyalty to one who, though insignificant,
is yet of our family.”

Again the two samurai bowed deeply to
each other. The Lady of Catzu shrugged
angry shoulders.

“What is to be done?” she inquired, after
a moment.

“Despatch the samurai Matsue at once with
the paper,” said her brother. “Meanwhile”—he
turned to Genji—“deign to permit me to
lead you to my Lady Wistaria.”
// 155.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XVII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-t.jpg w=200px align=l
HE
.if-
.if t
THE
.if-
pain was quite gone from
the brain and head. The fever
had abated. A strange sense
of coolness and rest pervaded
the whole being of Keiki. The
Shining Prince fell to dreaming,
this time without a hideous
nightmare being wrought upon
his mind.
.pi
Once more he was standing
in a royal garden, where the
little winds blew about him
laden with the faint, subtle
odor of early spring; where
the birds clattered and cried
out indignantly at him for
disturbing them so early; where
// 156.png
.pn +1
the sun arose from behind the mountains
veiled in a golden cloud and travelled over
the heavens, pausing to tint the waters of a
slender river to the magic glow of blood and
gold. The soft, glad winds caressed as
they called to him now. Moved to bend the
knee in greeting and homage, he had become
a sun-worshipper. He stood waiting beneath
a flowered casement, waiting in a silence
pregnant with inward feeling. Not a sound
stirred about him; the birds had dropped
to sleep again; but the glory of the sun had
deepened and spread its full radiance upon
the casement. Then very slowly a maiden’s
face, like a picture of the sun-goddess with
the halo of the sun about it, grew into the
vision, until gradually the dream-eyes of
the Prince Keiki saw naught else save that
haunting spiritual face, with its eyes laden
with love and still suffused with unutterable
sadness.

As suddenly as it had come, the vision
faded away. Darkness passed between him
and the face of his dreams. He sat upon his
couch, stretching out imploring, beseeching
hands as he called aloud, with a cry of piercing
pleading:

“Fuji—Fuji-wara!”

Then he became dreamily conscious that
soft hands were gently pushing him backward.
He knew that her arms were pressed
about him, that she had put her face against
// 157.png
.pn +1
his own. He tried to speak, but she closed
his lips with her own upon them, and answered,
in that sighing voice of hers:

“It is I, Wistaria! Pray thee to sleep!”

Keiki fell into a delicious, dreamless slumber.
Beside him, her arms supporting against
her bosom the weight of his head, Wistaria
knelt, unmoving, for the space of an hour.
Her eyes had that strange, brooding, guarding
expression of the mother.

Some one tapped with the lightness of a
child upon the fusuma. Wistaria tightened
her arms about her lover. Her face became
strained and rigid. Her eyes enlarged with
mingled terror and savage defiance.

The tapping was repeated. Still she made
no response. There was an interval of silence.
Then the sliding door was softly
pushed aside. Some one entered the room,
and stood against the wall looking down at
the little, silent figure with its face of appealing,
helpless agony. The next moment
the samurai Genji was kneeling beside Wistaria.

For a moment she could not speak, so intense
were her mingled emotions. She had
thought herself bereft of all friends on earth.
In her father and aunt she could see nothing
but menacing enemies who had assumed
the dark guise of fiends. Yet here was Genji—Genji,
her own, big samurai—whose very
presence brought a sense of safety and repose.
// 158.png
.pn +1
A strange little laugh, half a strangled
sob, struggled through her lips.

In one glance Genji saw that the weight of
the Prince in her slender arms was benumbing
them. Without a word he lifted the
sleeping Prince in his own arms and put
him gently back upon the padded robe which
served as his couch. Then turning to his
mistress he half assisted her, half lifted her,
to her feet. For a moment she leaned against
him, dizzy with weakness.

In a broken, piteous, helpless fashion she
began to cry against his breast, the pent-up
anguish of many days finding its outlet.

Genji gently led her across the room, beyond
the possible awakening of the Prince.
His big voice, hushed to a whisper despite
its huskiness, was as soothing as a mother’s.

“Aré moshi! See, the big Gen is here.
All is well! Very well!”

“Oh, Gen!” she sobbed, “I do not know
what to do!”

“Do? Why, we must cease to weep, so we
may have the strength to minister to the
sick.”

“Y-yes—I will cease to weep,” she whispered,
brokenly. “I—I will do so.”

“That is right.”

“And you will not let them harm him,
will you, Gen?”

“No! I swear by my sword I will not!”

“You are so good and strong, Gen!”
// 159.png
.pn +1

Placing his hands upon her shoulders he
held her back, then gently wiped the tears
from her face.

“Hah!” he cried. “Now she is once again
the brave girl. That is right. She is the
daughter of a samurai, and cannot weep
for long.”

She tried to smile through her tears, but
it was a very pitiful little smile which struggled
through the mist.

“Now,” said he, “tell me everything.”

“Do you not know all?” she asked.

“No, I do not. I am in darkness as to
how your lover comes to be here, wounded
and ill; but I surmise that he was captured
while on his way to Choshui and prevented
from warning his prince.”

“You do not know,” cried Wistaria, looking
up into his face with startled eyes, “that he
is the prince himself?”

“The prince! Who is the prince? What
prince?”

“The young Prince of Mori. He”—she
indicated Keiki—“he is the same person.”

It was Genji’s turn to start. He made a
movement towards the Prince, but Wistaria
grasped his arm and stayed him.

“Nay, do not go to him. He is so tired,
Gen. He has been awake, though unconscious,
all night long, and he needs the honorable
rest the gods have denied him so
long.”
// 160.png
.pn +1

“But you do not mean to tell me that your
lover is the young Mori prince?”

“Yes, even so, Gen, though I knew it not
until—until they brought him here.”

“Brought him here! Why—but this man—the
Prince Mori is condemned to death! He
was found guilty of treason—he—oh, it is
quite impossible!”

“Alas! but it is true.”

“You do not mean that your father brought
him here under penalty of death?”

Her head was bent forward. She covered
her face with her sleeve.

“Shaka!” exclaimed Genji. “We must do
something at once.”

“Yes, oh yes! You, Gen, you will take
him away—will you not, Gen?—and protect
him, for if you do not they will kill him, or
force me to marry with him.”

“Force you to marry with him!”

“Yes. Do you not understand? I am only
an Eta girl.”

“I know that.”

“And my father believes that if he were
to marry me to the Prince he would legally
become an outcast, and it would break his
father’s heart.”

“That is very true.”

“Then you see, Gen, how imperative it is
that he should be taken away at once.”

“Why, no, I do not so regard it.”

“You do not? Then what am I to do?”
// 161.png
.pn +1

“Marry him at once.”

“But, indeed, I cannot do so.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, Gen, it would be too humiliating for
him to debase himself. I could not be so false
as to deceive him and drag him down from
his high estate. I could not do it.”

“Pugh! You overrate the ignominy of
the Eta. In the old days when your father
married among them the prejudice was at
its bitterest. He is not aware of the changes
which are rapidly taking place in the thought
of the people of Japan to-day, nor does he
know that this very prince represents to the
people that new era which is about to dawn
wherein all men will have equal rights and
privileges. Your honorable father has lived
only in his own sorrows, knowing little of
what is taking place in his country. Take
advantage of his ignorance, I advise you.”

“But he would never forgive me,” she
said.

“Who? Your prince? Never forgive you
for marrying him! Why, I thought he had
wooed you for that purpose!”

“Yes,” she sighed, “but he did not know
the truth then. Perhaps if he had known
of my lowly station—”

“It would have made no difference. I
tell you I am well acquainted with this family
of Mori. They are a proud but not ignoble
race, and this new scion has shown a braver
// 162.png
.pn +1
and better blood than all of his august ancestors.”

“I cannot do it,” she said, shaking her
head despairingly. “So do you, pray, Sir
Gen, assist me to put him in hiding somewhere.”

“Tsh! That is impossible. Why, see, he
is a big fellow. We could not carry him far,
and the place here is surrounded by spies.
He would meet a worse fate than if—”

She became paler and shivered visibly.

“I do not like to hear you speak so,” she
said.

“I do not like to see you act so, my lady,”
said Gen. “What! You would desert your
lover when he most needs you!”

“Oh, Gen, no! I did not say that.”

“When there is a way by which you can
save his life, you refuse to do so? Very well,
then; better deliver him up at once to his
executioners.”

“Oh-h!”

She interrupted him with a sharp cry of
fright. The sound of her voice reaching the
Prince as he slept, he turned uneasily on his
couch, sighing heavily. Genji and Wistaria
listened to him in breathless silence. Then,
with her face turned towards the Prince, Wistaria
moved close to his couch, whispering
tremulously:

“Yes, yes, I must do it. It is the only way—the
only way!”
// 163.png
.pn +1

“That is right,” said Genji, patting her
hand reassuringly.

She walked unsteadily back to her lover.
Once more she sank down on her knees beside
him. Her face wore an expression the big
samurai could not bear to look upon. He
moved very silently and stood against the
door of the chamber, straight and immovable
as a statue, and strong and invincible as a
war god on guard.
// 164.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XVIII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-p.jpg w=200px align=l
RINCE
.if-
.if t
PRINCE
.if-
Keiki was pacing restlessly
and impatiently up and
down the chamber wherein he
had lain ill. It was the month
of June. From the small opening
of the doors Keiki could
see that the uneven hillocks
which appeared on all sides
were blazing with the gorgeous
flowers colored by the yellow
sun above them.
.pi
At the door of the chamber,
his arms folded across his breast,
his eyes quietly following the
glance of the plainly irritated
Prince, the samurai Genji stood,
still in the attitude of a guard.
// 165.png
.pn +1

“Why,” inquired the Prince, frowning
savagely, “may not the shoji be pushed completely
to one side? I suppose this honorable
house is fashioned like any other Japanese
abode. Since I am not permitted to venture
out of this honorable interior, at least I might
be allowed to look upon more of the outside
world than is to be seen through such a
narrow space.”

He indicated the screens, only partially
opened, which half discovered, half concealed,
a sloping balcony.

Very deep and respectful was Genji’s bow.

“It is my distasteful duty to be forced
to disagree with your excellency,” he said.
“Your highness’s august health is such that
your chamber must be sheltered even from
the summer breezes.”

The Prince stopped sharply in his walk.

“Spare yourself such imaginative effort,
Sir Genji,” he said. “That, you are well
aware, is not the true reason why I am deprived
of sufficient air, and am forced to
remain in a room with my shutters closed
so that not even the breath of summer may
enter.”

At Genji’s second obeisance, the Prince,
with an impatient motion, commanded him
to cease, and to give his undivided attention
to his remarks.

“Now will you do me the kindness to inform
me what all these mysterious precautions
// 166.png
.pn +1
mean? Wait a moment. Do not speak,
for I perceive you are about to utter some
further prevarication. Think before you speak,
and try to see that it is useless to attempt to
deceive me.”

“Well, my lord,” said Genji, “knowing as
you do the peril in which your life will be
placed if—”

“Oh yes, I perceive all you would say.
I have recently been rescued from a blood-thirsty
executioner; I must remain in hiding
for some time, and so on; but what I wish to
understand is why is it necessary for me to
continue imprisoned?”

“Well, my lord, you would not wish a Shogun
spy to catch a glimpse of you by chance?”

“I fear no spy,” said the Prince, with contempt.
“If I were permitted my own way”
he added, savagely, “I would not linger here,
but would start out alone, and cut my way
through such worms and vipers.”

“If you wish to do so,” said Genji, with
some asperity, “I shall take no measures to
prevent you; but I had thought your highness
desired to remain here at all events until
after your wedding.”

The young Prince sighed, and, seating
himself on a small lacquer stool by the parted
doors, he rested his chin upon his hands and
stared out gloomily at the landscape.

After a moment, in a gentler voice he rejoined:
// 167.png
.pn +1

“Is it not yet time for her to come?” without
turning his head.

“No, my lord.”

The Prince sighed again.

“I once prided myself upon my habit of
early rising,” he said. “Now it has become
a nuisance.”

Silence again, and then:

“Sir Genji, what has become of the Lady
Evening Glory? She has not returned to
Catzu?”

“No. She still condescends to accept my
humble hospitality.”

“I have not seen her lately—a fortunate
circumstance, by-the-way. The lady oppresses
me.”

“She has been much engaged with the
marriage garments of the Lady Wistaria.”

The Prince’s face softened at the mere mention
of Wistaria’s name, and the look of impatience
passed from his face. For a time
he seemed plunged in a pleasing reverie.
Again he questioned the samurai.

“Do you not think it a strange fancy for
my lady to wish to be married here at your
house instead of at Catzu?”

“Not at all. Your health is such that an
ordinary wedding would be harmful; besides,
think of the danger!”

“Well, it is my opinion that the state of my
health is exaggerated. All I need to drive
away my paleness quickly is the open air
// 168.png
.pn +1
and the golden sunlight. As for the danger,
I was not thinking of a wedding in Catzu,
but one in my own province. I should be
perfectly safe there with my own samurai
to protect me, and a half-dozen other southern
clans ready to come to my assistance.”

“I cannot conceive of your excellency’s
impatience and dissatisfaction,” said Genji,
“when I recall that you are about to be wedded
soon, and to one for whom any prince would
be only too glad to sacrifice everything.”

“You are right, Sir Genji. Yet is it not
strange that, despite all this, I feel melancholy.
I cannot understand it.” He paused,
and turned on his seat to look back at the samurai.
“Sometimes it appears to me that I
have caught this sadness of spirit from my
lady herself.”

“What, the Lady Wistaria? Impossible.”

“It is true,” said the Prince, thoughtfully.

“Why, she sings half the day like a bird—”

“Whose heart is broken,” quickly ended
the Prince.

“She plays like a child—”

“Who is commanded to rejoice.”

“Her soul is as gay—”

“As a priestess whom the black temple
shuts from life.”

“Pugh! She laughs—”

“With tears in her throat”; again the Prince
finished the sentence. “Yes, it is so, I tell
you. I am not deceived.”
// 169.png
.pn +1

“Your affection, my lord, causes you to
imagine things that do not exist.”

“No, my affection but increases the acuteness
of my perceptions.”

“If you will permit an unworthy vassal to
venture an opinion, I would say, my lord, that
for one about to wed in a day, your excellency
wears a most funereal countenance.”

The Prince arose abruptly, as though he
would shake off some oppression that beset
him.

“Let me tell you, my good fellow,” he said,
approaching Genji more closely, “when one
we love appears to us to be cloaking behind
a mask of painful gayety some secret sadness,
the world is apt to wear a haggard aspect
which one’s own self must reflect. If you
repeat that my imagination but conjures up
such fancies, then I will say that I must be
insane.”

Silently, for the space of a few moments,
the two men remained looking into each
other’s faces. They started simultaneously
at the soft patting of approaching footsteps.

“One request, Sir Genji,” whispered Keiki,
as the footsteps drew nearer. “Will you for
once relax your guard and permit me to be
alone with—”

“But—”

“You can guard my person just as well
outside, and should any one attempt to attack
me you will certainly be made aware of the
// 170.png
.pn +1
fact by whatever noise a pair of lungs can
force.”

“Her aunt would consider it unseemly,”
said the samurai, with some hesitation.

“I do not make it a request,” said the Prince,
patiently, “but merely beg the favor.”

A light tap on the door, and the next moment
Wistaria had entered the room. Her arms
were full of flowers, flaming red and yellow
blossoms that grew wild on the hills, while
about her garments clung the odors of the
fields and the mountain. She was damp and
sweet with the morning dew shining on her
hair, clinging even to her face and arms.

“What!” cried Gen. “You have been out
already?”

She nodded, smiling wistfully over the
flowers, which the Prince silently took from
her arms and set upon the floor. His eyes
never relaxed their gaze from her sweet face.

“My lord’s chamber,” she said, as she
shook the dew and a few clinging leaves
from her kimono, “is so barren of the beauty
of summer that I thought the fields might
spare something of their wealth.”

Keiki turned an imploring glance to Genji.
The samurai turned hastily to the door.

“Well, then,” said Genji, “I shall go and
bring you some honorable water for the flowers.”

The moment Genji had left the room the
Prince seized Wistaria’s hands impulsively.
// 171.png
.pn +1

“Wistaria,” he cried, “now I have some
questions to put to you.”

One startled, upward glance at him she
gave. He took her face in his hands, compelling
her eyes to meet his own.

“Why are your eyes so dark?” he asked.

She attempted to smile.

“The gods—” she began.

“No,” he interrupted, knowing in advance
what she was about to say, “but here, and
here.” He passed his fingers gently over the
dark shadows that framed the pitiful eyes.

“Have they not always been so?” she
asked, with a pathetic attempt at lightness
which did not deceive him.

“No,” he replied, almost vehemently.
“When first the gods blessed me with the
joy of beholding you, they were not so.”

“Well,” she murmured, tremulously, “I
am becoming honorably older. That is all.”

“No, that is not the reason,” he cried, passionately.
“A few months could not have
wrought the difference, nor the other changes
I perceive in your face. The rose is gone.
You are pale and too frail. Your lips—ah,
I cannot bear it!”

With an exclamation of pain he broke off.

An expression of fright appeared in her
face. Her hands clutched about his.

“My lord,” she cried, “you—you do not
think that I—that I have ceased to be beautiful?”
// 172.png
.pn +1

“No, no. You are more beautiful than
ever. You could not be otherwise than beautiful,
my beloved, but you appear to me so
frail that I am beginning to believe you are
some spirit. Tell me, do tell me, what has
wrought this change in you?”

For a moment she remained silent. Then
she laughed. Her hands, with a little, childish
motion of delight, she clapped.

“Wait,” she cried, breaking from his arm.
“I will show you the cause.”

She ran across the room and brought a
little mirror, which she polished with her
sleeve as she returned to him. Then leaning
against him, she held it before his face, while
she put her own cheek against his.

“Look within, Keiki-sama. Said the gods:
‘Such a pale and wan Keiki will need a companion,
so we will make the Lady Wistaria’s
face to match his!’ So they did so.”

With a gesture of despair, he pushed the
glass away.

“No,” he said, hoarsely, “for mine is pale
and thin from much illness, while yours—”

“From love,” she said, in a breath.
// 173.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XIX
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-w2.jpg w=200px align=l
ISTARIA”
.if-
.if t
“WISTARIA”
.if-
said the Prince
Keiki, with a very firm clasp
of her hand, “just now I insisted
that the samurai Genji
should cease his futile deception
by useless prevarication. And
now I ask you, I beg you, not
to hide under a cloak of levity
any secret trouble which you may
have, and which I, as your future
husband, am entitled to know.”
.pi
The mirror slipped from the
girl’s hand. She stared at it
hopelessly.

“Now answer me,” continued
her lover, insistently. “Is it not
true that you are in trouble?”
// 174.png
.pn +1

“Yes,” she said, in a low voice; “yes, but—”
Her voice broke, and she turned her face from
his gaze. “But, alas, I cannot tell it to you,
my lord.”

“Nay, do so,” he entreated, with such
pleading in his voice that she came back
to his arms and nestled against his breast
with a little wounded cry.

“I am waiting,” he said, softly.

“I cannot tell you,” she murmured against
his breast.

“Why not?” he inquired, quietly.

In her nervous restlessness she broke
away from his arms again. Her hands
noiselessly clapped each other repeatedly.
She could not remain still.

“Why not?” repeated the Prince.

“There are many reasons,” she said, in a
low voice, still maintaining the distance between
them.

“Nay, think a little while, and see whether
your heart will not suggest to you that the
mere telling of your troubles to me may be
their solution. Remember I shall be your
honorable husband very soon”—he smiled a
trifle sadly—“and then I shall command
you to tell me the truth, you know.”

Wistaria sat very still now. Ever since
Genji had come upon her that first day with
the wounded Prince in her arms Wistaria
had been a prey to the utmost despair and
anguish. The infinite faith and trust of
// 175.png
.pn +1
her lover filled her continually with a greater
horror of her deceit, for she could not forget,
not for one moment, the part she had been
forced to play in the undoing of the Prince.
How could she add to her other iniquities by
inveigling this noble and generous-hearted
Prince into a marriage which would not fail
to debase him? And yet she had no alternative,
for otherwise his life would be the forfeit.
Was it possible for her to tell him all this?
Would it be, as he had said, a solution of
her misery to confess her own deceit and
warn him of the danger in which he stood,
that of marrying into an outcast family?

As she thought thus sadly, the gentle voice
of her lover brought the tears to her eyes.
But she held them back, almost feverishly
placing a greater distance between herself
and the Prince. In that moment when his
tender eyes held hers in their gaze, while he
trustfully waited for her to speak, she was
ready to tell him everything.

“You are about to tell me all,” he said, as
though he understood her unspoken volition.
“Do not mistrust me. Believe in my adoration
for you. Give me thy heart completely.”

A sudden shivering took possession of
Wistaria. Instead of speaking, she drew
her sleeve across her face, a characteristic
habit with her when in despair. Gradually
her head sank forward, until she knelt at
his feet in an attitude of humility.
// 176.png
.pn +1

“Nay, do not kneel,” he cried, “nor hide
thy face from me. Do not so, I beseech
thee.”

Having permitted his assistance in rising,
she freed herself from his encircling arm.

“Look at me, my lord,” she cried. “Tell
me, what do you see?”

“A maiden as beautiful as the sun-goddess
and as good—”

“Nay, then, do not speak so. Look at me
again, my lord. Have you then found such
pleasure in my beauty that you have not
even remarked my garments?”

“Your garments?”

Bewilderment was in his face.

“Yes. Are these the silks, my lord, worn
by the ladies of your rank?”

“Nay, but though I cannot conceive why
you should be garbed in cotton, yet I see no
disgrace in the fact. Perchance the samurai
Genji is honorably poor, and you are so courteous
as to dress in homely garments while
a guest of his honorable household.”

“I am not a guest of his household, my
lord.”

“But—”

“I know it has been told you so. Nevertheless,
this is the house of my father.”

“I do not understand,” he exclaimed.

He added immediately, “If it is that your
honorable father is poor—”

“You are wrong, my lord. My father is
// 177.png
.pn +1
in the service of the government. His remuneration
is ample.”

“Then do explain to me the reason why
you are so garbed and situated.”

“Because it is so enacted by the law,”
she said.

“The law!”

“I am an Eta woman.”

“An Eta! Impossible!”

“That was the offence for which my father
was banished—because of his marriage to
an Eta maiden.”

The Prince stared at her aghast. She
stood as still as if made of stone. Her lover’s
silence was due to his repugnance at this
revelation, she thought. Seeing his effort
to speak, she prayed a little prayer to the
gods that he would spare her. The Prince
found his voice.

“Then by the royal blood of my ancestors,
I swear,” he cried, “that I shall be guilty of
the same offence as thy honorable parent, and
for thy sweet sake I, too, shall become an Eta.”

With a little, trembling cry she started
towards him.

“But thy cause! Oh, my lord, thy noble
cause!”

“The cause!” He threw back his head
and laughed with buoyant joyousness.

“Fuji-wara,” he said, “do you not perceive
that a new life is about to dawn for this Japan
of ours?”
// 178.png
.pn +1

“A new life,” she repeated, breathlessly,
hanging upon the words that escaped his
lips.

“A new life,” he said, “with our country
no longer broken up into factions, when men
shall have equal rights and privileges.”

He smiled at her rapt face, and possessed
himself of both her little hands.

“Dearest and sweetest of maidens,” he said,
tenderly, “in marrying me you do not wed
a prince. I am pledged to the welfare of the
people. Know you not that the great cause
of the Imperialist will bring about that Restoration
which will overturn all these crushing
tyrannies and injustices which press our
people to the earth? Repeat with me, then:
‘Daigi Meibunor! Banzai the Imperialist!’”

Suddenly she remembered the blow she had
dealt the cause. Her head fell upon their
clasped hands.

But over her fallen head the voice of the
Prince Keiki was full of joy.

“And now I have heard the great trouble,
and have I not burst it like a bubble? Henceforward,
then, let there be only happiness and
joy in these eyes and these lips.” Reverently
he pressed her eyes and lips.

Genji was heard outside the door. His face
was very grave and his whole appearance perturbed
when he entered.

Bowing deeply to the Prince, he addressed
him hastily:
// 179.png
.pn +1

“Your excellency, the Lord of Catzu has
arrived at my insignificant house and is below.
It is his wish that the marriage of his niece
should be celebrated without further delay.
I come to you, therefore, to beg that you will
consent to its immediate consummation.”

“I comply with gladness,” replied the Prince,
“but may I inquire the reason for this haste?”

“The Lord Catzu Toro is in critical peril in
your august father’s province.”

“Enough!” interrupted the Prince, impulsively.
“You desire my immediate mediation
in his behalf?”

He turned to Wistaria with an exclamation
of delight. “Now,” said he, “we shall see all
our troubles melt into thin air like mist before
the sun.”

“But I have not told you all—there is more
still to tell. I pray you—” Wistaria began.

“There is no time,” interrupted Genji,
severely, “and I beg your highness will convince
the Lady Wistaria of the necessity for
haste.”

“That is right,” said the Prince. “There is
a whole lifetime before us yet in which thou
canst tell me thy heart. Come. Let us descend
to the wedding-chamber.”
// 180.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XX
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-n.jpg w=200px align=l
O
.if-
.if t
NO
.if-
Prince of Japan had ever
been wedded in so strange and
lowly a fashion. There was not
a sign or sound of the gratulation,
rejoicing, or pomp which
usually attend such ceremonies.
When the Prince Keiki and
the Lady Wistaria, attended by
the samurai Genji, entered the
homely wedding apartment, they
found a small group, pale and
solemn, awaiting them. It consisted
of the Lord and Lady
Catzu and one who was a
stranger to Keiki, but whom
he knew to be the father of the
Lady Wistaria.
// 181.png
.pn +1
.pi
The waiting party bowed very low and
solemnly to those who had just entered. Their
greeting was returned with an equal gravity
and grace. There was a pause—a hush.
Keiki looked about him inquiringly, and then
he shivered. The true solemnity of the occasion
dawned upon him so that even the near
joy of possessing Wistaria at last passed from
his mind. He was about to join through marriage
two families who hitherto had had for
each other nothing save hatred and detestation.

Timid and pale as his glance was, he scarcely
dared to look at the Lady Wistaria, though
he knew she was so weak and faint that the
samurai Genji had to support her.

Somewhat sharply, the voice of the Lady
Evening Glory broke the silence.

“Why do we wait?”

The Lord Catzu stirred uneasily, glancing
from the bridal couple to his wife, and then to
the inscrutable face of Shimadzu.

“If I may be permitted to remark,” he said,
apologetically, “the Lady Wistaria is certainly
garbed unbefitting her rank and race.”

“Chut!” said his wife, angrily, “you would
delay matters for such a trifle? Every moment
counts now against our son. Will you
let such an insignificant matter as the dress
of your unworthy niece hasten the possible
death of our beloved?”

“When it is her wedding-dress, yes,” said
// 182.png
.pn +1
Catzu, stubbornly. “May I be stricken blind
before I witness such a disgrace brought upon
my honorable niece’s dignity. She must be
married as befits her rank, I repeat.”

A sour smile played over the features of the
Lady Evening Glory.

“That is true. Well, her rank is that of
the Eta,” she said, tartly.

Having found the courage to disagree with
his lady, Catzu now set her at complete defiance.
He marched towards the door.

“Very well, then. I refuse to witness such
an outrageous ceremony. The lady may
have Eta kindred, but do not forget that
she has also the blood of royalty in her
veins.”

His consort could hardly suppress her fury.

“I appeal to you, honored brother,” she
said. “How shall it be?”

“And I,” exploded Catzu, who was in an
evil and contrary temper, “appeal to you, my
Lord of Mori,” and he bowed profoundly to
the Prince.

Shimadzu made no response. His glance
met that of the troubled Prince. Keiki flushed
under his penetrating eyes. Then he spoke
with graceful dignity, bowing meanwhile to
the trembling Wistaria.

“Let her be garbed,” he said, “as befits
the daughter of her father and the bride of a
Prince of Mori.”

There was silence for a space. Then
// 183.png
.pn +1
Shimadzu made an imperative gesture to
Genji, who gently led the girl from the chamber,
followed by the angrily resigned Lady
Evening Glory.

The three men, now alone, waited in strained
silence for Wistaria’s return. Straight and
stiff, with heads somewhat bent to the floor,
they remained standing in almost identical
attitudes. Gradually, however, Catzu broke
the tension by an attempt to relieve his excessive
nervousness. Resting first on one foot
and then on the other, he shifted about. His
eyes lingered in painful sympathy upon the
Prince, and then irresolutely turned to the
samurai. Perspiration stood out on the lord’s
brow. He was suffering physically from the
strain.

After a long interval of this intolerable
silence, the doors of the chamber were again
pushed aside. The samurai Genji entered.
Bowing deeply, he announced:

“The Lady Wistaria and her august aunt
enter the honorable chamber!”

The two ladies, close behind Genji, now
followed him into the room. Immediately
all prostrated themselves. When they had
regained their feet, it was found that Wistaria
was still kneeling. Then Genji perceived that
she had not risen because she was unable to
do so. Without a word, he lifted her to her
feet. One moment she leaned against his
strong arm, then seemed to gather strength.
// 184.png
.pn +1
Stepping apart from him, she stood alone
there in the middle of the floor.

Despite her waxen whiteness, she was more
than beautiful—ethereal. Her lacquer hair
was no more dark than her strange, long eyes,
both set off by an exquisite robe of ancient
style, as befitted a lady of noble blood.

When her hand touched that of the Prince
he felt cold as ice. Involuntarily his own palm
enclosed hers warmly. He did not let it go,
but drawing her closer to him, unmindful of
the assembled company, he tried to fathom
the tragedy that seemed to lurk behind her
impenetrable eyes. But, her head drooping
above their hands, he beheld only the sheen
of her glossy hair. Then she passed from
his side to her uncle and her father.

Almost mechanically, his eyes never once
relaxing their gaze from the face of his bride,
the Prince went through the ceremony. After
the service he tried to break the uncomfortable
restraint. He proposed the health of the two
noble though previously misguided families,
whose union had now been so happily consummated.
But his own cup was the only
one held high. Gradually his hand fell from
its elevation. He set the untasted sake down
among the marriage-cups and sprang to his
feet.

“Let us diffuse some merriment among us,”
he cried, “for the sake of the gods and for
our future peace and happiness. Such undue
// 185.png
.pn +1
solemnity bodes ill for our honorable
future.”

The samurai Shimadzu stepped forward,
facing him fairly.

“My lord and prince,” he said, “I have this
moment given the signal for a courier to hasten
immediately to Choshui to acquaint my bitterest
enemy with the tidings of the marriage
of his heir to my insignificant daughter.”

The Prince smiled, despite his uneasiness.

“Surely, my lord,” he said, “you make a
goodly new and honorable custom. What!
an announcement, perchance an invitation
for one’s enemy! That is well, for we have
overturned all false maxims relating to vengeance
against an enemy. We have buried
our wrongs in a union of love, and embrace
our enemies as friends.”

“With august humility,” said the samurai,
coldly, “I would suggest that your highness’s
assurance of our embrace is premature.”

“Premature! What, and this my marriage
day!”

“Your marriage day may be a source of woe
to your proud house.”

“Well, that is so,” agreed the Prince,
thoughtfully. “Nevertheless,” he added,
cheerfully, “my honorable father becomes
more lenient with the years. Moreover, he
has but to behold his new daughter to forget
all else save the fortune the gods have bestowed
upon us.”
// 186.png
.pn +1

“Be assured your father shall never behold
her,” said the samurai, with incisive fierceness.

“What is that?”

“You have heard.”

“But I do assure you that my marriage,
though it may provoke the momentary anger
of my father, will never debar my lady wife
from her position in our household. You
forget that my honored parent is very old,
and I shall soon have the honor of becoming
Prince of Mori in my own right. I shall then
have no lord to deprive me of my rights, even
if I had disregarded the law.”

“You may as well be made aware of the
fact at once,” said Shimadzu, “that no blood
of mine shall ever mingle with that of the
Mori!”

“I do not understand your honorable speech.
Has not our august bloods just now become
united?”

“Only by the law, my lord.”

“Well—?”

“My daughter, your highness, shall never
accompany her Mori husband to his home.”

“Very well, then. I will remain here with
her. I am quite satisfied to renounce all my
worldly ambitions and possessions for her
sake, if such is the command of her august
father,” and the Prince bowed to his father-in-law
in the most filial and affable manner.

“If you remain here you will not be permitted
to live.”
// 187.png
.pn +1

A low cry, half moan, came from the new
Princess of Mori, who lay against her uncle’s
breast. Keiki turned to her at that cry. He
was seized with a foreboding of events to come.
Again he turned to the samurai.

“Will it please you, honored father-in-law,
to speak more plainly to me?”

“Very well. This marriage, your highness,
has been consummated not for the purpose of
uniting a pair of lovers, but to fulfil a pledge
which was made to one who was murdered by
your parent—a pledge of vengeance.”

“But I cannot perceive how this is accomplished,”
said the Prince, now pale as Wistaria.

“You have married an Eta girl.”

“I am aware of that,” said the Prince, somewhat
proudly.

“I have not finished,” said Shimadzu.
“Are you aware that you are at present under
sentence of death?”

The Prince made a contemptuous motion.

“By order of the bakufu (shogunate). Yes,
I am aware of the fact.”

“Very well. I am the executioner!”

“You!”

“It was I who caused your arrest, and afterwards
brought you hither with the intention
of executing you.”

A flood of horrible thoughts rushed across
the Prince’s mind, bewildering him. As if to
press them back, he clasped his hands to his
// 188.png
.pn +1
head. Shimadzu continued in his cold and
monotonous voice:

“After your arrest, it was brought to my
attention that a more subtle revenge against
your parent could be gained by marrying you
into that very class of people so despised by
your father, and forcing you to become guilty
of the same offence for which I was exiled.”

Stirred as he now was, Keiki’s faith in Wistaria
still remained unshaken. That her father
had had a hand in betraying him he
was assured, but he could not yet recognize
in the deed the delicate hand of the woman
he loved.

“Through the agency of my daughter,”
went on the samurai, “I was soon able to learn
sufficient concerning the workings of the Imperialist
party of which you are the head—”

“The Imperialist party!” repeated the
Prince, and he bounded towards the samurai
with the cry of a wounded animal. His hand
sprang to his hip, where his sword had been
restored to its sheath.

“You—you!” he shouted. “It was you who
betrayed me—who—”

“You are augustly wrong,” said the samurai,
moving not an inch, despite the close
proximity and menacing attitude of the Prince.
“You honorably betrayed yourself!”

“I!”

“Certainly. To her.” He indicated, without
naming, the Lady Wistaria.
// 189.png
.pn +1

Slowly, painfully, driven by the goading
words of the father, the blazing, burning eyes
of the husband sought Wistaria, there to rest
upon her while infinite horror found mirror
in his countenance. Motionless thus he
stood.

Wistaria, braced for a shock she could not
meet, leaned against her uncle, whose head
bent over her. The Lady Evening Glory
smiled, as one who delights in the soul of
a cat. Calm, satisfied, unmoved, remained
Shimadzu. Keiki’s eyes bulged from their
sockets, his mouth gaped open. At last one
word burst from his lips, but it was as eloquent
as though he had uttered a thousand.

“Thou!”

Her head sank low. He recoiled a step.
But with entranced horror he continued to
gaze at her. Her face was like marble, out of
which her dark eyes stared as though made
of polished, glazed china. And as he gazed,
terrible thoughts and remembrances rushed
upon Keiki, overpowering, weakening, paralyzing
him. After a long, immovable silence
he leaned slowly forward until their faces,
close together, were on a level.

“It is true?” he whispered, hoarsely.
“Speak! Speak!”

“It is true,” she replied, in a voice so small
and faint that it seemed far away.

His sword leaped out of his scabbard. He
raised it as if to strike her down. But his
// 190.png
.pn +1
hand fell to his side. Then he spoke, in a
hoarse, fearful voice:

“The gods may forgive thee. I, never!”

With that he was gone from the chamber.
They heard the clash of his sword as it touched
the stone pavement, then the sound of his
flying feet, loud at first, and then dying away
into the silence.
// 191.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
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[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXI
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-h.jpg w=200px align=l
AVING
.if-
.if t
HAVING
.if-
fulfilled his purpose in
life, the Shimadzu was ready,
eager, for his own self-immolation.
He had prepared for this
event with strict observance of
an elaborate etiquette, just as
he, a samurai, would have prepared
for any event of importance
in his life.
.pi
The little house had been
thoroughly cleansed and whitewashed.
Fresh mats of straw
had been laid upon the floor,
and the walls were recovered.
To admit the sunshine, and the
air of the out-door world, the
windows were thrown wide apart.
// 192.png
.pn +1

Shimadzu produced an ancient chest, from
which he brought forth rare and costly old
garments, emblazoned with the crests of a
proud family, and a pair of very long swords.
The hilts were of black lacquer. The guard,
ferule, cleats, and rivets were richly inlaid
and embossed in rare metals. But the beautiful
blades were the parts which shone out in
their noble, classic beauty. They were extremely
narrow, glossy, and brittle as icicles.
The very sight of them would have awakened
a feeling of heroism and awe in the bosom
of one less alive to what they signified than
Shimadzu. They were, in fact, two swords
which, belonging to a hundred ancestors of
Shimadzu, had been used only in the most
glorious service.

“The girded sword is the soul of the samurai,”
and Shimadzu muttered an ancient
saying. It had been long since he lost the
right to wear them through his marriage into
the Eta class, and now he regarded them with
such intense emotion that fierce tears blinded
his eyesight.

Reverently, tenderly, he lifted them to a
place upon a white table before a shrine in
his own chamber. Then with a low groan
he prostrated himself before them, rather than
the figure of the Daibutsu, which placidly
rested upon the small throne.

In his inmost soul, this samurai felt he had
done a good and righteous thing in achieving
// 193.png
.pn +1
his vengeance, even though the innocent were
sacrificed. Trained as he had been in the
harsh school of the samurai, in which self-denial,
contempt for pleasure and gain, scorn
of death or physical hurt, and the righteous
vengeance upon an enemy were esteemed
virtues, he was steeled against all fear and
pain. His conscience was satisfied with itself.

After his silent prayer, he rose to his feet
very calmly and with a degree of solemnity.
He had gathered fresh strength from his
prayer. The ceremony of hari-kari he performed
with grave dignity and punctiliousness.

First of all, he gently lifted the two swords
and held them in the sun, their knightly
significance strong in his mind. One was to
use against all enemies of his lord, the other
held ever in readiness to turn upon himself
in atonement for fault or faintest suspicion
of dishonor, or, as in his case, when a duty
has been fulfilled and honorable death is
desired as a crowning end.

The samurai Shimadzu was without a lord,
or, rather, he disdained and cursed the one
under whom he should have served. Hence
he broke into a dozen pieces one of the two
swords, spurning the glittering pieces with
his foot.

Then silently he disrobed to the waist.
Very slowly and precisely he pressed the sword
into his body so that he might lose none of
// 194.png
.pn +1
the pain, which he would have scorned to
resist. No moan escaped his lips. No muscle
of his face quivered.

As the sword sank deeper his brain whirled
with the dizziness of nausea, but, still stiff
and relentless, his arm obeyed the will of his
soul, even continuing mechanically to do so
when his head had fallen backward into semi-unconsciousness.
He was one hour and a
half in dying. No words could describe the
excruciating nature of such pains. Certainly,
as a samurai, his was a fitting end.

Such was the nature of this people that to
his friends and relatives his act was regarded
as an honorable and admirable thing. Had
he faltered in its accomplishment they would
have urged him to the deed, entreating him
to save himself from the stigma of dishonor
which would otherwise smirch his good
name.

The following day a large number of Catzu
samurai and vassals marched through the
Eta settlement and ascended the small hill
upon which stood the house of the public executioner.
The body of the samurai was carried
with the utmost respect and reverence
from the Eta house, whence a train, bearing
it in due state, departed for Catzu.

From the Eta house the Lady Wistaria, too,
was carried. Her train was even more like
a funeral procession than that of her father;
for those who carried her norimon and who
// 195.png
.pn +1
followed in its wake had long been her personal
attendants and servitors. Now, because
of their love for her, they wept at almost every
step of the journey.

The two mournful processions left the Eta
settlement side by side, but their different destinations
led to their parting company at the
base of the hill. The one carrying the dead
samurai turned in the direction of Catzu.
There, fitting ceremonies were to be given to
the departed soul of Shimadzu, after which
he would be interred in the mortuary hall of
his ancestors.

The train of the Lady Wistaria turned to
the south, travelling many miles over bare
and uninhabited regions, over plains, past
hamlets and small towns and villages, on
towards the mountains of the south.

While the last rays of the setting sun were
still illumining the west, the cortege of the
new Princess of Mori entered a forest of evergreen
pines. When it emerged, the darkening
sky had deepened its colors until a melancholy
calm wrapped the land in an effulgent
glow. The moon had risen on high and was
shimmering out its holy light. The earth, reflecting
its gleam, seemed a tableau of silent
silver.

They had reached a beautiful and tranquil
hill. At the top, above the pines and cedars
enclosing it in nature’s own sacred wall, the
amber peaks of a celestial temple, with its
// 196.png
.pn +1
myriad slanting lights, pointed upward in
the sky. Their journey was ended.

Very still now stood the cortège. Low and
deeply bent stood the silent attendants, as
with streaming eyes they gazed longingly
upon the slight young figure which the samurai
Genji, almost bowed over with personal
grief, assisted to alight from the norimon.
In her white robes the Lady Wistaria seemed a
spirit as she stood there under the moonbeams.
Mutely she looked about her. As the muffled
sobs of her servitors reached her ears, she
wrung her hands with an unconscious gesture
of anguish greater than their own.

As if in sympathy with the intense sadness
over all who were there, nature herself seemed
to show signs of her own distress. Clouds
rolled over the skies above the mountains,
veiling the moon and the star beams. A
little river that flowed at the foot of the hill
was heard sobbing as it rolled with a mournful
sound over its rapids.

But the lights twinkled out warmly from
the temple beyond, and a white-robed priestess
was descending to welcome the novitiate.
An odor of sweet incense, such as of umegaku
or tambo, was wafted to the watchers on the
hill from the temple doors. Wistaria turned
her face towards it. Then back again she
directed her glance to her kneeling servitors.
Her voice was as soft and gentle as a benediction.
// 197.png
.pn +1

“Pray thee” she said, “to take care of your
honorable healths. Sayonara!”

She hesitated on the threshold of the temple.
Then silently she entered the place of tranquil
rest amid the shadows of the mountains.
// 198.png
.pn +1

.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-t.jpg w=200px align=l
HE
.if-
.if t
THE
.if-
Prince Keiki had been on
the highway three days before
he became again something
more than an unconscious automaton.
After the first great
shock of Wistaria’s revelation
had passed from him, there had
come a desperate terror and
horror which seemed to numb
his faculties. For several days
he was not conscious of anything
either within or without
him. There was no anguish
in his heart or intelligence in
his brain. His memory of
events succeeding Wistaria’s unmasking,
as he believed it, was
// 199.png
.pn +1
as vague as the tangled threads of a dream.
He had fallen into that apathetic lethargy with
which he had been afflicted upon his arrest.
.pi
He had, it is true, uncertain recollections
of a place passed on the way, or of a halt here
and refreshment there, but he could not assert
that they were real. He might have dreamed
them. He could not tell.

Then Keiki returned to his normal being.
He awoke as from a troubled sleep to a world
of torment. Could he have slept, and, sleeping,
have imagined the events with which the
name Wistaria was repulsively associated?
No! It was, alas, all too true. He must bear
it. As the first sharp anguish of his awakening
passed away, there came visions to comfort
Keiki.

When what he termed in after years his
great awakening burst upon him, he found
himself walking down a muddy road which
led, his sense of locality told him, south to his
province of Choshui. It was raining, fiercely,
sullenly. Almost with a feeling of relief,
Keiki found that he was wet. It gave him
new life and new courage to do some simple
elemental thing, such as drawing his cape
tighter, closer about him. Then, as he battled
against the wind and the driving rain, a fierce
joy came to him. He was wise in the wisdom
of suffering. His life should be devoted to the
cause. No woman should destroy the significance
life held for him.
// 200.png
.pn +1

Too long had he tarried with inclination.
He had pictured to himself a beautiful highway
through life, upon which Wistaria should
tread by his side. She was lost forever. The
rough path, the developing path of struggle,
should be his. He would not falter. He
would be true first to himself, his higher self,
and then to the holy cause of his country.
Patriotism and the restoration of rightful rule
to the Mikado should guide him in every act.
The events through which he had passed had
consecrated him anew. His life could not be
taken; he could not fail, until all had been
accomplished.

In the new life which he was about to enter
his course would not always be plain; he would
not always be understood. For that he must
be prepared.

When the Prince Keiki had thus settled the
past and ordered the future, he began to take
cognizance of outward conditions, as became
him now. It was wet, and growing dark. He
must seek shelter for the night. Turning aside
from the highway, Keiki asked the simple
hospitality of the country-side from a little
house hard by the path of travel. Although
it was long past the hour of their evening
meal, the good dwellers in the cottage sent
their daughter to the rear of the house to prepare
food for the hungry Prince.

Sitting alone in a corner, Keiki, waited upon
by the little maiden, found a quiet and comfort
// 201.png
.pn +1
that three days ago he would have thought
impossible. A strange comfort exhales from
a perfectly appointed meal after the heart has
been tried. It is the acme of despair, the
realization of one’s duty to one’s self. Keiki,
absorbed in these fantastic reflections, suddenly
became conscious of the fact that for
several minutes past the little maid had been
making strange signals to him. Seeing this,
he signed to her to advance. She did so,
but in a faltering and almost fearful fashion.
When near enough to him to speak without
being overheard, she glanced in terror at his
face and slipped to the ground, where she prostrated
herself at his feet, her head nodding in
frantic motions of servility.

“Why, what is this?” ejaculated the Prince,
displeased.

“Y—your highness!” she gasped.

“Speak,” said Keiki, sternly. “You appear
desirous of serving me. What is it?”

She rose tremblingly.

“You must not tarry here long,” she whispered.
“The spies of the Shogun are about.”

“Ha!”

“It is broadly reported that the Shining
Prince Keiki has escaped his fate. The roads
are beset. They are tracking his footsteps.
Even now some of them are before the house.
Oh, my lord, I know you to resemble too closely
the Shining Prince for you to linger here.
We—the whole country—are in sympathy with
// 202.png
.pn +1
thee and would befriend thee, but the shogunate—”
She broke off, her fear and distress
completely overpowering her.

Keiki laid an alert hand upon his sword.

“None may take me now,” he said, defiantly,
“for I am become invincible.”

“Come!” urged the little maid.

“Whither?” inquired the Prince.

Pushing aside the doors at the rear, she
led Keiki into the garden. Passing through
it, they came to a wall. The maid spoke.

“Climb this, turn to the west. Go along
the road a bit until you come to a cross-path.
Take that, and you will come out upon your
southern route below the danger point. I—”

There was a movement in the bushes behind.

“Oh, all the gods!” she cried. “It is too
late, I fear!”

“What do you there?” a voice, stern with
threatening, demanded from the bushes. The
maid responded:

“Peace to thee! I do but bid farewell to
my lover.”

A laugh answered.

“Do not fear, maiden. We do not disturb
cooing birds,” came from the bushes, and a
drawn sword was shifted from hand to hand,
carelessly.

The warm blood surged about the temples
of Keiki. Because of the perfidy of Wistaria,
he would accept no service from her sex.

“I did not need thy lie, maiden,” he said.
// 203.png
.pn +1

Then to those in the bushes he shouted:

“I am he whom you seek, the Prince Keiki.
Come, take me!”

As he spoke, he hurled his cape to the ground
and rested his sword with its point upon his
sandalled foot. Quick as was his action, it
was met by those lurking in hiding. Three
forms glided out from the bushes. Three
blades flashed towards him. Keiki’s quick
eye perceived that those attacking him wore
but one sword. They were evidently merely
Shogun spies or common soldiery. Their
clumsy handling of their swords filled his soul
with a wild elation. He would have some play
with these vassals—he, Keiki, the most exquisite
swordsman in Japan, and the most
finished Jiujutsu student.

“Come hither—hither!” he taunted. “Without
dishonor ye may yield yourselves to me,
Keiki, the invincible!”

A savage yell replied. In imagination, perhaps,
the Shogun spies saw the glittering price
of the Prince’s head within their hands. They
closed with him.

The hand of Keiki instantly snatched the
second sword from his belt. With a sword
in each hand he met the advance. The sword
in his right hand met and parried the initial
blows and thrusts of his two adversaries; the
sword in his left met the blade of the third,
and, though it could not attack, maintained
an effective defence.
// 204.png
.pn +1

The attacking swordsmen were startled.
Such a thing was beyond the traditions of
the samurai, and a feat wellnigh impossible.

Of a sudden the blade of the first of Keiki’s
adversaries dealt a vicious blow. Keiki met
it with his left-hand sword, and before the
blade could be recovered by his enemy the
sword in his right hand had turned to the
second adversary. This one, unprepared for
Keiki’s sudden onslaught, fell back, with his
sword-arm severed at the wrist. Again the
first antagonist thrust; Keiki met him. He
now had an antagonist on either side of him,
at points nearly opposite. He answered the
blow of the one with the first of his two swords,
while the other recovered his blade. There
could be only one issue to such unequal combat.
The position of his adversaries would not
permit Keiki to fight them with one sword
alone. Alive to the necessities of his position,
Keiki kept slowly turning as his opponents
tried to take him from behind. Suddenly
Keiki fell upon his left knee, as though overcome,
while with his right-hand sword he kept
up a vigorous attack. The sword in his left
hand became feebler, weaker in its movements.
Thinking Keiki affected by some of
the numerous small wounds with which he
was covered despite his defence, the soldier on
Keiki’s left rushed in to despatch him, leaving
himself but poorly guarded. The sword opposed
to him became swiftly active. It passed
// 205.png
.pn +1
into the breast of the samurai, where Keiki,
glad that its necessity was over, allowed it to
remain.

Quickly regaining his feet, the Prince devoted
himself to his remaining enemy, who
was a better swordsman than the others.

“Yield!” threatened Keiki, as he dealt a
furious blow at the other’s head.

His antagonist laughed. Immediately
Keiki thrust in quick succession at the other’s
breast, head, and throat. His first blow was
parried. The second at the head was a feint.
As the soldier raised his sword to meet it,
Keiki unopposed, thrust through his throat.
He fell.

Breathing heavily from his exertion, Keiki
looked about him for the maid, and the spy
whose hand he had severed. He found the
maiden bending over the lifeless body of his
antagonist. From her hand a small dagger
slipped to the ground. Satisfied as to her
safety, Keiki quickly drew out his left sword
from the breast of his opponent. Then without
a word he climbed the wall and took the
southern route again, disdaining to follow the
directions of his late hostess.

In a rice-field farther down the road he
bound up his wounds with the torn lining of
his haori. Through the larger part of the
following day he slept.

Alarmed by the recent occurrences at the
little house by the highway, Keiki, who believed
// 206.png
.pn +1
that the Shogun had put a price upon
his head, now travelled only at night. The
days he spent in sleep, and in locating, without
exposing himself too much, the scenes of foraging
expeditions made at night through which
he managed to secure the means of sustenance.

The vigorous and unnatural fight through
which he had just passed had a further invigorating
effect upon him. Before that he
had been near to death in his thoughts—death
for the cause. Now he resolved in fresh and
vigorous determination to live—and to live
gloriously for the greatest cause that had
ever made a pulse to leap in Japan.

At dusk on the fifth day after the fight,
Keiki set forth upon the last stage of his journey.
He was now near to the borders of the
Choshui province. A few hours later he
reckoned that he had crossed the boundary
and was well within the limits of his father’s
country, when there came to him the sound
of swords clashing beyond a turn in the road.
Keiki, now grown cautious, skirted the spot
through a field, and then crept within sight of
the place.

Five men were pitted against three, while
on the road lay the bodies of two more. Keiki
had made up his mind to aid the lesser party,
when an exclamation in well-remembered
tones came to him. It was from one of the
lesser party, old Hashimoto, a trusted follower
of his father.
// 207.png
.pn +1

In a moment Keiki was in the road. Before
either party were aware of his presence,
he had killed two of the larger number.

“I aid thee!” he shouted, as with his father’s
men he engaged the despised Shogun followers.
Speedily another of their number fell.
The four obtained the easy surrender of the
others.

Hashimoto approached the Prince.

“We thank thee for thy aid—” he began.
Then, recognizing Keiki, he started back a
pace and fell upon his knees.

“My noble prince! My master!” he cried,
as he caught his robe and reverently pressed
it to his lips.

“Thy master?” repeated Keiki. “My father,
what of him?”

“Taken, your highness.”

“Taken?”

“After the rumors of your capture, your
highness, we at once determined to raise the
Imperial standard against the Shogun, and
your father—”

“But we were not ready. None of our plans
had been carried out!” cried the Prince.

Hashimoto answered:

“True, your highness, but your father was
promised the assistance of most of the southern
clans. Consequently he seized a number
of Buddhist monasteries and cast their huge
bronze bells into cannon. His undertaking
was revealed to the Shogun before our allies
// 208.png
.pn +1
could join us, and he was surprised and taken
captive.”

“He serves a sentence?”

“He was sentenced, your highness. But
the gods have anticipated—he is dead.”

Keiki threw off his cape, which Hashimoto
respectfully lifted.

“Attend me to the fortress,” he commanded.

The followers bowed deeply. Suddenly
Keiki raised his voice.

“Daigi Meibunor! The Shogun shall die!”
he cried.

The followers answered with a cheer.

With head bowed in deep thought, Keiki
led the way towards the principal fortress and
castle of the Mori.
// 209.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXIII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-u.jpg w=200px align=l
PON
.if-
.if t
UPON
.if-
his return to the fortress,
Keiki, as the capable and devoted
leader of the cause of Imperialism,
was deferred to by his
brothers. He at once assumed
in his own right the command
of the resources of the clan.
.pi
The household was put upon
a footing even more military
than before. Regular watch
was kept at all points of the
estate and at the boundaries
of the province. Reports of
all crossing the boundaries of
the province in either direction
were made to Keiki each morning.
// 210.png
.pn +1

An army of laborers impressed into service
from the Mori as well as the friendly southern
provinces were put to work strengthening the
defences of the Mori fortress, now become the
war headquarters of the Imperial party.

The castle itself, situated within the centre
of the province, approach to which on all sides
must be made through friendly provinces,
with the exception of the Catzu, because of
its natural defensive properties, became the
nucleus for a host of outworks sheltering the
activities of Keiki. Within the line of fortifications
surrounding the immediate vicinity
of the fortress were the factories and foundries
now built by those who acknowledged
Keiki as their leader. For while all this owed
its inception to the Shining Prince, it could
not be carried out with his resources alone.
The neighboring clans, whose lords in the
past had held equal and superior rank to the
Shogun, sent of their best to the Prince of
Mori. The clans of Satsuma, Ozumi, Hinga,
Nagate, Suwo, the Liu Kiu Islands, and others
ordered their artisans and mariners to Keiki’s
headquarters.

The old Prince of Satsuma, more learned
in European civilization than Keiki (although
Choshui was the home in Japan of Dutch
sciences), was the Prince’s preceptor. Under
his direction the cannon foundries, whose
weapons of war were to oust the Shogun, were
built. A sort of light rifle designed by Satsuma
// 211.png
.pn +1
was manufactured under his direction
near Keiki’s fortress. The castle, which in
time of war would afford protection to all these
works and foundries, was reduced in the number
of its living apartments. These were situated
within the inmost recesses. All about
the old portions of the house were built broad
platforms. Upon their edges were set stone
walls with openings for cannon. These, as
fast as they came from the foundry, were
set in tiers so arranged that they could command
the approaches to the large circle, within
which were set the factories and works of the
Imperialists.

In the midst of these activities Keiki found
relief from the flood of memories that otherwise
might have overwhelmed him. He felt
that now he was rising to true greatness. For
him personally, selfishly, life held nothing.
It was for his country he labored. So austere
and unbending was his demeanor, that for
months after his return his brothers forebore
to speak of the message that had come during
his absence.

But one evening as he sat in his chamber
alone, within the centre of the fortress, his
brother, Komozawa, came to him and held out
in silence the letter which had disturbed them.
Keiki read sufficient to ascertain its tenor.
Then gently he laid it aside. There was no
passion to his tones or manner as he said,
coldly:
// 212.png
.pn +1

“Brother, whatever truth or falsity may
lie in this epistle is of the past, and concerns
me alone. It cannot affect the future.
Speak to me no more of the leaves of last
autumn.”

“But—” began the brother, timidly.

Keiki sprang to his feet. There was a
cloud upon his brow, dark and threatening.
His sword showed half its bare length.

“Not a word,” he said, “or, dearly as I love
you, this blade shall give you explanation.”

Komozawa bowed submissively and retired.

In the thoughts that the words of his brother
had called into being Keiki was led to remember
the imprisoned Toro, whose existence
he had forgotten. Immediately he ordered the
youth before him.

To his surprise he found that Toro, instead
of appearing sullen or dejected, was
quite cheerful and optimistic. He greeted the
Prince with so much bonhomie and frankness
that Keiki was puzzled at first to know
how to treat him.

“Toro,” he said, “I have come to a decision
regarding you.”

“That is good,” said Toro, at once, “for I
really am becoming interested in my prospects.”

“And what are your prospects?” said Keiki.

Toro fingered his sash buoyantly, and assumed
the attitude of a gay spark.

“Well, if it please you, my lord, I should
// 213.png
.pn +1
wish to remain in Choshui, but at peace
and liberty, pray understand.”

Keiki frowned impatiently, but Toro remained
apparently unconcerned.

“In fact,” he added, ingenuously, “I would
very much like to remain in Choshui as a
guest—such as your excellency was in my own
province. I do assure you, my lord, that I
have not been treated with the equal hospitality
and courtesy offered to your highness
in Catzu.”

“It is impossible for you to remain here,”
said Keiki; “matters have changed.”

“Then let me recall a certain promise made
to me by your excellency. For my services
in your behalf with my lady cousin in Catzu,
you in return—”

He stopped abruptly, held by the expression
on the other’s face. For the first time he perceived
that the Prince was in an unnatural
state of mind.

“Wistaria, my lord—what of her? You do
not mean to tell me that you failed in your
suit!”

With a sob in which no tears intermingled,
Keiki raised his sword, only to drop it, groaning
inwardly.

“Return to your father, Toro. Be warned
by me that this is best.”

“But I wish to repeat that your highness
promised—”

“Listen. If you remain here, your life will
// 214.png
.pn +1
not be safe. Do not further protest. I will
say this, that if your lordship does not care
to follow my suggestion, I shall be forced to
eject you or allow my officers to deal with you.”

Toro shrugged angry shoulders, a gesture
to Keiki reminiscent of his mother. The
action displeased him. Sharply he clapped
his hands. To the officers answering his summons
he said, briefly:

“Be good enough to have my Lord of Catzu
taken to Catzu under such escort as he may
require.” To Toro he bowed perfunctorily:
“Good-day, my lord.”

The preparations and activities of the past
few months had brought all within the domination
of Keiki to active readiness for war.
Keiki himself was now of greater value to
his cause, since old Satsuma had taught him
all he knew—the result of years of European
study and reading—of the making of
the munitions of war. The lingering disease
which threatened Satsuma need carry no fear
to the Imperialists. Keiki, the disciple and
heir in knowledge to Satsuma, could well
cope with any man in the world in the utilization
of the war resources at his hand.

Only a pretext, a happening that should
afford the opening wedge for war, was wanting
to the Imperialists. The public mind must
be quieted by the outbreak of hostilities as the
logical outcome of some event, not as a sudden,
uncaused outburst.
// 215.png
.pn +1

It was during these days of waiting that the
old Lord Satsuma sought Keiki out in the
interior of the fortress. There was an evident
perturbation and embarrassment manifest in
his bearing. Keiki, alarmed lest some accident
should have endangered one of the
projects of the labor of years, started upon
sight of his hereditary friend.

“My Lord Satsuma, is it ill with you?” he
inquired with solicitude.

He noted that the face of Satsuma showed
as never before that its master would never
live to see the Restoration. This thought saddened
him.

Satsuma, though in some pain, smiled
gently.

“Ill indeed it is with me,” he said.

Keiki reached out and impulsively seized
the hand of the old warrior, pressing it with
sympathy that words could not have expressed.

“I may not be with you,” continued Satsuma,
“on the day of the bakufu’s undoing.”

“Nay, do not say so.”

“It is so, nevertheless,” said Satsuma. “I
must go before—”

“My lord, it is but the common lot—the
common happiness of life to give up, to cease
to struggle. Your achievements have been
many. This rifle by my hand, that cannon
in the embrasure, all these will speak for you
with terrible effect after you yourself are long
silent.”
// 216.png
.pn +1

“Prince Keiki, it is not for myself I think
thus sadly of life and death. I have a
daughter. We are on the eve of war, the
country is unsettled. I cannot leave her unprotected
to share its uncertain fate.”

“But surely,” said Keiki, with a mild surprise,
“your daughter will be well cared for
among her many honorable relations.”

“Alas, no, that is not possible. Her stepmother
is ill disposed towards her, and all
of her brothers are pressed into the Imperialist
service.”

“This is very sad,” said Keiki, “and if it
were in my power to aid you I would beseech
you to command me immediately.”

“It is possible for your highness to aid me,”
said Satsuma, slowly.

“How? Let me know at once how I can
do so.”

“By permitting my insignificant daughter
to have the personal protection of so chivalrous
a prince as your excellency.”

“My personal protection!” exclaimed Keiki;
“but I am engaged in the work of warfare.”

“True, but my lady would not distract you
from these tasks. Her presence in the fortress
need scarcely be felt.”

Keiki sprang to his feet and began to pace
the apartment in a perturbed manner. Under
his thick brows old Satsuma regarded him
keenly.

“My lord,” said Keiki, stopping suddenly
// 217.png
.pn +1
in his walk, “your suggestion gives me much
pain, because I am unable to grant your request.
It is quite impossible. This is not
the place for a woman.”

Drawing himself up proudly, Satsuma replied,
in a ruffled voice:

“Very well, your excellency. You refuse
me.”

After a moment, as Keiki averted his face
and did not reply, he continued:

“I am an old man, travelling over the last
stage of the journey of life. I had a natural
longing to have with me in these my last days
my beloved child. Hence, feeling assured
that you would not deny the wish of a dying
father, I took the liberty of bringing her hither
with me.”

“You brought her here!” cried Keiki, in
amazement.

“She is within,” said the old Prince, quietly,
as he indicated the interior apartment.

With difficulty Keiki curbed his temper.
Satsuma had not long to live. He would tell
him his secret: he would bare to him the source
of his buried grief. Thus his old friend would
recognize the impossibility of his being brought
into contact with any woman, and perceive
how unfitted he was for the task of protecting
her.

So it happened that while without a storm
raged, and rainy blasts struck sharply into
the faces of the sentinels about the fortress,
// 218.png
.pn +1
Keiki related his story to his aged friend.
Once during the recital the shoji moved, then
there appeared in it two tiny holes. Once
there crept into the room, mingled with the
tempest and the sentinels’ sharp cries without,
a muffled sob.

“You have passed through the heart’s narrowest
straits to the mind’s broadest realm,”
said old Satsuma; “but permit me to still
insist that while your highness’s story has
touched me deeply, I cannot agree with you
that it should be permitted to affect the fate
of my daughter.”

“You are right,” said Keiki, gently. “It
must not do so.”

“You will allow her to remain here?”

“Yes.”

Satsuma bowed deeply and gratefully.

“The camp,” said Keiki, thoughtfully, “is
no place for a woman, but here in my fortress
she will be safe.”

“Your highness,” said Satsuma, with much
emotion in his voice, “no words of mine can
express the thanks of a grateful heart. Goodnight,
my brave boy; the gods comfort and
bless you.”

In the adjoining apartment a small figure,
half crouching by the dividing doors, sprang
to its feet. A girl ran to him with a little cry
and threw her arms about his neck, pressing a
little, wet face gratefully against the heavily
limned one of the old Prince.
// 219.png
.pn +1

“It is well,” said Satsuma, patting her head.

“How can I thank thee?” she breathed.

“By endeavoring to feel as if thou wert
indeed my own daughter instead of a distant
relative. But come, thou art pale, and your
garments are soiled and torn with travel.”

“The journey was long,” she sighed, glancing
at the frayed ends of her kimono, “and
do you know, my Lord Satsuma,” she added,
“I could scarcely hire a runner to carry me,
because of my unworldly attire, and so I was
compelled to make much of the journey on
foot.”

Meanwhile Keiki sat alone, his hands clasped
before his eyes. All the bitterness of a
lifetime welled within his bosom. He was
trusted above men; at young years the idol
of a brave nation; fate was bearing him upon
a wave of the highest destiny that could not
fail to beat down the rotten dikes of oppression.
Yet all this brought no peace, no happiness.
He realized in a moment the futility of all his
efforts to put the soul of the Lady Wistaria
out of his heart. Only in fierce action and
strain that should engross all his faculties
could he even find a temporary easement.
After that, the gods pity him! After that,
he could not live. There should no longer be
any delay. There should be war, and that
speedily, perhaps on the morrow.
// 220.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXIV
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-h.jpg w=200px align=l
OWEVER
.if-
.if t
HOWEVER
.if-
fiercely the Prince
Keiki desired and sought for
instant action, there were excellent
reasons in the delayed
march of some of the clans
journeying to the Mori fortress
for the temporary postponement
of hostilities.
.pi
Keiki at first was bitterly
opposed to any further delay,
but the reasonable arguments
of the older daimios and the
insistence of Satsuma, the practical
leader of the movement,
won him over. It was their
logic, not their authority, which
restrained him. He would be
// 221.png
.pn +1
compelled to wait no longer than a few days
more, certainly not more than a week.

One morning shortly after Keiki’s interview
with the Lord Satsuma concerning his reputed
daughter, who so far had kept apart in strict
retirement in her apartments in the castle,
Keiki found in his morning reports a reference
to the youth Toro. He was riding post-haste
in the direction of the Choshui province with
the evident intention of crossing its frontier.
What was the will of his excellency respecting
him?

So this, then, was the way in which the rash
youth repaid his consideration, mused Keiki.
Or perhaps he came because of the Princess
Hollyhock. If that were so, he would send
him back to Catzu again, with a friendly
warning against the perfidious sex.

“He approaches the frontier?” he asked
the soldier who brought the reports.

“Yes, your highness.”

“Well then, let him ride unmolested towards
our fortress. So long as he advances do not
touch him, but at the first sign of his return
seize him and bring him to me.”

The soldier bowed.

“It shall be as your highness commands.”

So it was that Toro, to his surprise, was
allowed to proceed unharmed through the
hostile country of the Mori. His journey was
without incident until his arrival before the
fortress. There a guard barred farther progress
// 222.png
.pn +1
with his sword. Toro flung himself from
his panting charger.

“The Prince Mori?” he questioned.

“Expects you and will give you audience
shortly,” returned the guard.

The young heir of Catzu was conducted to
a chamber within the outer circle of the fortress’s
defensive works. While this chamber
was not within the inmost area of the edifice
devoted to the living apartments, yet it was
sufficiently near for the occasional passage
of some peaceable member of the household
through the grimmer servants of war to occasion
no comment. Moreover, it adjoined the
apartments set aside for the Prince of Satsuma.

Thus when the daughter of Satsuma chanced
to pass through the chamber, none showed surprise
until the youthful Toro came. His astonishment,
however, was such that instantly
his mouth gaped wide. Before sound could
add its audible testimony to his visible astonishment,
the girl had clapped her hand upon
his lips. A quick glance about the chamber
told her that they were unobserved. She
took Toro gently by the shoulder.

“Come,” she said.

Half an hour later the old Lord Satsuma
stood before Keiki in alarm.

“My daughter is not to be found,” he cried.

“Not to be found!”

“No, my lord. I committed her to thy care.
Thou didst promise to guard her.”
// 223.png
.pn +1

Keiki was troubled. His conscience smote
him, for he had painfully put off making the
acquaintance of Satsuma’s daughter and had
left her to the care of his underlings.

“My lord,” he said, “I will have search
made at once. Your honorable daughter must
be found.”

Satsuma, in deep agitation and concern, left
his pupil’s apartment to make further inquiry
of the guard. He had advanced but a little
way into one of the armed outer chambers
of the fortress when a note was slipped into
his hand. He tore it open and read it through
in amazement. After a second reading a
broad smile overspread his face. He sought
no more for his daughter. Instead, he despatched
a hurried note to Keiki, briefly informing
him that his insignificant and unworthy
daughter had become ill with longing
for her home, and had departed thence
on her own account. As she was very efficiently
attended, he had no fears for her
safety.

Meanwhile Keiki was holding audience with
Catzu Toro.

“This, then,” he said, severely, “is the
gratitude of the Catzu for me. I have spared
your life, twice forfeit to me by every law of
lord and samurai. You have come back, it
seems, and are determined to make fresh
trouble for yourself.”

Keiki paused. Toro answered, quickly:
// 224.png
.pn +1

“I have come back to you, your highness,
to offer my allegiance and my service.”

“Your allegiance!”

“My poor aid, rather, to a cause of whose
nobility I learned during my stay in your
province. Sovereignty is not with the Shogun,
but the Emperor. Place the rightful
ruler upon the throne, oust the usurper and
tyrant, and the rights of the people will be
listened to.”

“Who taught you these counsels?”

“My own conscience, my lord.”

Keiki smiled.

“Are you quite certain, Toro, you did not
read your new principles in a lady’s eyes?”
he asked, dryly.

Toro blushed.

“The Princess Hollyhock appears to have
been a teacher of some weight,” said Keiki.

Toro cried, warmly:

“My lord, you do me injustice. I love the
Princess Hollyhock, it is true—I confess it.
But what my honor dictates, what my conscience
has seen, has naught to do with the
Princess.” Ingenuously: “’Tis, my lord, I
do protest, but a happy coincidence that her
views are mine. Were it otherwise, though
tears did blind my eyes, I should perceive the
right way; though sorrow choked my voice,
I still would cry, ‘Daigi Meibunor!’”

Toro dropped to his knees, his extravagance
of expression seeming not to have affected
// 225.png
.pn +1
his sincerity. Keiki put out a quick
hand to raise him. In a voice of deep emotion
he cried, impulsively:

“Toro, my brother, I wronged you. Now I
make amend and receive you into our service.
My heart was bitter because of my own sorrow,
but it still has generosity left for you, friend
of my hopes. You are of the days of flowers.
Now, after the flowers have withered, I still
receive you.”

“The flowers have not withered,” said
Toro, impulsively. “Do listen to me. Perchance—”
He broke off in some confusion,
as by some sudden remembrance.

“Speak no more, I pray thee,” said Keiki,
commandingly.

“Forgive me. I would speak of my gratitude
to you.”

“Toro, I will place you in command of a
small company. At first I could not do more
without antagonizing some of my people.
They would say that your adherence was too
recent.”

Toro replied:

“I do not seek that honor. I ask a humbler
station.”

“You shall be upon my personal staff for
the present,” was Keiki’s response. “Later, as
occasion offers, I will honorably advance you.”

Keiki now rose. Bowing to Toro, he signified
that the interview was at an end. Still
Toro hesitated.
// 226.png
.pn +1

“You wish to have further talk with me?”
inquired Keiki.

“I crave pardon,” said Toro, somewhat embarrassed,
“but—”

He went towards the doors into the adjoining
apartment and signalled to some one within.
A youth entered quietly. He was slight,
yet of a grace that owed its being equally to
his exquisite proportions and to his entire
command of his physical being and comportment.
A youth’s fringe hid his forehead.
His eyes, cast down, were veiled from Keiki.
He did not wear the armor of Toro or Keiki,
but carried under his arm a small encased
sword, which he handled easily.

“My lord,” said Toro, “I have, as you
see, been able to make a recruit. He was
to be my personal follower, but since I am
to serve on your staff I have no need of
him.”

“I am not an exquisite. I do not need a
little man to follow at my heels,” said Keiki,
surveying with disapproval the dainty lines
of the little warrior.

The unwelcome visitor flushed to his ears.
Toro glanced at him with what seemed a
suspicion of humor. The youth, seemingly
infuriated, whipped out his sword.

A sudden suspicion of treachery came to
Keiki as he brought his hand to his own
heavy blade and put it at guard. But the
thought of the youth attacking him seemed
// 227.png
.pn +1
to amuse him also, so that he took no trouble
to defend himself.

Perhaps, too, it was because of his astonishment,
and the heaviness of his blade, and not
because of lack of skill, that the tiny blade of
the youth slipped down Keiki’s guard, and,
leaving the line of defence, sought, cut, and
carried away a rosette from the cuirass of the
Prince. Plucking it from his blade, the youth
thrust the rosette into his breast, while on his
knees he offered his sword to Keiki with its
point directed towards his own breast.

Keiki made a motion of surprise. The youth
had answered, and worthily, his taunt. But his
life hung upon the generosity of the Prince.
Toro saw that here was a test of the soul of
Keiki.

The Shining Prince laughed loud and
long.

“Good! I receive thee at once into my
service. Thy name?”

“Jiro, my lord,” half whispered the youth
from his kneeling position.

“Well, Jiro, just now you held my life in
your hands. For the sake of a worthy cause
I thank you for sparing me. A thrust in the
loosened corsage below that rosette would have
done for me.”

Jiro rose to his feet, but remained with his
head respectfully bowed before the Prince.

Toro clapped him on his slight shoulder.

“In the days soon to come, when your life
// 228.png
.pn +1
is sought by the foes of the cause, my lord,
Jiro and I will protect you.”

When Toro, flushed with his strange success,
sought the Lady Hollyhock, he found
her wholly unresponsive.

“In faith, my lord,” she said, mockingly,
“it was not right for you, a Catzu lord, to ride
through the outposts of your hereditary enemy,
simply for a glimpse of an unworthy and insignificant
maiden.”

“Nay—” remonstrated Toro.

“To abandon your father’s house and hopes
for a girl—that is not what the daughters of
Nipon are taught.”

“My dearest lady—”

“To follow one’s conscience were an honor,
but to forget all blindly, to betray your cause,
to betray your house to win a wife. Think
you she would have you after such perfidy?
She would not be worth possessing did she
favor you then.”

One little, unfeeling hand Toro carried to his
heart.

“Dear lady,” he said, “I did not do it for
thee.”

The Lady Hollyhock frowned, and withdrew
her hand immediately.

“You did not?” she exclaimed.

“Nay, dear lady. I did it because of my
conscience, because I believe in the Emperor,
and not the Shogun.”

The Princess turned her back upon him.
// 229.png
.pn +1

“You are angry, sweet lady?” interrogated
the agitated Toro.

No reply.

“Lady, you were angry with me when you
thought I did it for you, and now when you
know I did not you are still angry.”

“A princess must have her brave knight,”
said the Lady Hollyhock, haughtily.

“You know why I did it,” said Toro, ready
to forswear everything at her demand.

Again he sought her hand, but still she
denied him.

“Oh, not so fast, my lord. Let me whisper
to you a report I have heard.”

“A report—concerning me?” said Toro, in
bewilderment.

“Concerning a certain Catzu gentleman who
recently awaited an audience with the Prince
Mori. He was placed in a certain interior
chamber, which happened to adjoin the apartments
of the daughter of a certain prince of
prominence. This Catzu gentleman, it is
said, disappeared into this lady’s private
apartments. Since which time the lady
has been banished to Satsuma by her own
father.”

“Lady,” said Toro, in a great state of
mingled fear and bewilderment, “I pray thee
repeat not such a story, even to the flowers.”

With a scornful and angry little laugh,
the Lady Hollyhock, who had inwardly hoped
for a denial by her lover, stepped away.
// 230.png
.pn +1

“I am not likely,” she said, “to tell of my
own supplanting.”

She drew the doors sharply between them.

Toro, alone, mused upon the imputation of
her words.

“She is mine if I tell her a secret,” he said,
“but that secret is not my own; I cannot tell
it!” He added, with a naïve wisdom: “Nor
can I trust her. A woman is like unto a volcano,
which, even when inactive, is palpitating
to spit forth its fire, and which, when it does
vent its fury, bursts the bounds of its late enforced
suppression.”
// 231.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXV
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-a.jpg w=200px align=l
.if-
.if t
A
.if-
SMALL portion of the night
had been spent by the Prince in
that sleep, troubled by nervous
starts and awakenings, which
was now his only repose, when
there was a sound of disorder
in the great enclosure without
the fortress. The challenging
of sentinels, the rattle of arms,
the gallop of a considerable
body of horse, came to him
plainly within the palace interior.
.pi
Hastily Keiki passed through
the castle apartments to a parapet
high above the area of the
enclosure. Leaning against a
// 232.png
.pn +1
cannon, he sought among the shadows for the
cause of the disturbance. If he had any fears
as to the state of his defences, none appeared
in his face, now grown impassive almost to
the point of apathy.

Gradually, as his eyes became accustomed
to the semi-darkness of the enclosure, he saw
that his followers were receiving an accession
of fresh troops, many of whom were mounted.
Quarters for the rest of the night were being
made ready for the new-comers. Plainly, it was
the arrival of some of the long-expected clans.

With the knowledge that a report would be
made presently, for such was his standing
order by day or by night, Keiki returned to his
apartments, seeking, after a few further preparations,
the chamber in which he was accustomed
to receive guests.

Soon a number of his people, among them
Toro and the boy Jiro, ushered in his cousin,
the cadet Lord of Nagato. Scarcely had he
announced the number and strength of the
clans he had gathered about him, when he
burst out:

“Strange news, your highness!”

“Speak,” said Keiki, briefly.

“With these eyes have I seen it. Ill augurs
it for our land and cause.”

“Speak,” said Keiki, impatiently.

“My lord, I have just come from Yedo,
whither I went alone in disguise, joining my
men only yester morn.”
// 233.png
.pn +1

“My lord,” said the impatient Keiki, “pray
remember that the hour is late. All things
wait upon your utterance. Tell me in a breath
what is your news. What did you see in
Yedo?”

“Foreign ships-of-war sailing up the
harbor.”

“What was their purpose?”

“They demand the opening of our ports,
closed for two hundred years, to the trade of
the world.”

Keiki reflected.

“It is evil—this complication with foreign
peoples at this time,” he said. “But proceed,
my lord.”

The other continued:

“Four foreign ships-of-war are now in Yedo
Bay. They are American. They are in much
doubt as to who is the ruler of the country.
The Shogun Iyesada has assured them that
he reigns supreme. Treaties are now being
negotiated. The Shogun has taken it upon
himself to change the policy of our country
without reference to the Son of Heaven” (the
Mikado).

“This is treason,” cried Keiki. “We must
march against the Shogun at once.”

“Nay, my lord, permit an insignificant
vassal to suggest that our country must present
at this critical juncture an undivided front
against the foreigner. It may be that the
Shogun in his weakness before the foreigner
// 234.png
.pn +1
but temporizes in his presence. The foreigner
must be expelled, and, after that, the Shogun
dealt with.”

“You are right, my lord. I congratulate
you upon your wisdom and foresight, and
beg that you will now retire to rest.”

“May I inquire whether you purpose taking
any action, your highness?” inquired Nagato.

“I am decided,” said Keiki. “In the morning
I shall set out for Yedo, whatever the peril.
I must make observations.”

Long after the others had retired, Keiki tried
to review clearly the train of events that had
led up to this occurrence. He must decide
upon his course. In spite of the European
knowledge transferred to him by the Lord of
Satsuma, the very term “foreigner” sent a
vague thrill of unknown terror to his soul.
He had been told of their arms and other
methods of warfare; many of their secrets
were his. He had, if not their armaments, at
least fair imitations—gunpowder, cannon, and
rifles. Yet in spite of all this, an emotion
that was not fear, not cowardice, made its way
subtly to his heart. These foreigners stood
for a strange civilization which, despite his
vaguely derived knowledge, might yet include
greater destructive agencies.

Then who could clearly see beyond their
diplomacy? They might come simply, as they
said, to demand open ports. But their own
history showed that such things had been the
// 235.png
.pn +1
forerunners of wars of aggression, wars for
the acquisition of territory. No man might
know what the extent of the latter demanded.
They were a distinct peril to the whole of Dai
Nippon. Yet what was to be done with regard
to the shogunate? Iyesada was dealing with
these foreigners, making treaties, without the
sanction of his imperial master, the Mikado.
If, on the other hand, Keiki should move with
all his forces against the Shogun, would not
the foreigners, taking advantage of civil war,
better their mysterious position and gain
whatever object they might have in view?

No, it seemed clear to Keiki that, unless
something unforeseen intervened, every energy
must be made by a united country to keep out
the foreign powers. When this was definitely
accomplished the Mikado’s reign would be
established with little delay before the foreigners
could recover.

This was the final and definite conclusion
reached by Keiki. He saw a certain advantage
in the arrival of the foreign ships-of-war,
provided they came in good faith. They would
serve to distract attention from the aroused and
armed state in which the southern provinces
now were, to which they had been brought
under his direction.

“I will go to Yedo at sunrise,” he told himself.

His temples were throbbing painfully, the
result of long nights without sleep, of long
// 236.png
.pn +1
days of thought and care. He sighed and
drew his hand across his brow.

“My lord is ill?”

He started at the voice. It had a vaguely
familiar sound. The young boy, Jiro, had
started towards him a pace, and then had retreated
backward, as though overcome by his
temerity.

“My lord is ill?”

“An insignificant pain in the brow,” said
the Prince.

The boy slipped behind the Prince softly
and fell upon one knee.

“Dear lord, will you not permit me to relieve
the pain of your august brow?”

The Prince stirred uneasily. Again the
strange quality of the boy’s voice touched some
hidden spring of memory. Taking his silence
as consent, the boy laid a soft, cool hand on
either side of Keiki’s temples, pressing them
with his finger-tips. The action, the touch,
recalled in an instant a memory that was better
than sleeping. It was thus the Lady Wistaria
had been wont to woo away the pain that beset
his brow when he had lain ill in her father’s
house.

Suddenly the Prince clasped his hands over
those on his brow. Gradually he was drawing
Jiro to a position facing him, when, eluding
the Prince’s grasp, Jiro sank to the floor and
laid his head at Keiki’s feet.

“Oh, my lord, I beseech you not to be angry
// 237.png
.pn +1
with me for my forwardness. It was my
solicitude for your pain—”

“Nay, rise,” said the Prince, gently. “Pray
do not confound me with apologies.”

With his head still drooping, the boy retreated
towards the door.

The Prince smiled at the fear apparent in
Jiro’s demeanor.

“You have done me no ill,” he said, kindly;
“you have actually soothed away the pain. I
thank you.”
// 238.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXVI
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-u.jpg w=200px align=l
PON
.if-
.if t
UPON
.if-
his arrival in Yedo, Keiki
made use of every precaution
his ingenuity could devise, that
the Imperialists might not discover
his presence in the capital
of the Shogun’s government.
His approach to the city had
been attended only by Toro and
Jiro, but during the last stage
of the journey the three had
separated, entering the city from
opposite directions to meet in an
isolated quarter near the water-front.
Here the Imperialist party
found it advantageous to
maintain a small establishment
whose squalid exterior gave no
// 239.png
.pn +1
promise of the comparative comfort to be enjoyed
beyond the threshold by those in possession
of the pass-word.
.pi
From this house the movements and plans,
the thoughts even, of the shogunate government
in its own Yedo capital were observed
and reported to those seeking the return of
rightful sovereignty to the Mikado in his
Kioto capital. Here at all hours of the night
came men in mean dress, whose bearing,
though consciously abased to that of merchants
or laborers, was unmistakably that
of the noble; here came strange, imperious
young men who might pose as water-carriers,
but whose hands sought an imaginary sword-belt
at the least obstacle, and slight youths
whose loose garments too poorly hid the
curves of feminine figures. Of late the activity
and the going to and fro of these persons
had increased, but apparently without
exciting the attention of the municipal authorities.

Although the young Prince of Mori had employed
all artifice in gaining the Yedo headquarters
of his party, yet he was surprised to
note that his person attracted scarcely any
attention. His position of peril, and his naturally
observant mind, on guard to catch the
slightest suspicious augury, would have led
him to exaggerate any apparently hostile
glance. Everywhere, the sole topic was of
the foreigners, their strange behavior, their
// 240.png
.pn +1
stated purposes, their mysterious ways, and
their utter indifference to all Japanese usage.

When Keiki had been greeted by his fellow-Imperialists,
and he had described to them
the state of his southern resources, they in
turn gave him such information as they had
concerning the foreigners, whose arrival had
obscured the future of their operations against
the shogunate. The Prince of Echizen, temporarily
in charge of the headquarters, reported
in detail to his military superior the
events which he had not yet described in his
regular despatches to the head of the Mori
family.

“I was unable, my lord, to send you further
news,” he said, “beyond the mere verbal report
communicated by the Lord of Nagato
before your departure.”

The foreigners, he went on to say, had been
on the coast some days now. They had first
appeared in the bay of Yedo.

“Why were they not sent to Nagasaki?”
demanded Keiki. “They should have been
told that all foreign affairs are administered
from that port.”

“Ah,” returned Echizen, “they are dealing
with the bakufu, not the Emperor.”

“Proceed, I beg you.”

“When first they came upon the coast they
announced to the Governor of Niaga that
they bore letters and presents from the President
of the United States of America; that they
// 241.png
.pn +1
must deliver them to the Emperor in person,
or to a high official appointed for that purpose.
They were told by the shogunate, which took
upon itself the right of dealing with matters
intended for our Emperor, to go to Nagasaki.
They replied by moving nearer up the bay
to Yedo, which they took to be the Emperor’s
capital.

“They have sent out parties in boats to
take soundings in the bay, despite the Governor’s
protests, and each hour brings them
nearer to Yedo. This frightened the shogunate,
which finally set a day for landing.
To-morrow, near the fishing village of Yokohama,
they are to land and present their letters
to commissioners appointed by the Shogun
to receive them. They will await a reply.”

“What is their nature and strength?” demanded
Keiki.

“They are four ships-of-war. They are
Americans, and in command of a high Lord
Perry.”

“But why do they deal with the Shogun?”

The Prince of Echizen replied:

“They are ignorant of our true internal condition.
They do not know that we have one
true Emperor, a shadow of power, and a war
lord, a Shogun, who rules for himself. These
Americans are of the opinion that they are
treating with the Mikado, with the Emperor
of Japan. Their letters and credentials are
inscribed to the Emperor of Japan.”
// 242.png
.pn +1

Keiki reflected upon what Echizen had told
him. The national situation was rapidly becoming
strained. If the foreigners should be
driven from the country, well and good; but
it was now no time to attack the shogunate,
which must be as embarrassed as its opponent
over the advent of the Americans. In
all events, the only present policy was delay.
The shogunate might be destroyed by the
foreigners, yet—

A sudden determination came to Keiki. He
must know the attitude of the Shogun, even
at risk to himself. He turned to the future
premier.

“Your highness,” he asked, “can you procure
for me a uniform of the household of
Iyesada?”

“What! the Shogun?”

“Yes.”

“Certainly. In fact, one of our clan, who
is secretly in sympathy with us, is a member
of the Shogun’s household and stands close
to his august person. You may pass for the
Lord Sakura.”

Keiki, wrapped in a long cloak, stood near
the entrance of the house awaiting some favorable
moment, when the street should be clear
of passers-by, to slip out into the night. As
he was about to make a sudden spring to
gain the street a hand clutched the hem of
his cloak. The boy Jiro was restraining
him.
// 243.png
.pn +1

“Go not out alone, my lord,” he entreated.

Keiki frowned impatiently.

“One would think I were about to encounter
danger. I go but to observe. There is no
danger,” he said, sharply.

The trembling hand of the boy Jiro tore wide
the cloak.

“This uniform, my lord. It is of the Sho—”

Keiki, feeling a pang of sorrow at hurting
the boy, but determined upon his mission, did
not defer action long. At any moment, the
street comparatively quiet, might be filled with
wayfarers. He pushed Jiro gently but insistently
from him and went out into the city.

At first he kept to the side streets, traversing
much useless distance, but directing his
general course towards the palace of the Shogun.
Once or twice he thought himself followed,
but, retracing his steps, came upon
no pursuer. Finally he came to the avenues,
where further concealment were fruitless
and would only invite suspicion. In
these thoroughfares, therefore, he flung back
his cloak, permitting liberal glimpses of his
bakufu uniform.

He found still the utmost indifference pervading
the city concerning the movements of
mere individuals, be they of the court of the
Shogun or the court of thieves. In the storytellers’
halls and the theatres, on the street
corner and in all public places, groups speculated
upon the presence of the foreigners in
// 244.png
.pn +1
Japan. There was abroad a subtle, indefinable
fear that in some way the coming of the
foreigners was to change the destiny of the
empire. The more ignorant could not see
clearly in what way this was to come about,
but there was present in their consciousness
fear of an impending evil.

Nobles of both parties were unsettled. The
foreign visitation might mean annihilation to
either party. Ruin it did mean to one, but
which? The shogunate seemed in the ascendant,
since it had been recognized, blindly,
but still recognized, by the foreigners. Thus
among all classes there was manifest a great
unrest, none the less threatening and fearful
because its import was hidden. Plainly the
shadow of events to come had darkened the
nation’s mind.

The tradesman in his shop, showing his
wares to a purchaser, stated their price uncertainly.

“Just now, honorable sir, the price is three
yen, but the gods alone know what it will be
to-morrow, whether more, less, priceless beyond
measure, or smaller than nothing at all.
The barbarians—”

“Ah yes, these barbarians.” His purchaser
would nod understandingly.

At a street corner a woman approached a
strolling samurai in the Shogun’s uniform.

“Honorable samurai,” she said, “what of
the foreigners who have come?”
// 245.png
.pn +1

The samurai shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ll tell you all I know of them,” he murmured,
without enthusiasm.

A group formed about him.

“What do you know of them?” pressed one.

“Tell us all,” said another.

The samurai shifted one of the swords.

“Of a certainty I’ll tell you all.”

“Yes?”

“Of a truth they have come,” he answered,
as with a movement of disclaimer he passed
up the street.

In the story-tellers’ halls the reciter was
besieged with requests for stories and information
concerning the Americans. In some cases
he frankly avowed his ignorance, and in others
regaled his hearers with the weirdest tales of
a resourceful imagination.

Witnessing incidents of this kind upon every
side, Keiki continued on his way to the palace.
Of one thing he was now fully assured. Whatever
policy for the future might be decided on
by him and his associates could not be put into
immediate effect. The popular impulse, the
popular mind was dazed, and was not ready
for action. Meanwhile he would learn all he
could of the intentions of both foreigners and
Shogun.

Keiki was now quite near the palace of the
Shogun. His cloak he threw carelessly about
him in such wise that while his uniform was
exposed his features were muffled. The gate
// 246.png
.pn +1
before which stood the samurai on guard at
the outer post was open. Without a word Keiki
strode haughtily past the guards. They
gave no challenge.

Within the grounds enclosed by the stone
walls there was no reflection of the disquiet
manifest throughout the city. From the broad,
elevated balconies of the palace, shining in the
soft light diffused through the fusuma, there
floated down to the strained ears of Keiki the
sound of women’s laughter and the harsher
tone of men’s voices. Music mingled with
other sounds that indicated the quiet enjoyment
of the night. The very guards at the
doors were careless in the performance of their
duties, looking with the eye of artistic appreciation
upon the night’s gentle festivities.

Still undisturbed, Keiki passed through the
palace entrances. An officer of the guard
stared curiously for a moment after him once,
then turned in forgetfulness to answer a
woman’s jest. Keiki ascended a stairway.
In an upper ante-room he met an undermenial.

“The chamber of the Shogun,” he said,
coldly.

“Honorable lord,” began the menial.

Prince Mori thrust a parchment before his
eyes.

“The chamber of the Shogun at once,” he
said, sternly; “these despatches admit of no
delay.”
// 247.png
.pn +1

“His august excellency is very ill and has
retired,” said the servant.

Keiki turned upon him shortly.

“I know. Go!”

The attendant preceded him.

“One minute,” said Keiki; “understand, my
mission is secret. But pronounce the name
Sakura to his augustness.”

The man bent low. Then he entered a
chamber. He reappeared shortly, and having
signed to Keiki to enter, disappeared down a
stairway. Keiki waited until his footsteps had
passed away. Then he crossed the threshold,
hesitating in the fashion of one who enters a
strange apartment for the first time, conscious
that its occupant has an advantage of prior
acquaintance.
// 248.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXVII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-f.jpg w=200px align=l
OR
.if-
.if t
FOR
.if-
a moment Keiki was blinded
by the profusion of light that
blazed near the door of entrance,
leaving the rest of the chamber
in shadow. It was a large
room, its walls tapestried in silk,
wrought with embossed figures
telling the history of the early
Tokugawa wars. At irregular
intervals about the room were set
screens bearing the same gold-embroidered,
symbolic figures.
There were a few low tables,
against which were thrown the
implements and paraphernalia
of war—swords, helmets, cuirass,
armor, all richly wrought.
// 249.png
.pn +1
.pi
“Who are you?”

Keiki became conscious of a presence in
the room. Stretched upon a low divan in a
shadowed recess lay an indistinct figure, at
whose elbow a low table, piled high with parchment
and writing materials, stood.

“Who are you?” repeated the voice.

Keiki approached nearer, bowing courteously,
though somewhat stiffly.

“Sakura,” he said, to gain time, while he
held out a roll of paper in his hand. He drew
nearer to the figure on the divan. The cold
eyes of the other scanned him without fear.

“You are not Sakura. You are—I know
you. Be good enough to bring me that
cabinet.”

Keiki crossed the apartment to the spot indicated
by the other’s gesture. He brought
a small, inlaid, lacquer box to the side of the
divan.

The one upon the divan, without a trace of
nervousness, opened the box and held up to
the Prince of Mori a picture of himself.

“See,” he said, “I have your portrait, with
an interesting description attached of certain
cannon foundries and works I believe you maintain
in the south. Ah, there is something
else written beneath the picture.” He held it
to the light. “Mori, head of the rebel cause,
to be followed and beheaded. What is it you
want with me?” he finished, replacing the
portrait in the box.
// 250.png
.pn +1

Mori laid his hand upon his sword.

“What do you want with Iyesada? I am
he, as you are well aware. It is less than a
year, I believe, since your lordship was at my
court.”

Mori winced. The memory of that last visit
recalled his first meeting with Wistaria. He
became very pale.

“What do you want with me?” inquired the
other, quietly watching him.

“To know your intentions towards the foreigners.”

“Are you aware,” returned the Shogun,
“that a single sign from me would bring down
a thousand guards upon your head?”

Mori smiled coldly, grimly.

“Ah, but your highness will not make that
sign,” he said.

“Why will I not?”

“Because your highness loves life.”

“You would murder me?”

“I would cut off your head and show it to the
people as the head of a traitor and an enemy
to the Son of Heaven.”

The Shogun appeared rather amused than
alarmed. He regarded Mori with a peculiar
and penetrating glance. Then he sighed.

“I was young and venturesome once,” he
said. “I, too, at one time, secretly believed as
you do. Now—” He shrugged his shoulders.

“What are your intentions regarding these
foreigners?”
// 251.png
.pn +1

“Are you here to treat with me, young
Mori?”

“If you wish, yes. I represent a considerable
party in the empire. I ask with right,
for one day I shall unthrone your excellency.”

Iyesada turned himself quickly upon his
elbow, while his eyes continued to scrutinize
the other keenly.

“What would you do in my place?” he
asked.

“Refuse their every demand and drive them
into the sea,” returned Mori, as the blood tinged
his cheek.

“No, you would not; that is, not if you are
as far-sighted as I take you to be. Japan has
been sealed to the foreigners for two hundred
years, during which time she has grown strong
in the development of her resources and her
civilization. That period is at an end. It can
never return. Foreign nations will demand
trade with us. They will not depart at our
refusal. They will use force, if necessary,
holding that every nation must share in the
comity of nations. If a nation refuse, they
will divide her.”

“Pah!” said Mori, impatiently. “Is the policy,
then, of our Imperial realm to be dictated
by a hoard of barbarous peoples concerning
whom we know naught, save what our history
in the past has taught us? When in the years
long past they were admitted to our lands and
we opened our arms in hospitality towards
// 252.png
.pn +1
them, what was our reward? Foreign disease,
insolent demands, a fanatical religion, intolerant
and exacting. Finally we came to be
treated as dogs by these our inferiors until
we were forced to expel them, since which
time has not our land been the happier for our
seclusion?”

“It would seem,” said Iyesada, “that you
are not, in spite of the reports I have heard
concerning you, keeping abreast of the times.
You are not a son of the dawning new Japan;
you would retard the progression which is
pressing upon us from all sides.”

“I would not have this progression come
from the outside. I would have my country
advance from within. That is the reason I am
an Imperialist. You are right, my lord; a new
Japan is about to dawn, but not through the
invasion of yonder barbarians, but because
the rightful ruler of our country will be restored
to his throne.”

Iyesada frowned.

“Again I ask,” continued Mori, flushed with
his feeling, “do you intend to treat with these
foreigners?”

“I will treat with them. I will yield, but
combating every step.”

“I could declare a truce with you,” said Mori,
“and I possess the power to enforce it, if you
will assume your rightful function of war
lord and expel the foreigners.”

Iyesada looked him through. There was in
// 253.png
.pn +1
his glance the patient scorn of the man who
sees beyond his life.

“You appear, Prince of Mori, to appreciate
European civilization, you who have fashioned
rifles. I have looked to you as one who might
think with me. I thought you represented
progress, in spite of the fact that your activities
were directed against myself. I have left you to
yourself for a time. I thought you saw, as I
see, the new Japan, the Japan that in self-defence
must assimilate European civilization
to beat back these Europeans. I could offer
you much.”

“I belong to the Emperor, who rules by the
right of the gods.”

To his feet the Shogun leaped. Into his
disease-deadened eyes there came the fire of
strong will. He raised his arm.

“Sovereignty belongs to—”

“The Emperor,” finished Mori, passionately.

“To the strongest,” said the Shogun; “to
that one who, seizing it, by his ability and
wisdom uses it for the good of all. I am strong—he
is weak. The strong—”

The Shogun ceased. Across his face there
shot a spasm of acute pain. His breath came
in gasps. Mori helped him to regain his couch.
He smiled gently, sorrowfully.

“I said I was strong, yet I am indeed weak.
I cannot live to see the new Japan. You
may; but go, go! I have tried to save you
// 254.png
.pn +1
from the folly of blind enthusiasm. You disappoint
me—”

“My lord!”

“I will allow you to go in peace. Until
now I have thought well of you. Now I give
you up to your fate. Your life is in danger.”

Mori’s hands clutched his sword-hilt. The
Shogun shook his hand weakly.

“Not now. You may leave the place safely,
but I warn you that henceforth you will be
hunted. You will be killed the moment you
show yourself. I give you twelve hours!”

Keiki bowed profoundly but coldly.

“As you please, my lord,” he said, in leave-taking.

As Mori retraced his steps through cross-streets
he heard hesitating footsteps behind
him.

His sword flashed out. Running around
an angle in the street, he came upon a slight
figure.

“Who goes there?” he shouted.

“It is I, my lord,” said a strangely sweet
voice.

“Jiro! Well, my boy, so you followed me?”

“To protect you, my lord.”

Mori’s amused eyes scanned the slim figure
of the stripling. He laughed tenderly.

“There was no need. I have twelve hours
yet,” he said, reflectively.
// 255.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXVIII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-a.jpg w=200px align=l
S
.if-
.if t
AS
.if-
Jiro followed closely behind
his master on their return to the
little house by the water-front,
he noticed signs of intense preoccupation
and irritation in Mori.
The boy attempted to walk beside
him, gazing into his face with
that wistful appeal of the eye
which Mori had been unable to
fathom whenever his attention
was caught by it. Now he was too
much occupied with his thoughts
to be more than disturbed by it.
With a gesture of impatience he
exclaimed, abruptly:
.pi
“Thou, Jiro, walk a space behind
me.”
// 256.png
.pn +1

Jiro fell back. In this wise they proceeded
for some minutes until Jiro perceived that
Mori was making signals to him. Jiro, quickening
his step, came nearer to the Prince.

“Jiro, thou sluggard, hasten,” called the
Prince.

Jiro made trembling haste.

“Call a norimon at once,” ordered his master.

Jiro ran into an adjacent street, returning
shortly with the vehicle, at whose curtains he
stood waiting for his lord to enter. Keiki’s
absent glance fell upon the face of Jiro. It
was tear-stained. The eyes wore that strange
expression of appeal which always touched
certain emotions in the heart of Mori, so that
even in his harshest mood he could never be
otherwise than gentle with the lad. Entering
the palanquin, he drew Jiro in after him.

For a time they travelled in silence. Jiro
broke it to inquire very timidly:

“Whither do we go, my lord?”

If Mori heard him he made no sign. The
journey was continued in silence. At the end
of what seemed to Jiro two full hours, Mori
dismounted from the carriage and bade the
runners wait for him. Jiro saw that they were
upon the ridge of a headland overlooking the
bay at whose head stood the Shogun’s city of
Yedo.

At a sign from Keiki the boy followed the
Prince down a path leading to the shore below.
As they made their rough way along, Jiro saw
// 257.png
.pn +1
lights flashing out in the bay, and occasionally
he thought he heard the sound of oars.

A great distance up the shore he saw men at
work upon a little building facing the bay.
They were busily engaged by the light of
abundant torches. The speed of Mori, however,
permitted the boy to take few observations.
Already his breathing was heavy and
labored in his attempt to keep up with his
master.

As they neared the water the curvature of
the shore hid the torch-lighted spot from view.
With sullen glance directed ahead of him,
Mori kept on until he stood almost at the edge
of the water, which in lapping, inky darkness
glided and twisted at his feet. Then with his
chin resting upon his arm, half reclining
against a giant bowlder which, torn from the
headland above, had ploughed a grudging way
hither, Keiki looked out across the water.

It was silent—a silence made impressive and
accentuated by elemental sounds, the lapping
of the water below, the bursting of a crested
wave, the swirl of pebbles and sand thrust
insistently up the beach by the drive of the
water. The darkness seemed a thing alive,
which, taking on fiendish, malign personality,
sought to blind the mind, the heart, the
emotions, as it did the eyes.

There was an all-pervading suggestion of
fate, of adversity, of other propagated influences
through the night. Subtle spirits
// 258.png
.pn +1
hovered, circled through the air, met, clashed
their wings, turned, trembled down, down.
Jiro could have shrieked aloud, could he have
found voice.

Gradually, faintly, as the monotony of the
natural sounds numbed his physical sense of
hearing, Jiro found that a new sense of appeal
to his ear was being made, off in the darkness.
As they reached his consciousness, with their
unmistakable human origin strongly impressed,
his fright gave way. In its place came the
calm of nerves raised to a higher tension. It
was now the creaking of chains, the wooden
friction of oars, the movements of men on board
ship. All at once lights gleamed forth. They
defined by their frequency and position the outlines
of a vessel not unlike the smaller native
boats plying in the bay. Other lights appeared
in quick succession. Soon the forms of four
giant vessels were indicated rather than revealed.

“The foreigner!” said Jiro, under his breath.

Then high up in the air, above the leading
of the four defined vessels, flashed a variety
of colored lights. These were instantly
answered from the others. There was the
rhythmic sound of men at work upon some
machine, the clatter of chains at the bows, and
the vessels moved nearer to the shore.

These manœuvres were partially understood
by Keiki. The lord of that fleet, hitherto unseen
by any Japanese, was getting up his
// 259.png
.pn +1
anchors and drawing nearer to the shore,
having sent out his boats first to take proper
soundings.

Every light below the deck line revealed an
open port, and every open, lighted port showed
a gun slung shoreward. The squadron’s
people were to land the next day, but they were
all vigilance in the mean time.

One by one the vessels moved to their new
positions. After an interval, the noise and
movement seemed to cease about them. A
light was hoisted aloft on board the leading
vessel. Instantly every light disappeared from
the ports, and the blackness of the night again
enveloped their movements.

Mori turned towards the boy, noting curiously
the spasmodic working of his features.

“What is it, Jiro?” he asked, kindly.

“It is a strange civilization,” said Jiro, in a
choking voice.

“Civilization!” repeated Keiki—“civilization!
I seem to hear that word everywhere
to-night.”
// 260.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXIX
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-a.jpg w=200px align=l
LL
.if-
.if t
ALL
.if-
through the night, while
Mori and other Imperialists looked
interrogatively to the forces
within and without the country,
and while the dreaded
foreigners kept careful watch
upon their ships, native artisans
reared the structure afterwards
known in the memories
of the strangers as the “Treaty
House.”
.pi
Simple as was the building, its
erection was attended with certain
outward signs which would
have led the observer to identify
in them the same spirit pervading
the market-place, the open
// 261.png
.pn +1
public gathering space, the theatres, the
shops.

Those who labored under torch-light, an unusual
proceeding in itself, were impressed with
a misshapen, grotesque, wholly undefined fear.
Artisans as they were, they realized, if subconsciously,
that their act had in it the germs
of a future—dark and ominous, their instincts
asserted. The Japanese officials—of a minor
grade—who directed the work, being higher in
the scale of intelligence, were by no means so
vague in their minds. They believed firmly
that the raising of this simple building meant
the downfall of their country, its government,
its institutions. Rapacious foreigners for two
centuries had insulted them and flouted at
Japan, had returned to accept no delay or
parley.

Indeed, certain <i>sub-rosa</i> expressions of opinion
and declarations of purpose among officers
of the fleet, translated to them by visitors
to the foreign ships of that alien nation alone
tolerated in Japan at this period—the Dutch—had
deepened the alarm. The strangers had
said in effect: “No nation has a right to withdraw
herself from the comity and commerce of
other nations. Japan must come to this view;
amicably, if possible, but through cannoned
arguments if not otherwise.”

Every act of the strangers thus far had been
in accord with this secret expression of policy.
The reserve and punctilious etiquette of the
// 262.png
.pn +1
Japanese had been met with a bold advance
by Commodore Perry’s squadron. At each
pretext for delay advanced by the Japanese
the ships had moved nearer to Yedo, believed
by the officers of the squadron, knowing nothing
of the Shogun-Emperor relationship, to be
the capital of the Emperor of Japan.

When Perry had been told that he might deliver
his letters and credentials to minor officials,
he had replied that first they must send
to him commissioners second in rank only to the
Emperor. Perry himself, imitating the seclusion
of those whom he sought to reach, took care
to be seen or approached by no Japanese, delegating
inferior officers to the task. Now for
the first time he was to show himself to the
people, and the nobles, the princes Aidzu and
Catzu, in their capacity of high commissioners
were to meet him.

Thus it was that all watched the work upon
the Treaty House in sullen emotion. The
workmen themselves moved in complete silence,
which was broken not by word, but
only by the noise of their operations. Their
superiors gave their instructions by gesture
or brief word.

The building itself was not pretentious, although
its situation on a slight elevation near
the water was central, in full view of the fleet
out in the bay, and was overlooked by the surrounding
heights and bluffs. It consisted of
an ante-chamber and a long audience-hall,
// 263.png
.pn +1
around whose side a sort of divan had been
built. At the head of this apartment a number
of chairs were placed for the comfort of the
foreigners. In the centre of the space, upon a
raised platform, whose tapestries and hangings
suggested the altar of some semi-barbarian
church, stood an immense, red-lacquered
box, destined for the reception of the papers
brought by the foreigners for transmittal to the
“Emperor.”

In the distance were the encampments containing
the retinues of the princes Aidzu and
Catzu, to which the artisans withdrew when, as
a final touch of preparation, they had secluded
the entire surrounding of the Treaty House by
the erection of huge bamboo and silken screens.

All were now awaiting the hour of eleven in
the morning, the hour set for the ceremonial.
The departure of a boat from the <i>Susquehanna</i>
was observed. In addition to its rowing crew,
it contained a single officer in the stern.

Those about the Treaty House watched the
dancing course of the boat over the waves,
until, having discharged its officer at the coastline,
it withdrew into stiller water; watched
with seeming apprehension his landward
course up the heights.

The officer was young; he knew a few words
of Japanese, and went at once to the point
upon his arrival before the Treaty House.

“What do these screens mean?” he demanded.
// 264.png
.pn +1

The minor officials looked from one to another.
One official, a determined expression
passing for an instant over his face, stepped
forward. He bowed politely.

“We—insignificant and unworthy brained
men that we are—cannot understand that
honorable language that you speak. It is not
Japanese, nor yet Dutch, which alone we know.”

Enough of this speech was understood by
the lieutenant. Plainly, they pretended not to
understand his Japanese.

“Wherefore these hidings of the light of the
honorable sun from our insignificant eyes?”
he continued in Japanese, changing his idiom.

Again came the answer of the Japanese
official.

“Your excellency, we cannot understand.”

The lieutenant uttered an oath. These
heathen were trying, he told himself.

“Any one here speak English?” he demanded.

Instantly a figure sprang forward out of the
crowd of sightseers beyond the military lines.
Having advanced boldly, the volunteer hesitated
an instant, as if he had acted upon an
impulse, regretted a moment too late. It was
Mori, but Mori still in disguise.

The American lieutenant saw his hesitation.

“Do you speak English?”

Keiki summoned such knowledge of the
language as Satsuma had taught him. He
answered briefly:
// 265.png
.pn +1

“Yes.”

“Then ask what these screens have been
put up for.”

Keiki repeated the question to the Japanese
officer, who, angered at his penetration of their
evasion, cast surly glances upon him. They
answered readily, however. Mori translated
their reply into English a moment later.

“They say,” he reported, “that in Nippon
all great gatherings are private. These
screens keep off the common, low people.”

“Tell them these things must come down,”
ordered the officer, in what the Japanese considered
an impolite, not to say insolent, tone.

Mori translated.

“What do they say?” asked the lieutenant.

There was a pause.

“Nothing yet,” said Mori, stiffly.

While the officials still stared, the officer turned
to the offending screens. With his own
hands he began their demolition. Slowly, one
by one, the Japanese joined him. Soon the
space once enclosed by the screens was bare
to the view of all on the American vessels.
The officer moved towards his boat.

“I wish to speak some more words with you,”
said Mori, following him.

“Oh, certainly. What is it?”

“Not here, if you please. Down by the
boat.”

“Come.”

Followed by the angry looks of the whole
// 266.png
.pn +1
group of Japanese sub-officials, in which there
was distinct hostility towards himself, Mori
went with the lieutenant to a spot towards
which the boat was approaching.

“Now what can I do for you?” inquired the
officer, more affably.

“You think you treat with the Emperor?”
inquired Mori, his face flushed by the other’s
lack of courtesy.

“Certainly.”

“You do not.”

“What?”

The officer started, regarding Mori sceptically.

“No, you do not. You but treat with his
war lord—the Shogun.”

“What’s the Shogun?”

“There are two emperors in Japan; one the
rightful emperor, the Mikado; the other his
vassal, his war lord, who is without authority
to deal with you. He makes seeming submission
to the Emperor.”

“Is this true?”

“Tell it to your master, that Lord Perry.
Ask that he demand the truth from those sent
to meet him, in the public gathering.”

“Why, this is astounding! It must be looked
into. Will you come on board with me and
report it in person?”

Mori shook his head.

“No, I cannot,” he replied, “but let him seek
the truth where it must be told unto him.”
// 267.png
.pn +1

They had been speaking in Japanese, with
an occasional word of English, when one was
unable to understand the other’s rendering of
its equivalent. The officer returned to English.

“Your name?” he asked.

Mori replied in Japanese.

“Your master is honorably ignorant of my
name and rank. The truth from any source
is sufficient. Ask at the proper place, and you
will know that I speak truth.”

The officer paused, with one leg lifted over
the gunwale of the boat. He made a sudden
movement towards his men, sitting with raised
oars.

“Seize him!” he ordered.

Before the sailors could drop their oars and
obey, Keiki, who divined the significance of
the words, ran rapidly along the sandy beach,
disappearing beyond a headland.

“Damned awkward, this,” commented the
lieutenant, “but it must be reported to the old
man.” Then to his crew:

“Give way, men!”
// 268.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXX
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-w1.jpg w=200px align=l
HATEVER
.if-
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WHATEVER
.if-
speculation the sudden
friendly interposition of a
Japanese into the American officer’s
dilemma caused among
the sub-officials in charge of the
Treaty House, it did not run a
lengthy course. News that was
whispered about, first among the
multitude of unofficial visitors
crowding all the surrounding
points of vantage not occupied
by the Shogun’s troops, penetrated
gradually to the focal
spot of the greatest curiosity,
the Treaty House. It was an
event of secondary importance
to the expected visit from the
// 269.png
.pn +1
men-of-war. The princes Aidzu and Catzu
had arrived from Yedo, and were now awaiting
the foreigners in the quarters prepared for them.
.pi
Many of those present had never seen these
powerful princes. So, crowding past the common
soldiers, they pressed upon their headquarters,
until stopped by the chosen guard
of samurai surrounding the princely pavilions.

About the tent of Catzu the press of the mob
was heaviest. The huge Sir Genji, toying
with his glittering blade significantly whenever
a curious citizen came too near the entrance,
remarked grimly to a fellow-samurai:

“Of a truth, all the dogs of Nippon invade
our ranks to-day. I have only to extend my
sword to split a dozen fat merchants.”

“Extend it, then,” growled the other, as with
the flat of his blade he dealt a gentle blow upon
the pate of a vender of wines.

The treatment accorded to the crowd by the
samurai engendered no bitterness. The mercantile
classes, awed at all times by the sight
of one in samurai orders, shrank back at the
first sign of displeasure brought upon themselves
from the proudest grade in Japan.

Nor, indeed, was the real displeasure of the
samurai at any time in evidence. They, too,
like the common people, were engrossed in the
expectation of events. Although their impassive
faces did not permit the revelation of
their real feeling, there was among them the
same subtle curiosity and foreboding.
// 270.png
.pn +1

From across the bay, rolling and reverberating,
striking the rocky angles of the highlands
and driven back repulsed, came the long roar
of the foreigners’ saluting guns. Instantly
the populace became silent, riveted to whatever
locality they occupied.

Among the ships there was bustle and movement.
The foreigners were lowering boats
from every vessel in their squadron. With
their crews and officers sitting in them, the
boats swung from the davits into the water.
Plainly the squadron was sending every man
and officer to be spared.

While the guns were still vomiting forth
their salute to the occasion, the Lord Catzu
came forth from his tent. With a wave of his
hand he turned to Genji.

“Drive me back this rabble,” he ordered.

Instantly the samurai, joining with the common
troop, beat back the mass of citizens,
forcing open a wide lane, that extended but
a short distance towards the Treaty House.
Where no guards were, there the people obstructed
the passage.

Genji quickly remedied this by despatching
guards to clear a pathway to a point where
a similar line from the Prince of Aidzu’s pavilion
should join. Into the two paths opened
by the Shogun’s troops the cortege of the two
prince-commissioners passed. That of the
Lord Catzu was headed by a troop of the young
sons of samurai, boys small in stature, bearing
// 271.png
.pn +1
aloft a silken banner whose gold embroideries
were the crests of the Shogun and his feudal
vassal Catzu. Next rode a troop of inferior
samurai, heavily armed, on black horses.
After them came the chief vassal of the Lord
Catzu, mounted on a white horse, with three of
his own vassals, each with his train of attendants.
Finally, at the head of a brilliant
and sparkling train of warriors and courtiers,
came the imposing and portly Lord of Catzu,
carried in a gilded norimon. A company of
samurai, whose chief upon all ordinary occasions
was Sir Genji, brought up the rear.

The train of the Prince of Aidzu was, in
general order and arrangement, similar to that
of the Lord Catzu.

The two cortèges moved in lines slightly
converging until they met. Then the heads
of each side column or division rode side by
side. Throughout the whole company, in
perfect order, this arrangement held, the left
train of the Lord Catzu being nearer the bay
than that of Aidzu. So completely was the
symmetry of the parallel movement carried
out that the Prince of Catzu had on his left the
Prince of Aidzu.

At the moment of complete juncture, a word
of command sped back among the allied ranks.
In a moment Genji, at the head of a large body
of mounted samurai, passed to the right of his
lord on his way to the van. A similar body
passed along the left.
// 272.png
.pn +1

These samurai, arrived at the front, rapidly
drove the crowds back from the line of march,
leaving a passage, which they lined at intervals,
clear to the Treaty House. Each samurai
rode back and forth in the side space he had
kept free to himself.

The gorgeous pageant advanced rapidly
through the short passage until its head rested
upon the entrance of the Treaty House. Instantly
the lines of the two princes divided as
before, falling back on either side until the two
norimons of the princes were reached. These
advanced as before until the chief vassal of
each prince stood before the Treaty House.
Then the vassals assisted their lords to dismount
from their norimons, bowing deeply
and profoundly as they did so.

Side by side the two commissioners marched
to the door of entrance, whose threshold they
crossed alone. After a respectful interval the
chief vassals and functionaries, with a number
of samurai, followed their lords. The military
force and other attendants still stood with their
ranks open outside. Genji gave a quick command,
and, the double ranks closing, faced
about so as to present a solid armed front to
any one moving against the Treaty House.

Inside, the princes with their chief commissioners
were ranged at the head of the Treaty
House, in silent waiting on the foreigners.

Meanwhile the fleet of small boats from the
squadron were nearing the shore. Splendid
// 273.png
.pn +1
as was the retinue of the commissioners, and
outnumbering as it did that of the Americans,
yet it was apparent at a glance that Perry had
stripped his ships of all but a small force.
The boats, crowded to the gunwales, moved
slowly to the landing-place, built over-night.

First, the bodies of sailor-soldiers were disembarked.
They wore the dress of sailors,
but each carried a musket. Then a band came
ashore. Finally the officers of the squadron
and Perry’s staff itself mingled with the others.
A small guard was left with the boats before
the march was taken up to the Treaty House.
Then, in quick step to the music of the band,
the company set off, travelling at twice the
pace of the Japanese retinues.

The band marched first. Then came the
marines with their officers. In the centre was
the Commodore Perry, with his staff. Following
were more marines and officers.

As this array proceeded in the quick, sharp,
uniform step peculiar to disciplined bodies,
there were no shouts of applause, no encouraging
cheers, no uncovering of heads, no clapping
of hands. The silent multitudes regarded
them sullenly, expectantly, fearfully.

“Gad!” exclaimed a young lieutenant,
“they don’t take to us. This is no Fifth
Avenue parade.”

“No, it is not. More like action,” mumbled
his companion.

When the officers came within sight of the
// 274.png
.pn +1
entrance and saw the columns hostilely arranged,
there was a movement of alarm. But
quickly the dual force of Catzu and Aidzu
spread out to permit a passage through itself.

The Americans gave an order. Their band
went suddenly to the rear, its place taken
by a body of marines, who moved until their
head rested upon the door of entrance. They
in turn opened a way for the division at whose
head marched the chief officer. With arms
at “present,” they stood awaiting its approach.

At the head of the division now advancing,
under the colors and backed by minor officers,
strode a commanding figure. It was
that of a full-bodied, ruddy, stern-featured
man, in whose every poise of body and head
was command. He was bareheaded. About
his temples the breeze from the bay scattered
his short, slightly gray hair.

The sight of the Japanese army in its menacing
position, facing the multitudes, may have
carried alarm to his soul. It had been instantly
met by his counter arraying of marines;
but there was no fear manifest in face, gait, or
manner. Without pause he entered quickly
the audience-hall, followed by his officers.
Turning his head to neither side, he seated
himself in a chair similar in respect and position
to those occupied by the commissioners.

There was a pause, a momentary embarrassment
was felt by all present. Then the American
// 275.png
.pn +1
commodore summoned the Dutch interpreter,
through whom the conversation was
to take place.

“Inform them,” he said, “that I have some
questions to ask.”
// 276.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXXI
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-w1.jpg w=200px align=l
HEN
.if-
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WHEN
.if-
the company of foreigners
had passed into the Treaty
House, the few moments intervening
before the beginning
of the ceremonies within were
employed by the samurai still
on guard outside in scrutinizing
the cards of those citizens whose
rank permitted them to fill the
vacant rear of the hall.
.pi
At first the samurai, exacting
in their task, examined
carefully the invitation of each
applicant. When, however,
those in charge warned them
that the time was short, they
crowded ceremoniously within
// 277.png
.pn +1
their lines into the hall, while those without,
whether card-holders or not, were driven back
roughly.

The movement had been noted in its first
stages by Mori, who with Toro and Jiro had
been forcing his way steadily towards the
guarding samurai. When the first press of
the rejected smote him on all sides, he turned
to Jiro.

“If we are separated in this turmoil, I
would charge you, Jiro—” he began.

The sudden interposition of a double rank
of samurai drove him back, while it swept his
companions within the circle of those being
forced into the Treaty House. Turning, Jiro
watched Mori struggle under the disadvantage
the crowd imposed upon him. Then, with a
resigned smile and a shrug of the shoulders,
Mori made to Jiro a sign of writing. A moment
more and Toro and Jiro found themselves
within the audience-chamber. They
gained places beside an opening through
which the samurai preserving order outside
could be seen.

When the American commodore addressed
his first words to the interpreter, the Lord of
Catzu arose. Toro and Jiro whispered together
as they caught sight of the gorgeous
figure. The interpreter translated to him the
words of the American. Then through the
interpreter the Lord of Catzu made reply:

“August sir, Lord Admiral of the unknown
// 278.png
.pn +1
fleet, we will have joy in answering your
honorable questions—any and all—in good
time,” he said. “But first allow us to offer
our apologies. We were unable to provide
you with arm-chairs such as your excellency
is accustomed to occupy on board your honorable
ships; for that reason we are greatly
pained, and trust you will overlook our impoliteness.
But that chair which you now
fill and whose brothers we humbly occupy,
out of compliment to your excellency, resembles
it so far as our abilities have been
able to copy it.”

The American commodore looked at the
chair he occupied. If the first words of the
commissioner appealed at all to his risibilities,
he was both too courteous a gentleman
and too astute a diplomat to betray any sign.
His face was grave to solemnity as he regarded
the superb workmanship of the chair upon
which he sat, plainly an Oriental interpretation
of an American article.

“The chair is comfortable. It serves its
purpose and honors its makers,” he made
reply. “But I desire before presenting my
credentials to question the prince-commissioners.”

Some one tapped Jiro lightly upon the
shoulder. Looking about, he saw that a
samurai, half extended through the window,
had thus drawn his attention, and he was
now making him the peculiar secret sign of
// 279.png
.pn +1
the Imperialist, that of dropping suddenly
downward the left hand with the little finger
extended. Jiro looked into the face of the
samurai Genji, where a smile of peculiar
meaning shone. In the shock of surprise,
Jiro’s face was raised so that Genji’s eyes
gazed closely upon the entire contour, as for
a moment the hair fell back from the youth’s
brow. Instantly the smile in Genji’s face
changed. His expression became involved.
In it, Jiro read surprise, then delight, distrust,
and apprehension.

As Jiro’s eyes met Genji’s again, the crimson
flushed with sudden violence the lad’s
cheeks. His eyes sank. Genji slipped into
his hand a tiny roll.

“What is it?” whispered Toro.

“Genji,” said Jiro, with an expression of
terror; “he recognized me.”

“But what did he want?”

Then Jiro recalled the paper in his hands.
He opened it with trembling fingers. It was
brief, and from Mori, who had evidently trusted
his old friend Genji to deliver it to his attendant
Jiro.

“<i>If aught is said of the cause, defend!</i>” he
read.

“What is the meaning?” said Toro.

“Plainly what he says,” returned Jiro; “if
any one speaks ill of the cause I am to silence
and confound him.”

Toro smiled with superiority.
// 280.png
.pn +1

“You!” he whispered; “it is for me.”

With a passionate movement of negation,
Jiro thrust the epistle into his bosom.

“Do nothing,” urged Toro; “if you disturb
this gathering you are as good as dead. For
a samurai it would be a pleasing feat.” Toro
swelled in appreciation. “But for you—” He
broke off. “Mori would not have asked it if
he had known—”

“Silence!” whispered Jiro. “Listen.”

Several of the Dutchman’s translations had
been lost by Toro and Jiro, but the interpreter
was now speaking again for the American.

“I desire to know,” he said, “before I deliver
my letters, with whom I am treating—with
what Emperor—with which of the two?”

The Japanese were astounded.

“You are dealing with the Emperor of
Japan,” they responded.

“But there are two. Which one?”

“We are unable to explain,” said Aidzu;
“we cannot account for your strange belief.”

“Perhaps,” interjected the wily Catzu, “the
Lord Admiral has confounded the head of our
religion with the head of our state.”

“I must speak,” said Jiro, who was laboring
under repressed excitement. “It is time.”

“Tsh-h!” growled Toro, staying his effort
to rise.

“Let the prince-commissioner continue. I
have been told that there are two emperors
in this land, and that I have been placed in
// 281.png
.pn +1
communication with the inferior, who is without
authority to ratify his acts.”

“I assure you, my Lord Admiral,” said
Catzu, “that you have fallen into an error
common to foreigners.”

“Possibly,” was Perry’s brief assent.

“We have two heads, one a font of wisdom,
the other of action. The one is the spiritual
head, the divine Emperor; the other the true
ruler and Emperor, with whom you are in
communication. The spiritual head is without
authority in mundane affairs. You make no
error, for we, the princes of Japan’s real ruler,
tell you this.”

Despite every attempted restraint of Toro,
Jiro leaped to his feet.

“Thou liest! Thou knowest there is but
one true ruler in Japan, the Mikado!” he
shouted, in a voice that, rapidly ascending in
pitch, became femininely shrill.

Every eye in the assembly, foreign and
Japanese, turned upon the slight, quivering
figure there by the breeze-swept opening.
The Lord of Catzu, still upon his feet, stood
like a sable statue, his arm still held aloft
in the concluding gesture he had used a moment
before. The Prince of Aidzu remained
in his chair, seemingly incapable of motion.
The American Perry alone preserved his composure,
looking from one to the other in a puzzled
effort to determine the meaning of this interruption.
// 282.png
.pn +1

The silence within the hall deepened as the
startled gaze of the assemblage continued
fixed upon Jiro. So still was it that the voices
of the samurai outside seemed annoyingly
loud, as they floated into the quiet apartment.

There was a long moment of this stunned,
bewildered, yet intense stillness. It was broken
by Toro, who, ashamed of having been
outdone in daring by his slighter companion,
threw himself convulsively into the focus of
the company.

“Thou, my Lord of Catzu,” he shouted—“thou
knowest that the youth speaks truth.
Banzai the Mikado! Banzai Nippon!”

Another sensational moment! The samurai
Genji had placed himself nearer to the two.

The Lord of Catzu broke the spell of wonderment.
As he frowned penetratingly upon
Toro and Jiro, his face cleared in sudden recognition
of his son. He raised his arm in
imperative signal to the samurai.

“Eject for me these fanatics,” he cried,
“and guard them closely.”

Instantly the gigantic Genji, leaping
through the opening, laid a heavy hand
upon the shoulder of the youth. Back to the
opening he drew them.

“They are in my custody, my lord,” he
answered.

While the samurai drew the struggling
comrades into the outer air, there was the
// 283.png
.pn +1
quick hum of voices over the assemblage that
a moment before had seemed as stone. Neighbor
conversed with neighbor, the Japanese
in consternation, the Americans in wonder.

The interpreter rapidly translated to the
American officer the words that had passed
between the commissioner and his interrupters.
Some of the Americans caught at the drift of
events even before their comrades sitting near
to the interpreter understood the Dutchman’s
statements to their commander.

“’Pears to me to be something to this two-king
business,” said a marine to his fellow.

“We’ll leave our bones here, sure enough,”
was the pessimistic response.

“What explanation can you offer of this?”
demanded Perry.

The Lord Catzu lifted his eyebrows.

“Explanation! I do not explain it. They
were fanatical priests, madmen, who thought
that the head of the church should take over
the direction of the state. You have such in
your own country?”

The American was not satisfied with this
statement. The interpreter informed the commissioners
of this fact. Said the Lord Catzu:

“If you do not believe me, I shall, with the
concurrence of my colleague, be obliged to declare
all proceedings estopped. I cannot continue
under such circumstances.”

The American saw thus slipping from him
the rewards of the labor of months. He might
// 284.png
.pn +1
be making a mistake, but he must proceed at
once.

“I am ready to continue,” he said.

“Very well. You may deliver your letters
to the Emperor of Japan,” responded Catzu,
with great dignity.

At a sign from Perry, two cabin-boys who
had remained in the ante-chamber came up
the central aisle, closely followed by two huge
negroes in marine dress. The boys carried
silver and gold salvers, upon which rested the
richly set gold boxes containing the documents
signed by Millard Fillmore, President
of the United States of America, asking consideration
of a treaty for open ports.

As the boys reached the red-lacquered box
at the head of the hall they stood upon either
side, while the negroes stopped between them.
Lifting the letter receptacles from the salvers,
the negroes deposited them in the red chest
indicated by an aide of Catzu. This done,
they retreated down the aisle.

“All is now done,” said Catzu. “Permit
me to inquire when your excellency will return
for an answer.”

“In some months’ time,” was Perry’s
thoughtful reply.

“We need not detain you longer,” said the
commissioner. “Permit us to express our gratification
at meeting you and our compliments
for your courtesy.”

The American commodore acknowledged the
// 285.png
.pn +1
deep obeisance with which the commissioners
and their staffs now favored him with a bow
as courtly and dignified as their own.

Then foreigners and Japanese filed out from
the Treaty House of Yokohama.
// 286.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXXII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-w1.jpg w=200px align=l
ITH
.if-
.if t
WITH
.if-
the fecundity peculiar to
the storm and stress period of a
nation’s history, the germ almost
forcibly implanted into
Japanese soil by Commodore
Perry waxed strong, came to
blossom, fell into seed, and
ended by multiplying itself into
international form. No sooner
had two seaports been opened
through signature of the treaty
passed by Perry than the English
sought and obtained the
same privileges. Other nations
followed the leaders in timeliness,
differing as to their
national equation. Then came
// 287.png
.pn +1
the establishment of foreign legations and the
general introduction into Japan of the hated
foreigners. The hermit nation was no more
permitted the luxury of the solitude which
had made it internally strong.
.pi
But now the foreigners were coming to understand
the dual state of Japanese government.
The treaties which the shogunate had
at first attempted to make without Imperial
sanction were nominally submitted to the
Mikado. In a measure, the brave daring of
the boy Jiro was responsible for this latter
development.

During all this time Mori had remained in
Yedo watching the course of events, and the
gradual rise in prestige of the already powerful
shogunate.

The policy advocated by Mori was the same
outlined by him in his act of instruction to
Jiro when he had bade the boy explain to the
foreigners the true conditions of government.
The shogunate must be embroiled with the
foreign powers in such a way that retaliation
of the world-powers would fall upon the shogunate
alone, destroying it, while at a leap
the Imperial party would return to power
upon an anti-Shogun basis. This policy he
was foremost in pressing upon other leaders
of his party, but without avail. The
drift of events was too uncertain to permit
civil war at this time, his compatriots asserted.

Toro and Jiro did not share the Yedo vigil
// 288.png
.pn +1
of Mori. When, upon the evening of the
Treaty House assemblage, Genji had brought
them to Keiki’s headquarters, the Prince had
received them as from the grasp of death. The
task he had set them, he knew, meant a risk
of death, but even a samurai of lesser rank
would have welcomed a death decreed by the
cause. He had given them up as memories of
the past when the great Genji brought them
before him.

“My prince,” Genji had said, “I have ever
been at heart one of your party. As an earnest
of my desire to return to your allegiance,
I bring you two prisoners, committed to my
hands by the Lord of Catzu.”

The sight of the samurai Genji had called
back into the life and soul of Mori things he
had put aside as unfitting his consecration to
the cause. Nevertheless, he received him gladly,
and made no objection to the proposal of
the samurai that he should be permitted to go
with Toro and Jiro to the Mori fortress, since
longer residence in Yedo was unsafe for the
two who had exhibited themselves before the
choice gathering of the Shogun’s followers at
the Treaty House. So it was that for a time
Mori remained alone in Yedo.

The continued presence in the Shogun’s city
of one known throughout the length and
breadth of the land as the Imperialist leader
could not in the nature of events remain unknown
to the authorities. On several occasions
// 289.png
.pn +1
he was pressed so hard that he found
an occasional sojourn outside of Yedo imperative.
It was upon his return from one
of these flittings that the Prince Mori found
strange news awaiting him.

The Shogun Iyesada was dead. The choice
of a successor devolving upon the Regent Ii, a
man said to be of low birth, the wishes of a considerable
number of the shogunate following
had been ignored. Kii, a boy of twelve, had
been selected by the Regent.

To make a show of boasted power before
the foreigners, now always pressing for treaty
privileges, the Regent Ii had ratified with
them a treaty then pending, afterwards reporting
it tardily to the Emperor at Kioto.

Instantly the city rang with protest, and,
following it, the country.

“This Ii would remain alone with a boy
Shogun!” cried the nobles of both parties.

Mori despatched instantly to his fortress
couriers who conveyed orders to Toro that
a considerable body of Mori’s troops should
proceed at once to Yedo. Before their arrival,
however, a crisis had been reached.

Ronins in great numbers had visited the Imperialist
headquarters, urging instant action.
These roving samurai, having renounced all
allegiance to their own lords, had become free
agents (ronins), and had sworn never to return
to their homes until the shogunate was overthrown.
// 290.png
.pn +1

One Hasuda headed a party that sought out
the Prince Mori.

“Let every foreign legation be burned this
night,” urged Hasuda. “Let us drive into
the seas those dogs who already have delayed
our action too long. Let it be done
to-night.”

“No,” said Mori, firmly. “Do not let your
acts, which hitherto, in spite of their lawlessness,
have been tinged with patriotism, be
tainted by such action as you now propose.
The function of a patriot is not that of assassination,
but of honest warfare. Be counselled
by me. Do nothing yet awhile. Wait!
My men are on the march. They cannot arrive
for some days. When they have come,
and when our Mikado has given us the signal,
let us then attack and expel these foreign
barbarians.”

“No, no,” insisted Hasuda, whose sword
itched for action; “the Mikado is influenced
by those about him who are hostile to us. He
dare not.”

“Only by his order will I attack the foreigners,”
Mori insisted.

“He will not speak,” said Hasuda.

“He will,” said Mori. “I have assurances
to that effect.”

Hasuda altered his plea.

“But, your highness,” he urged, “what I
now advocate is your own policy. The shogunate
is responsible to the foreigners for the
// 291.png
.pn +1
peace. Destroy their legations and their wrath
will descend upon the shogunate.”

“Listen; I will not stoop to massacre, but I
promise you that upon the order of the Emperor
I will fire at once upon their fleets and
make warfare against them.”

The ronin Hasuda smiled slyly, as with a
gesture of resignation he threw his arms aside.

“Your highness,” he said, “be it so. I consent,
upon one condition. Go thou to Kioto.
Obtain at once audience with the Son
of Heaven. Secure his consent. Thou hast
means within the palace to reach him safely.
Do so, then. I will await your return.”

“Agreed,” answered Mori.

Within a few moments his norimon was
carrying him out of Yedo.

Two ronins joined Hasuda near the headquarters
half an hour later.

“Your news?” he demanded.

“The Prince of Mori is on the highway to
Kioto.”

“Good! Then let the bands separate.”

The several hundred ronins, divided into
parties of some six or seven, set out in various
directions. Two hours later they were in the
shadow of the Sakurada gate of the Shogun’s
palace.

A spy from the interior made his report to
Hasuda. It was accompanied by many gestures
directed towards the wide path which led
through the garden to the palace within.
// 292.png
.pn +1

A stately procession was passing down the
garden path and had taken the road. It was
the cortège of the Baron Ii Kamon-no-Kami,
the hated Regent of Japan. Only his ordinary
train of attendants and samurai accompanied
him. Absorbed in their own personal
reflections, they were apparently without suspicion
of a planned assault.

Hasuda, in the shadow of the gate and the
farther shadow of the cedars which bent their
branches over the walls, raised his sword.

“Now,” he whispered, in a soft, penetrating
voice, insistent as the hiss of a serpent. From
the shadows of the walls against which they
had stood ronins leaped upon the samurai and
attendants about the norimon of Ii. These
gave way instantly, some were killed outright,
others wounded, while still others were left
engaged in deadly strife with ronin adversaries.

“Quick! Forward!” urged Hasuda.

A chosen body sprang out from the ronin
ranks, and surrounding the norimon of the
Regent, drew him with rough hands out into
the road. They dragged him before Hasuda.
Within the palace a cry of alarm rang
through the night, followed by the hurried
mustering of troops.

Outside the Sakurada gate, however, the
numerous ronins, showing no sign of fear,
proceeded leisurely. Ii had fallen upon his
knees. His mute lips moved in prayers for
// 293.png
.pn +1
mercy, though no sound escaped them. His
lips were livid, his eyes glazed.

At what seemed this manifestation of cowardice
the ronins, outlawed samurai as they
were, laughed scornfully. They would have
died unflinchingly. Ii was not of samurai
blood.

“Death to the traitor!” roared a ronin
chorus.

“Ay,” replied Hasuda—“death!” Then to
the Regent: “Ii, thou art a traitor. Rise and
receive sentence.”

Ii seemed paralyzed with fear.

“Let him die,” said Hasuda.

“Let him die,” growled the ronins.

Hasuda sent a keen glance over his ranks.
He said, quickly:

“Let a samurai volunteer as executioner,
but let him remember that he, too, must die,
that no Shogun follower may punish him.”

A grim, middle-aged ronin pushed forward.

“I was of Satsuma,” he said; “that is all
you need know of me.”

“Do thy office,” commanded Hasuda.

The samurai thereupon forced the Regent
to his knees, where he cringed trembling and
shivering. The sword of the samurai hissed,
curved, shone, shot through the air. The head
of Ii lay upon the ground.

Hasuda then spoke:

“That no malice may be imputed to us, use
thy second sword.”
// 294.png
.pn +1

Without a word the Satsuma samurai drew
his second sword from his belt. The hilt he
rested upon the ground. In an instant he fell
upon its point.

The ronins left the vicinity of the palace,
carrying the head of Ii with them. This they
nailed to a post in a public place of the city.

In a short time, from the newly established
foreign quarter of Yedo, flames leaped forth in
destruction of the legations. Many foreigners
found Japanese graves that night.

Yet, strange inconsistency! the ronins, still
under the direction of Hasuda, went about
everywhere, crying: “Down with the foreigners!
Long live the Shogun!”

Those foreigners who escaped believed that
the Shogun had ordered the night’s horrors.

At the hour of dawn Hasuda wiped his sword
on a foreign fabric. As the morning breezes
from the bay cooled his tired brow he laughed
grimly.

“Ah,” he exclaimed, “what the noble Prince
of Mori could not countenance himself has
been accomplished; and, being accomplished,
I shall find in him no open friend, it is true,
but no sworn enemy.”

The roar of guns came faintly to his ears.

“To-morrow—to-morrow!” he mused, with
a chuckle. “Nay, to-day, the wrath of the foreigners
will descend upon the shogunate—the
innocent shogunate. Decidedly, it is droll.”
// 295.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXXIII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-i.jpg w=200px align=l
T
.if-
.if t
IT
.if-
was night when the runners
of the Prince Mori’s norimon,
having travelled the highway
to its gated termination, entered
Kioto. Uncertain as to his
exact course, the Prince was
settled upon one thing—haste—haste
to arrive in the neighborhood
of the Mikado’s palace,
that he might plan in the
shadows his future actions.
.pi
He had passed through the
city’s gates, and with new cries
to his runners was again urging
them forward, when a cloaked
figure, holding in one hand a
naked sword, barred to the
// 296.png
.pn +1
norimon farther passage. The runners stopped
abruptly. Impatiently Mori thrust his
head through the curtains.

“What now, you laggards?” he demanded,
in no gentle voice.

At the sound of Mori’s words the man in the
roadway uttered a cry of surprise.

“Thou, Mori!”

“What then?” inquired the Prince, defiantly,
preparing to leap to the ground, sword in hand.

“It is I, Echizen. I will join you in your
norimon.”

“Good!” said Mori. “Urgently I need your
advice.”

Echizen climbed into the vehicle quickly.
With a swift movement he drew Mori’s cloak
about his shoulders in such a way that it hid
his face.

“There is danger in Kioto for you,” he said.
“Just now as I passed, the sound of your
voice instructing your runners struck me with
its familiar tones. When you raised your
voice I recognized you immediately. You
must be more careful, my lord.”

“Why should there be danger for me in
Kioto?” inquired Keiki, quickly. “I am in
my Emperor’s capital now.”

“But the massacres you have just instigated
in Yedo are being used to your disadvantage.
Aidzu has come to Kioto two hours ahead of
you, and all is known to his Majesty.”

“Massacres!”
// 297.png
.pn +1

“Are you ignorant of them?”

“You do not mean—” Keiki paused, a
suspicion of Hasuda dawning upon him.
“Massacres by the ronins?”

“Yes.”

The Prince of Mori groaned.

“Hasuda, the chief ronin,” he said, “has
broken his pledged word to me.” He explained
briefly to Echizen his compact with
Hasuda.

The Prince of Echizen had received a courier
who came on horseback but half an hour prior
to Mori’s arrival. He came shortly after the
arrival of Aidzu, who was closeted with the
Emperor. The courier’s only definite news
was that the Regent Ii had been assassinated
and the foreign legations burned by a band
of ronins under Hasuda, acting, it was believed,
under Mori’s orders. The ronins had
pretended to be the Shogun’s men.

The latter information pleased Mori.

“Good!” he said; “the foreigners will lay
the blame upon the shogunate.”

Echizen leaned from the norimon.

“Proceed slowly,” he told the runner, “in
that direction,” pointing to a quarter of the
town distant from the Imperial palace.

“We must adopt some plan of action,” he
continued to Keiki. “These outbreaks, which
I at first thought were at your order, will have
fearful consequences. We must plan to turn
them to account with the Emperor.
// 298.png
.pn +1

“But he already knows of the massacres.”

“Assuredly. Aidzu is governor of the city,
and a person of influence with him. He will
use the Yedo massacres to your disadvantage.”

“But Aidzu is a shogunate.”

“True; but lately he has gone over to the
Emperor. He is still at heart a shogunate.
It is by the order of the Shogun that he has
come to the Mikado’s court, in fact. He is both
a spy and an influence upon the Emperor for
the shogunate.”

“How do you know all these things?” inquired
Keiki.

“Since I left you in Yedo,” replied Echizen,
“I have made considerable progress in the
favor of the Emperor, all for the sake of the
cause. I try to set myself against Aidzu.”

“Well, and what is the disposition of the
Emperor towards my wing of the party? What
does he desire us to do? What attitude should
we take towards the foreigners and the shogunate
at this time? I have a purpose in these
questions.”

Echizen looked thoughtfully towards the
east, where the offshoots of the still distant
day were charging the rear-guard of night.

“My prince,” he said, slowly, “I feel that
this day will be a decisive one in our annals.
I feel that there is a great opportunity to be
born a new nation to-day.”

“Speak on,” said Mori.

“The Emperor Kommei is, of course, desirous
// 299.png
.pn +1
of regaining the power once held by his
ancestors. He knows, as an educated man,
that the shogunate has no legitimate right to
existence. But he is a man of two natures.
Fear, which is not cowardice, and suspicion,
which is not discretion, is his ruling motive.
He is surrounded by shogunate spies. Every
effort he has made up to this time to communicate
with us has been frustrated. Were
he to put trust in a samurai and think of
sending him as a messenger to us, the shogunate
straightway removed that samurai.”

“By the sword, of course.”

“By secret means. In time the Emperor
Kommei came to believe that the shogunate
held his life in its hands, as it has. He came
to distrust all men. He trusts neither Aidzu,
his enemy, nor me, his friend.”

“What of the foreigners?”

“I believe that he would desire above all
things to issue an order for their expulsion,
and encourage us secretly to make war upon
the shogunate, convinced as he is that his
life and the very office of Emperor are at stake.”

“Could he be brought to give us secret instructions?”

“He might,” returned Echizen, dubiously,
“but such is the temper of the man that, while
bidding us make war upon the shogunate, he
would also warn us that if the shogunate
prevailed he could do nothing for us—he
would leave us to die.”
// 300.png
.pn +1

With knotted brows, Mori considered long.
Then:

“You think Aidzu is endeavoring at this
moment to discredit me with the Emperor by
laying responsibility for Hasuda at my door?”

“Yes, this very instant.”

Mori leaned out from the norimon and signed
to the runners. They halted.

“One question more,” he said to Echizen.
“Have you convenient access to the Emperor?”

“At any hour,” Echizen answered. Mori
bent towards the runners.

“Full speed,” he cried, “to the Emperor’s
palace.”

The norimon started ahead.

“To the Emperor’s palace?” repeated
Echizen. “What are you going to do?”

“To confront Aidzu, my accuser, and urge
the Emperor to expel the foreigners,” said
Mori.

“Perhaps it is the best course,” answered
Echizen, slowly.

“It is the opportunity of which you spoke,”
said Mori. “The opportunity for which I have
long waited.”
// 301.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXXIV
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-t.jpg w=200px align=l
HE
.if-
.if t
THE
.if-
group of buildings set within
the walled enclosure known
as the Emperor’s palace was
not surrounded as were many
feudal castles of the daimios,
and indeed other of the Imperial
residences, by a deep moat of
stagnant water. The poetic
temperament of a people who
had returned to the pure Shinto
religion, which made Japan a
land of gods whose chief was the
Emperor, would not permit the
Kioto palace to resemble a fortress.
It seemed rather a temple,
in the atmosphere created in outside
eyes by its carved exterior.
// 302.png
.pn +1
.pi
The whole interior grounds, in which were
the residence buildings, were separated from
the city streets only by a heavy wall, rectangular
in its completed course. Within, the
foliage, set back from the street, rose high
above the walls, intermingled with an occasional
roof-top.

The wall was entered at intervals by guarded
gates, whose porticos protruded into the
street. Set out into the street, upon a broad
stone platform, approached by a multitude of
tiny steps, were two tall pillars, about each of
which twined, carved in the material itself, a
scaly serpent. Above the serpent, in a carved
galaxy of death, were the claws, heads, and
bones of wild beasts. Between the pillars and
the edge of the wall, and forming the sides of
the portico, were two square, wooden panels,
upon which were carved dragons, trumpets,
and the long-curved, bodied stork. Resting
upon the top of the carved pillars and extending
over the wall was the sinuous roof, each
of whose lines seemed a snake curled in its
tortuous travel path.

The roof, made of highly polished bamboo,
but preserving its natural form, the little logs
being laid side by side, swept up to a curling-point.
Over the portico entrance of the gates,
two carved, hideously grim faces leered into
the faces of any descending the steps. Still
higher up, under the shadow of the gabled
roof, was the portrait of the Emperor.
// 303.png
.pn +1

The buildings within, set in their gardens
and pleasure grounds, had in their roof lines
the appearance of the gates. They were of
two or three stories, over each of which a gabled,
curiously wrought shelf projected from
the sides, as a shield from the weather. The
windows, small and narrow, were set together
in pairs. In the centre of each long side on
the lower floor a projecting angle, covered by a
triangular roof, made a sort of bay-window.
Sliding screens gave admittance to the rooms
within.

Before the carved gate in the eastern wall
the norimon that had brought the Prince of
Mori from Yedo discharged its passengers.
Echizen and Mori passed into the interior.
Once within, Mori, who had approached the
structure with the feelings of a devout Japanese,
saw that the buildings were set closely
together, making an inner rectangular court,
in whose exact centre a house more pretentious
than its neighbors stood. This he took to be
the residence of Kommei Tenno, the Mikado.

To his surprise, Echizen directed his way
towards a small edifice set quite without the
quadrangle, and of a style more simple and
humble than any within the grounds.

“Why are we going this way?” Mori asked.
“The Mikado must reside there,” indicating
the house within the rectangular circle.

“He should live there, it is true, for that is
the official residence of his Majesty; but being
// 304.png
.pn +1
a suspicious man, he lives in the house least
suited to be his residence,” returned Echizen.

As if in keeping with the supposed incognito
character of the house, there were no guards
before it, while the front of the official residence
was crowded with sword-wearers.

At the threshold Mori paused.

“Come,” said Echizen.

“But a moment,” Mori said, in a low tone
whose last sound died away in a note of sad,
prophetic fear.

He raised his eyes to the trees leafing in
the enclosure, and then to the skies. The
night mists had passed away, it is true, from
the sight, but there was in the air a moistness
which the feebly awakened sun-rays had not
yet dissipated. A tear of expectation stood
in nature’s eye. Calm and peaceful the day
was dawning, without a sound to ruffle the
gentle awakening of drowsy nature. The
purple-yellow tints crept up from beyond the
horizon, touching the tops of trees and buildings
in soft sign of a later imperative sign of
action.

Mori bared his head. As he stood there,
the longing of the patriotic soul surging
through his body until his hands tingled to do
noble deeds, the winds gently laved his brow
in the cooling of unalterable nature. Mori
was praying to his gods, for his country, to
the war-god if need be, and to Kwannon, the
goddess of mercy.
// 305.png
.pn +1

Then, at the kiss of the wind, a mood, a
thought, a picture came to Mori, overwhelming
in its potency. The Lady Wistaria! The
Lady Wistaria! Her name seemed to sing in
his brain. In a flash of thought he realized
that, however fierce the action, however great
the striving, however complete the attainment,
there was no joy in life or death ever for him.
The calm of accomplishment meant the wreck
of hope.

With a fierce attack upon this memory,
Mori drove his faculties back to their duty.

“I am ready,” he said.

The two passed within.

A sort of confidential valet stopped them in
the ante-chamber. He said:

“The Serene Son of Heaven is closeted with
my Lord of Aidzu.”

He turned, indicating a closed door.

“You see,” whispered Echizen, when the
servant’s back was turned—“you see they
have lost no time.”

Then to the servant:

“You may announce to his Majesty that it
is I, the Prince of Echizen.”

As the servant disappeared behind the door,
Mori, on whose brow a slight contraction had
come, seizing Echizen roughly by the arm,
forced him into the chamber beyond, the secret
resort of the Emperor Kommei Tenno.

At the noise of their entrance the slight man
who had been pacing up and down the chamber
// 306.png
.pn +1
turned in nervous apprehension, his hand
seeking uncertainly the naked dagger at his
waist. The Prince Aidzu maintained the position
assumed by him earlier in the interrupted
interview. He was standing easily in an attitude
of apparent assurance. An evil smile,
meant for Echizen, played over his features
as he regarded the future premier and his
present rival, for the disconcerting smile of
my Lord Aidzu was a trick usual with him
whenever an enemy surprised him with his
master. It was meant to convey to an intruder
intimation of an understanding which
might not have been reached prior to the interruption.
Echizen met it with the greatest
indifference.

For the first time in his short period of vigorous
effort in behalf of his Mikado, Mori stood
in the presence of the man who was the focus
and culmination, the terminal point, of his most
honored principle. He saw a slight form
which could not be the bodily temple of the
vitality of genius. It was that of a man
scarcely beyond the thirties, yet there was no
promise of the developing years. The features,
however, were delicately modelled, the
turn of the ankles and hands were exquisite.
About the whole manifest personality of the
man there was the subtle stamp of effeminacy.
The hand, the intelligence within the eye—neither
gave hint of action. The brain could
not conceive, the hand could not execute.
// 307.png
.pn +1

“Poor lost, poor betrayed cause of Japan,”
would have been the formulation of Mori’s
conclusion as these details, tempered by reflection,
came to him.

Then there passed through his mind from
the little, hidden house of memory all those
tales he had heard whispered in secret. The
Shogun had bred the Emperor in indolence,
in effeminate luxury, so that the war lord of
the Mikado might overwhelm his master in
the dwarfing shadow of real attainment.
There was no hope in this man. Yet the
principle was greater than the man, and it
was a violation of the principle that had engulfed
the man.

These thoughts passed rapidly through
Mori’s mind as he prostrated himself before
the Mikado.

“Oh, it is you, Echizen.” The voice, small,
without interest, broke upon Mori. “Whom
have you there with you?”

“Your highness,” answered Echizen, with
every token of the deepest respect, “I beg to
present to you Keiki, the Prince of Mori.”

Mori, who was still on his knees, touched
the floor with his head, and remained for a
moment in this humble attitude before his
sovereign. When he raised his head and looked
towards the Mikado he perceived at once that
he was frowning, while he made a peculiar
movement of understanding in Aidzu’s direction,
perceiving which the latter shrugged his
// 308.png
.pn +1
shoulders. Then, with the decisive cutting
of nervous fear, the voice of the Mikado broke
the gap of silence.

“We were speaking of you just now, Prince
of Mori,” he said, with a sinister note in his
voice.

The evil smile again crossed Aidzu’s countenance.
// 309.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
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[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXXV
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-f.jpg w=200px align=l
OR
.if-
.if t
FOR
.if-
a moment there was consternation
in the breasts of the
two men, Mori and Echizen,
while the baleful personality of
Aidzu, seeming to expand on
wings of hate, diffused itself
throughout the room.
.pi
Mori answered before Echizen
could interject a word.

“You honored me by your
attention, your Majesty,” he
said, while still upon his knees.

“Say rather dishonored,” said
Aidzu under his breath.

“Mori,” said the Mikado,
with an effort at great sternness,
“you have dared to murder
// 310.png
.pn +1
the Regent Ii, to burn the treaty houses
and legations of the foreigners. What have
you to say for yourself?”

“Oh, your Majesty!” was all Mori could
exclaim, between his desire to retain his respectful
attitude and his impulse to protest
against such injustice from the one for whom
he had labored long.

“No doubt,” continued the Mikado, “you
have come to me thinking I shall countenance
such an act, and to ask for protection and
mercy?”

Mori sprang to his feet. Every nerve in
him was tingling and quivering. He heeded
not the traditional etiquette to be observed
before the Son of Heaven, whereby no man
must look the Mikado in the face. Mori was
of princely blood himself, and of a lineage as
proud and old as his master’s. So his own
eyes, keen and true as those of a brave and
innocent man, met the shifting glance of
Kommei Tenno.

“Nay, your Majesty; I come not to ask for
mercy, but for justice.”

“Justice?”

“Ay, your Majesty.”

“But you have committed these atrocious
crimes,” said the Mikado, his glance wandering
uneasily from Aidzu to Mori, “and these
crimes will bring upon us the vengeance of
these foreign peoples.”

“I have committed no crimes, your Majesty.
// 311.png
.pn +1
I am innocent of that of which you
accuse me.”

Echizen interrupted quietly.

“Your Majesty, I do assure you that the
Prince Mori is guiltless.”

Kommei turned rapidly to the speaker.

“You can explain, Echizen?”

“I can.”

“Proofs are many,” said Aidzu, thrusting
his head forward, “that this young man incited
the outrages.”

Again forgetting himself, the sensitive and
impulsive Mori leaped towards the speaker.

“You lie!” he thundered. Then recalling
himself, he turned towards the Mikado.

“I crave your Majesty’s pardon, but”—his
voice trembled in spite of him—“that worm
lies.”

The Emperor stared from Aidzu to Mori,
then back to Echizen.

“You are prepared to report concerning
this?”

“I am, your Majesty,” answered Echizen.

“Proceed.”

The Prince of Echizen indicated the governor
of the city with a slight toss of his
head.

“Privily, your Majesty, I beg,” he said.

Kommei hesitated. He seemed to be studying
Echizen’s face. If read correctly, he saw
written there so much determination, so much
loyalty and faith and truth, that its very expression
// 312.png
.pn +1
communicated to him some of its
lofty strength and resolve.

“My Lord of Aidzu will withdraw,” he said,
quietly.

“But, your Majesty—” began Aidzu.

The first expression of imperial command
came into Kommei Tenno’s face. His head
elevated itself, his eyes enlarged and became
purple with haughty command.

“I have spoken,” he said.

Instantly Aidzu bowed deeply, but into his
face there crept a malignant expression. He
then withdrew from the chamber. When he
was gone, the Emperor made a dignified gesture
of permission to Echizen.

“Sire, this young Prince Mori has devoted
his life to your cause, as have I,” he said, in
a low but passionate voice.

“Hush! not so loud,” said the Emperor, with
a slight shiver. “Wait.”

With quick footsteps he crossed to the door
and flung it violently aside. There was none
without.

“Proceed,” he said, almost in a whisper.

Echizen lowered his voice still more.

“Sire, the Prince of Mori did not incite these
massacres, but protested strongly against
them.”

“The proofs! Quick—the proofs!”

Echizen quietly withdrew his sword from his
belt. Its point he applied to his own breast.
Upon his knees he offered its hilt to his master.
// 313.png
.pn +1

“Sire, my life is at your service, now as
ever,” he said.

The Emperor bent upon him a gaze that in
a man of genius would have shown his soul.

“I believe you,” he muttered. Then to himself:
“Whom may I, of a truth, believe—whom
may I trust?”

The Prince of Echizen, regaining his feet,
continued:

“These massacres were the work of a ronin—Hasuda—who
is all for the cause, although
an unauthorized agent. By this deed, however,
he and his men will aid the cause.”

“How?”

“They will embroil the shogunate with the
powers—the shogunate, which is responsible
to the foreigners for the peace.”

“But the shogunate had naught to do with
these burnings and killings.”

“True,” said Echizen, smiling slightly,
“but think you that the silly foreigner is possessed
with your penetration, sire? At the
burning of the foreign houses the ronins cried
in the name of the shogunate.”

“A stroke, truly,” said the Emperor,
thoughtfully.

And having dared this observation the cautious
Emperor hastened to qualifications.

“That is,” he began, “that is—” Then,
remembering the presence of Mori, “What is
his errand?” he asked.

Mori stepped forward. His head was thrown
// 314.png
.pn +1
back. The Shining Prince had forgotten
again that he was in the presence of the
Mikado.

“I have come to urge a national necessity
upon your Majesty,” he said.

“What is that?”

“To urge your Majesty to give an order
for the expulsion of all foreigners within your
empire.”

“What!” exclaimed the startled Emperor.

Fervently Mori continued:

“The presence of these foreigners makes the
re-establishment of your Majesty in your
proper position impossible. They distract the
Imperialists from their purpose. Fear, or,
rather, uncertainty, in regard to them causes
the Imperialists to hesitate in attacking the
shogunate and forcing civil war upon the
country while these foreigners are upon the
soil. They have multiplied in such numbers
lately that all over the country the people protest
against the privileges granted to them by
the shogunate.”

“This sounds logical,” said the Emperor,
half to himself.

“Your Majesty, permit me to suggest that
the wrath of the foreigners, through the recent
acts in Yedo, will fall upon the shogunate.
This is well for us. We must take advantage
of these very acts of the ronins. Let us follow
them up by expelling the foreigner. If thou
wilt but issue such a command, a united country
// 315.png
.pn +1
will back you. The shogunate will fight
because it must, while we will do so for our
cause and our homes. Then, the foreigner
expelled, thou, sire, thou and the weakened
shogunate may reckon together.”

Eagerly Kommei listened to the Prince’s
words—eagerly, and with his eyes fastened
upon Mori’s face. Down dropped his head
in thought.

Echizen, seizing the opportunity, seconded
Mori’s appeal.

“Sire,” he exclaimed, “the shogunate must
fall through the foreigner. It cannot rest
upon the people. Already is it weakened.
Only give the command to expel the foreigner
and we will drive him into the seas. He will
attack the shogunate, and that once vanquished,
thou wilt reign and make peace,
perhaps friendship, with these foreigners.”

Still the weakened Emperor hesitated.

“I see clearly the results you foreshadow,”
he said, “but if any detail were to miscarry—”
He shrugged his shoulders and
shivered.

There was a sound at the door. The confidential
valet appeared.

“What is it?” demanded the Emperor, impatiently.

“Your Majesty,” said the valet, kneeling,
“the Shogun Kii, accompanied by the Lord
of Catzu, has entered the palace and craves
audience of your Majesty.”
// 316.png
.pn +1

The valet backed from the room, drawing
the sliding doors behind him.

Mori drew near to his sovereign until his
burning eyes held Kommei in an embrace of
enthusiasm.

“See—see, sire,” he said, slowly, strongly,
so that every syllable tore its way to the understanding
of the Mikado—“see, the shogunate
is already weakened. It comes creeping
to Kioto to give that nominal submission
to your Majesty ordained by custom to be paid
once a year, but deferred up to this day for
just two hundred and thirty years. Already
the shogunate, needing your divine support,
crawls. Crush it, sire—crush it!”

To Echizen the diplomat, this new development
in the situation had unfolded itself with
intuitive rapidity.

“Sire,” said Echizen, “I can tell your Majesty
what the shogunate will advocate.”

“What?”

“The closing of the ports and the sending
away of all foreigners.”

“But that is just the policy you advocate,”
said Kommei. “You will grant me that this
is suspicious,” he quickly added.

Echizen answered:

“Your Majesty, the shogunate, realizing its
own weakness, will outwardly identify itself
with a popular policy. In secret, it has its
own policy.”

“Sire,” interjected Mori, beseechingly, “I
// 317.png
.pn +1
pray you answer them with the majesty that
is Japan, and commit yourself to no policy
with them. Once they are gone, command the
expulsion of the foreigner, and we, your true
and faithful Imperialists, will obey you at once.”

The Emperor’s faith was still unsettled.
Their proposals he respected, but their loyalty
he distrusted.

“You, Echizen, and you, Mori,” he said,
abruptly, closing a period of silence and
thought—“I shall put you to the test. Come
with me to the audience-hall. If you have
fathomed the counsels of the shogunate, it
shall be as you wish.”

The Emperor left the chamber. Mori would
have taken the Mikado blindly at his word
and have followed him to the audience-hall,
but for the detaining grasp of Echizen.

“His Majesty means,” he explained, “that
we shall join him in the ante-room of the
audience-hall. He regains his own palace by
paths of which we must appear ignorant.”

Although transported with joy, and in a
state of mind that would permit of little restraint,
Mori was kept in the room by Echizen
until a sufficient time had elapsed. Then
Echizen conducted the Prince to his own quarters,
where both made suitable changes in
their attire. At the end of an hour the confidential
servants of the Mikado came in person
to summon them to the audience-hall.

Early as was the hour, the whole Kioto court
// 318.png
.pn +1
was astir to enjoy a profound sensation—the
coming of the Shogun to Kioto. The news
ran like fire through the palace, carried by
servants and masters alike. Courtiers hastened
to seek out the finery they too seldom
wore of late. The astute reasoned, and the
profound were dumb.

Some rumor of the events in Yedo had gained
strength. Even the least consequential felt
that a turn in fortune had come.

Within the spacious audience-hall, Echizen
and Mori found vantage spots on a side of
the Emperor’s screen, opposite to that occupied
by the sullen Aidzu. Mori now found that he
had enjoyed a privilege given to the few in
having seen the whole person of his Emperor.
Upon state occasions, only the face—or voice,
even—gave sign of the presence of the Son of
Heaven.

At the head of the hall a raised platform extended
across the entire breadth of the apartment.
To its edge there hung from the ceiling
richly embroidered curtains of heavy silk.
The design was that of a dragon whose two
frightful bodies met at the head, which occupied
the exact centre of the tapestry. The
closely observant eyes of Mori detected lines
near the head, showing that a square of the
material could be removed, leaving a small
opening. It was through this alone that the
Emperor, as the Shinto deity, received the
homage of his court.
// 319.png
.pn +1

There was a signal from the samurai who
acted as master of ceremonies. The outer
doors were pushed to either side to admit the
procession of the Shogun Kii, a boy scarce fifteen
years of age, and his numerous advisers,
ministers, and court. Among the richly
attired crowd of lords about him was Catzu,
plainly the virtual Regent, and head of the
bakufu.

The Shogun, the Lord of Catzu, and the
entire assemblage fell upon their knees at a
sign from the master of ceremonies.

There was a pause of expectation. Then
the square in the head of the dragon moved
aside. Dimly seen, appeared the upper portion
of the head of the Emperor Kommei Tenno.

The Lord of Catzu spoke while still kneeling,
without daring to gaze in the direction of the
Emperor behind the screen.

“Your Serene Majesty, Son of Heaven and
Father of Earth,” he said, unctuously, “the
insignificant shogunate desires, as of old, to
render its filial submission to thee, and to give
every evidence of its love and devotion.”

“It is well,” said a voice from within the
dragon’s head.

“The Shogun,” continued Catzu, after a
respectful pause, “as war lord of your Serene
Highness, desires to ask your Majesty’s permission
to banish all foreigners now in your
imperial realm as most noxious to your Majesty,
and to close again the ports of Nippon.
// 320.png
.pn +1
The Shogun has sent an embassy to Europe,
that this may be done without violence and
in dignity.”

This time there was no response from the
Mikado behind the tapestry. Catzu, having
paused an instant, resumed:

“Has your Serene Highness any commands
for his war lord?”

The voice issued again from the dragon
hangings. It was a trifle raised now, but
perfectly clear.

“It is decreed that the Prince of Echizen is
made premier to the Shogun, and first minister
in all our empire.”

Catzu was taken aback. His head, however,
was bent to the ground in submission.

“Thou art the Son of Heaven,” he said,
while rage choked his throat.
// 321.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
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[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXXVI
.ni
.if h
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.il fn=ch-a.jpg w=200px align=l
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.if-
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AT
.if-
last Prince Echizen, the new
premier, and the Prince Mori
completed all arrangements for
the issue and execution of
the order promised by the Mikado.
.pi
It was agreed between the
two and their Imperialist allies
that when the bell within the
Emperor’s private belfry should
sound, the transport of troops
and cannon to Shimonoseki, in
Choshui, should begin. When
the hour struck, a vast army of
laborers should move in the
same direction, to build fortifications
under the direction
// 322.png
.pn +1
of Mori, for there a foreign fleet was now
lying.

It was also agreed that everywhere within
sound of the bell the order of the Emperor
for the expulsion of the foreigners should be
heralded and placarded by agents in waiting
for this purpose.

The Emperor, in spite of the protests of
Aidzu, whom he distrusted but dared not remove
as yet from his governorship of the city,
still held to his promise. Having once gained
that promise, Echizen had troubled him as
little as possible, knowing that to succeed, he
must seek the Emperor last of all.

Mori, on his part, had sent to the forces he
had ordered to march on Yedo, other commands
that bade them halt until he himself
should join them. They would be the flower
of his force against the foreigner.

Knowing that Aidzu would interfere with
his own person, if need be, to prevent the issuing
of the edict of expulsion, Echizen, on the
afternoon of the day decided upon, caused it
to be whispered about the court that two days
hence he would give the signal. He thought
thus to put Aidzu off his guard, for he knew
that the shogunate meant nothing by its
formal request of the Mikado. Meeting popular
demand, it had advocated the banishment
of foreigners through diplomatic negotiation
which signified little. Echizen knew
that the shogunate desired open ports, and
// 323.png
.pn +1
thought it extremely unlikely that the Mikado
would issue any expulsion decrees in response
to their statement.

That night Mori and Echizen met the Emperor
by secret appointment. Aidzu was not
in sight. The three took the way to the belfry,
which stood near the outer wall on the western
side of the court enclosure. The path lay
through a garden little used save by the Emperor
alone. Down the hill-side it went through
a field of iris to the temple belfry, a low building
set on the ground, not in a tower.

The Emperor was still doubtful, even while
on the way to issue the order.

“Is it the best thing to do?” he repeated,
fretfully.

“The only thing,” replied Mori, firmly.

“There is no other course,” insisted Echizen.

The wind, stirring in the tree-tops, swayed
the shadows gloomily from side to side.

“What is that?” exclaimed the Emperor,
halting in alarm.

“Only the wind, sire,” answered Mori.

“Come,” repeated Echizen.

Arrived at the belfry, the Emperor, gathering
his cloak closely about him, stepped gingerly
upon its broad platform, and stood there
doubtfully regarding the swaying iron chain,
from which was suspended, close to the bell,
the heavy metal hammer.

“I am to draw this back,” mumbled Kommei,
stupidly.
// 324.png
.pn +1

“You are to draw it back as far as the
chain will permit, your Majesty,” answered
Mori. “Do, I beg your Majesty, ring; sound
the signal at once.”

The Emperor, stretching out his hand, reached
for the chain with its swinging hammer.
A form burst from out the iris bed behind
him. In alarm, the trembling Kommei dropped
the chain.

“Quick!” whispered Mori, excitedly. “Ring,
sire—ring!”

“Ring, sire!” repeated Echizen, frantically.

But the Emperor was staring with fascinated
gaze into the face of Aidzu, who stood beside
him.

“Do nothing of the kind, sire,” he panted,
heavily. “Do nothing of the kind. It means
ruin to the empire.”

“It means ruin to your enemies, sire,” cried
Echizen.

“It means death,” said Aidzu.

“It is the doom of the shogunate,” cried
Mori.

Still the Emperor hesitated and shivered.

Again there was a sound of running feet.
Suddenly a boyish figure leaped into the group
of men and sprang upon the belfry platform.
A quick hand drew back the swinging hammer
to the full length of the chain. Then releasing
it, the hand shot the hammer straight
and true at the bell’s heart.

The signal, reverberating heavily, far-sounding,
// 325.png
.pn +1
floated into the distance, filling the air
with its sombre zoom! gohn! gohn! gohn!

A slender boy knelt at the Emperor’s feet.

“Your Majesty commanded me to ring,”
said a voice.

Mori, peering forward, recognized in an
instant the boy Jiro. A great lump welled
up in his throat, choking him with the intensity
of his emotion.

“Treason! Kill him!” shrieked Aidzu.
“Your Majesty gave no such command.”

Nettled at the air of constant authority about
Aidzu, the Emperor forgot his caution. Perhaps,
too, the deed of the boy had touched
him, just as it had relieved him of embarrassment.

“I so commanded,” he said.

“But your Majesty spoke no words,” ejaculated
the infuriated Aidzu.

“The Son of Heaven need not speak by word
of mouth to be understood,” was the exasperating
and perfectly dignified response of the
Mikado.

Forgetting himself in his rage, Aidzu turned
to Echizen and Mori.

“I will thwart your plans yet, be assured,
my lords.”

Mori drew himself up proudly, and throwing
back his head, surveyed the governor contemptuously.

“It is too late,” he said. “Listen!”

From all quarters of the city about the
// 326.png
.pn +1
palace there came the sound of stirring movement.
At first the noises mingled in confusion
and were indistinguishable. Gradually,
as their several origins receded and drew
apart, they became capable of separate identification.
Off to the west a large body of horsemen
were fiercely galloping. To the east the
tread of men marching in regular formation
shook the ground. Farther south there was
the indistinct tramp of distant horses, mingled
with the metallic clank of gun-fittings.
Cannon were being moved.

The march to Shimonoseki had begun.
// 327.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXXVII
.ni
.if h
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.il fn=ch-i.jpg w=200px align=l
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IT
.if-
was the last stage of Mori’s
march to his seaport of Shimonoseki.
In the extreme rear, with
a mounted force lately assembled
under the direction of Toro,
the Prince of Mori rode. Near
him were Jiro and his ever-constant
guardian, the samurai
Genji, also mounted. An empty
norimon, which served as a
travelling council-house, was
borne by runners in advance of
this, the rear-guard.
.pi
The march of the expedition
was slow, since it was regulated
by the pace of the laborers who
preceded the main body, as they
// 328.png
.pn +1
were to throw up the intrenchments without
which the cannon of the Mori foundries were
useless.

The division of laborers marched immediately
behind the advance-guard. Feeling
little apprehension of attack from the objective
direction of their march, Mori had thrown his
strength to the rear. Here, in addition to the
cavalry forces, were the cannon brought from
his provinces and those furnished by the
Prince of Echizen.

Over all a moon, screened by a filmy cloud,
spread its diffused light, which rendered Mori
impatient to begin the work of intrenchment,
since much might be accomplished before the
foreign ships could learn of the Imperialist
plans.

When Mori and Jiro, leaving the discomfited
Aidzu and the vacillating Emperor together,
had rushed from the palace enclosure
to mount the horses provided by Echizen just
outside, there had been no time for explanations.
Mori was not even surprised to find
Jiro joined by Genji before they had galloped
a mile. He had become accustomed to the
association of these two in a convenient comradeship.

The first work of that night had been the
posting of mounted guards in advance and
in the rear of the laborers, assembled by Echizen.
This done, the three had galloped to the
division of the cannon, which was hurriedly
// 329.png
.pn +1
organized into some semblance of individual
batteries and despatched after the proletariat
division.

Then in a wild, quick dash across the country
the Prince of Mori had marshalled his infantry,
swordsmen, and riflemen from the scattered
columns into one compact corps. Time
was now pressing, but the Shining Prince had
yet to converge his parallel lines of cavalry.

Fearing that the unstable Emperor, in some
new doubt of expediency, might yet despatch
other troops to recall him, Mori placed his
strongest cavalry body under the command
of Genji in the rear.

While waiting for one of these divisions to
file past him, Mori, turning suddenly to Jiro,
asked:

“How came you into the Emperor’s palace,
Jiro?”

“It was simply done,” replied the lad. “I
returned with the couriers sent by you to your
forces from the fortress of Mori.”

“You came in good time,” Mori said, in
quiet commendation.

The distribution of the various forces completed,
Mori, ordering Genji to exercise a general
oversight until his return, had turned to
gallop back to the palace. He had gone but
a short distance, however, when he found that
the lad Jiro was close behind him.

“Return to Genji’s cavalry division,” he
ordered, briefly.
// 330.png
.pn +1

“But, your highness, I am your personal
armor-bearer; I must accompany you.”

The hard-riding form of Genji at this moment
had dashed forward. Mori was astounded
at this singular disobedience.

“What, you!” he had cried. “You leave an
army to care for itself!”

“But the lad—Jiro,” said Genji.

“Is he, then, so precious that you endanger
the safety of a whole cause? Return at once,
both of you, to your stations.”

Without a word more, Mori rode to the palace
to confer with Echizen. He found the premier
greatly troubled.

“Mori,” he said, “I cannot prevail upon the
Emperor to make me his own premier as well
as that of the Shogun. Already he is weakening.
You must expect little aid from me
now, since I will be under the Shogun. I may
aid you unexpectedly, but rely upon nothing
more than my willingness. Undoubtedly, efforts
will be made to interfere with you, but disregard
them. Obey the order you have received, and
allow no Shogun to countermand it. The foreigners
once aroused, the rest will come in time.”

So it was with an anxious heart that Mori
rode in the rear of his forces on the last stage
of the journey. Up to this time nothing untoward
had occurred. He had met and joined
to his army the forces under Toro, ordered
earlier to proceed from the Mori fortress to
Yedo. All was well with them.
// 331.png
.pn +1

The melancholy of the Prince was broken
by the entrance through a sudden opening
made in the group of his horsemen of some
strange samurai. Straightway these samurai,
having delivered to him some rolls of parchment,
were dismissed to the advance.

The general staff of Mori, which included
Genji, Toro, and the boy Jiro, were summoned
about the Prince for council.

Mori, who had dismounted from his horse,
spread out upon the ground and examined by
the light of a lantern the plans of the heights
overlooking Shimonoseki. Quickly he marked
upon their surface black spots.

“Here you will dig your trenches,” he ordered
Toro. “It is time for the work.”

The heights overlooking the water below
were entered first by the advance-guard, now
under Mori in person. A cordon was placed
about them, with every approach from the
land guarded. Into the large circle thus formed
Toro led the laborers under their direction.
At once the trained pioneers began the erection
of earthworks upon a system imparted by Mori
to Toro, and from the latter direct to the chief
pioneers. The entire space of the immense
circle was soon filled by the burrowing, grubbing
laborers.

While these were sinking holes on the landward
side, it became apparent that no raised
fortifications were to be made a target for
ships. The hills themselves were cut into, but
// 332.png
.pn +1
always upon the landward side, leaving their
natural elevation towards the sea. Thus the
guns would lie in a pit below the surface of
the highlands. The walls were all within.

Mori’s next task was the formation of the
infantry into another circle to the landward
of that occupied by the pioneers. Into the
centre of it the cannon were drawn, where
they were to remain until the trenches were
ready for their occupancy. The remaining
force of cavalry was massed at a convenient
station, whence they could be sent quickly to
any desired point.

Now at last there came a period of inaction
for Mori. The pioneers were making full
speed, but nothing further could be done until
the trenches were completed. In this breathing
space Mori rode apart from all his forces,
dismissing his temporary staff to their tasks
of oversight.

Upon a lonely bluff the Prince dismounted,
where he was able to make out indistinctly
the foreign ships of war at anchor below. Concerning
their identity he was little informed.
He knew several nationalities were represented,
since the advent of the Americans had
drawn English, Dutch, French, and Russian
men-of-war to the coast. At least four nations
must be represented in the little fleet that
stretched out yonder over the water.

“It little matters,” said Mori. “They may
be American, English, French, or Russian,
// 333.png
.pn +1
but they are all foreigners, and desire to encroach
upon our sacred realm.”

As he turned away from the water a young
officer of his staff saluted him.

“Many trenches are now prepared, your
highness,” he said.

At once the task of installing the guns was
begun. Out from their guarded circle they
were drawn. The horses originally transporting
them were aided by the cavalry mounts,
while footmen pulled enthusiastically at the
wheels as they sank into the trampled mire
or were blocked by natural obstructions.

Once within the pits destined for their reception,
the guns were levelled and adjusted
by men from Mori’s works. The crews appointed
to each gun were composed of the
followers who had come from the Mori fortress.

Dawn found much of the work completed.
The trenches were fashioned, the guns within
the pits, and the cavalry in their appointed
station. The outer cordon of guards was instructed
to dismount and to recline, horse and
man, so that nothing suspicious could be seen
from the decks of the vessels below.

Within the trenches the adjustment of the
heavy pieces was in progress, together with
the levelling of a gun platform or the furtive
sighting of a gun. Such of the infantry as
were not engaged in this employment were
thrown out as scouts on the landward side,
// 334.png
.pn +1
that no Shogun force might attack them in
the rear.

Mori now made a round of inspection within
the fortress. Seeing that a number of the
guards were in position for their final firing
elevation, the Prince called Toro to him.

“Let the crews be drilled,” he ordered, “but
without raising the guns above the tops of the
trenches.”

The young and impetuous Toro gave his
orders speedily. The crews were thus familiarized
with their pieces.

During the course of the forenoon it was
observed that the foreign fleet changed its
position, standing off from land, and that two
vessels left the squadron and disappeared
around the headland.

“They are in communication with the Shogun’s
people,” said Mori, aloud.

“Catzu will be upon us shortly,” said a
voice at his elbow.

Turning, Mori found the youth Jiro. His
eyes warmed with interest as he regarded
kindly the boy who, with the spirit of a samurai,
had never faltered in his service. Feeling
strangely drawn towards Jiro, the Prince
looked about him for some piece of especial
employment to give him as a token of favor.

“Ah, my boy,” said he, “there is a rare
spirit within thee. Would that thou wert a
man.”

Hot blood colored the cheeks of the boy.
// 335.png
.pn +1

His eyes clouded, then his head drooped forward.

“My lord,” he faltered, almost tremulously,
“I am indeed a man, I do assure you.”

Mori smiled.

“Only a boy, Jiro, that is all. But see yonder,
they are bringing in the last and largest
of the guns. Do thou attend its mounting.”

“And after,” asked Jiro—“after it is mounted,
my lord, who is then to have charge of it?”

“Perhaps thou also,” replied Mori, still
smiling.

“I thank thee, my lord,” said Jiro, bowing
deeply and hurrying away.

The Prince was still standing there, smiling
across the water, when Oguri, his chief of staff,
approached him, and bowing low, awaited his
pleasure.

“What is it, Oguri?” he asked.

“Your highness, the Lord of Catzu is at the
outer guard-post, announcing that he comes
with a message from the Shogun.”

Mori’s brows darkened.

“Tell him,” he ordered, “that we know no
Shogun here,” and turned again to the water-front.

In a flash he saw that the foreign fleet was
approaching a spot opposite his position.

Oguri maintained his place.

“Will you not see him?” he asked.

The sight of the fleet changed the determination
of Mori.
// 336.png
.pn +1

“Tell my Lord of Catzu that I will see
him outside the works, as Lord Catzu simply.
Have him conducted outside, if you
please.”

The Lord of Catzu was brought to the spot
mentioned by the samurai deputed by Oguri.
Mori met him coldly. When Catzu offered
credentials from the Yedo government the
Prince waived them aside.

“No credentials are necessary, my lord,”
he said. “I receive you as a private individual.”

“I come as an official,” returned Catzu.

“What is it you wish to say to me?” inquired
Mori, in as haughty a tone as his own.

“As a representative of the Shogun, I order
you to disarm. The shogunate alone makes
peace and war.”

“I have the sanction, the command, of the
only master I acknowledge—his Serene Majesty
the Mikado.”

Catzu still breathed heavily from his labored
ascent of the hill, for the Mori men had refused
to permit him the attendance of even his runners.

“Do you still refuse to obey the august
Shogun?” he cried, testily and with difficulty.

“I obey the Mikado,” returned Mori.

“Disarm!” roared the now infuriated Catzu.

Mori raised his hands as though in preparation
for a signal. He held them aloft as
he shouted:
// 337.png
.pn +1

“I shall give you my answer with awful
effect, your highness.”

Sharply Mori lowered his hands. The sally-port
facing them crashed sharply open, disclosing
the interior of the lately erected fortifications.

“Look, my Lord of Catzu.”

In trepidation Catzu looked about him. The
silent, absorbed patriots were at their guns.
Directly across from the sally-port within the
works the gun of Jiro had been placed in position.
The youth bent forward, was sighting
the piece, while Toro, arms akimbo, stood back,
approval written upon his face.

“Guns and men,” muttered Catzu; then,
catching sight of Toro, he almost rushed upon
him. Toro, surprised, turned about and faced
his father.

“Thou recreant son!” roared the senior Lord
of Catzu. Meeting his father’s eyes squarely,
Toro kept silence.

“Thou art,” said Catzu, “truly a vicious
product. Hast thou forgotten all the precepts
of honor taught thee from childhood? Thou
art no son of mine, nor indeed of Japan, for
what man can be a patriot with honor who sets
his father at defiance? It is admitted by even
those more ignorant than thou that a true son
owes his first allegiance in life to his parent.”

“Nay, my lord,” replied Toro, quickly.
“You do labor under a mistake. The first
allegiance a son of Japan owes to any man is
// 338.png
.pn +1
that claimed of him by his supreme master,
the Emperor. Banzai, the Mikado!”

Mori stepped quietly before the enraged
Catzu.

“Now, my Lord of Catzu,” he said, “you
shall have my answer.”

As he spoke, he caught up a light rifle from
a guard at the gate and fired into the air. Instantly
the crews, with hoarse cries, elevated
their pieces until their muzzles stood above
the breastworks; carefully they trained them
upon the ships.

“Ready, my lord,” shouted Toro.

“Ready, my lord,” echoed Oguri.

Mori made a sign. Instantly a heavy discharge
rent the air and shook the ground
whereon they stood.

Jiro, at his gun, directly before Mori and
Catzu, himself applied the match, and then,
stepping back, squinted along the piece to
see the effect of his fire. The ball broke a foremast
on the leading vessel. In consternation
Catzu left the place, the design of the crafty
Mori to embroil him with the enemy through
his accidental presence dawning upon him.

For upward of an hour the firing continued.
At the end of that period the ships drew off
from range. Mori, elated at having held his
own against the foreigners, and now certain
of the consequences of his action, withdrew
his people from the batteries. That night the
army rested, for Mori knew that the foreigners
// 339.png
.pn +1
would lay the cause of the bombardment to the
shogunate and make new demands upon it.

The next day a courier from the Kioto court
entered his works.

“It is some new mark of the Mikado’s regard,”
cried Toro, impulsively.

Sadly Mori smiled.

“I fear me it is,” he said.

With a calm face and firm hand Mori opened
the despatch. His face darkened.

“What is it?” cried Toro.

“We are branded as outlaws,” answered
Mori, his spirit quite gone, a deathly pallor
creeping over his face. “We are forbidden to
approach the Imperial city.”

“Aidzu?” whispered Jiro, almost in tears.

“Yes, Aidzu,” repeated Mori.

.tb

A garrison was left in the works in charge
of Oguri, who was to make more intrenchments.
Mori, with his cavalry and footmen,
accompanied by Toro, Jiro, and Genji, returned
inland that night to the fortress of the Prince.
// 340.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXXVIII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-w1.jpg w=200px align=l
ITHOUT
.if-
.if t
WITHOUT
.if-
the Imperial city of
Kioto, in an open field, lay encamped
a little army of thirteen
hundred men. It was some
months following the decisive
action of Mori at Shimonoseki.
Imperialists of the neighborhood
could not have told who the
commander of this force was.
They were known simply as
the “Irregulars.”
.pi
Small as was the force, it was
admirably trained and drilled
in all three of its divisions of
cavalry, infantry, and artillery.
Each division was the flower
and choice of some larger body.
// 341.png
.pn +1
The force, which had remained in inaction for
a considerable period, showed nevertheless a
state of ruling vigilance, whether for attack
or defence could not have been told from its
appearance.

The camp was in the shape of an elongated
circle, whose circumference was regularly defined
by field-pieces set at regular intervals,
and trained to oppose any invading force.
Near each cannon were tethered the horses furnishing
the motive power. Hard by, stretched
upon the ground, or lounging within the
scant shadows of the gun-carriages, were the
artillerymen. Infantry guards, in armor, and
for the most part armed with rifles, patrolled
the space without the circle. Other soldiers
and samurai, armed only with swords, sat in
the openings of tents assigned to their division,
or occupied the time in sword exercise in the
open spaces between their shelters. Near the
centre of the encampment were assembled the
horses of the cavalry division, saddled and in
complete readiness for their riders, who lounged
near by.

Within a short stone’s-throw of the horsemen
was pitched what seemed, from its commanding
position on a little eminence, the tent
of the commander of the “Irregulars.” Close
by its entrance stood an enormous samurai,
whose naked sword was held lightly, carelessly,
in his hand. In conversation with him
stood a hardy youth, attired as a cavalryman.
// 342.png
.pn +1

The curtains of the tent on the eminence
were parted deftly, and the slight figure of a
boy hastened towards the two.

“My Lord of Catzu,” he said, “the Prince
Mori desires your presence, and that of you
also, Sir Genji.”

Toro smiled at the youth’s ceremoniousness.

“Is there news, my Jiro?” he asked.

“Oguri, as you know, has arrived from the
south, and our enemies have reported concerning
the condition of the city.”

The three hastened within, where they found
Oguri and Mori.

“Now, then, Oguri, your news,” commanded
Mori.

“Your highness,” said Oguri, “the British
have bombarded Kagoshima as a result of our
attack upon the foreign fleet.”

“Kagoshima!” exclaimed Mori—“the capital
of our old friend Satsuma. Then, indeed,
have we brought trouble upon our allies.”

Other members of Mori’s staff sent through
Kioto reported the results of their investigations.
The premier Echizen had abolished the
custom of the daimio’s compulsory residence
in Yedo during a portion of each year, and now
all these territorial lords resided in Kioto.
Within the Imperial palace of Kommei Tenno
the Lord Aidzu appeared to have controlling
influence. The Lord of Catzu was there with
him in consultation. Troops of the Aidzu clan
had arrived at the palace in great numbers
// 343.png
.pn +1
and were encamped in the flower-gardens.
Though loathing the shogunate, the Mikado
appeared to be completely under its control.

Having ascertained these facts, Mori dismissed
all the staff save Oguri, Toro, Genji,
and Jiro.

“No answer has come to our petition?” he
asked.

The four shook their heads.

“None,” they said.

“You have heard the reports,” continued
Mori, “and will perceive that the Aidzu-Catzu
party, now in possession of the Emperor’s
person and the palace, are determined upon
something. These constant arrivals of new
troops, the silence of the Mikado to our petition,
the crowding of the palace with armed
samurai—all these things mean that we are
to be punished for having petitioned the Mikado
to remove from us the ban of outlaw.”

“Then, your highness,” broke in Toro,
“since the petition was not signed by you,
but came from us, your followers, they may
now know of your arrival here, and may be
preparing to send out an expedition against
you in the south.”

“No,” replied Mori, “I think they know I
am here with you, and propose to attack me
at once here in my camp. Now, my friends,
the time has come for me to disclose to you the
real purpose of this expedition. We have respectfully
petitioned the Mikado to admit us
// 344.png
.pn +1
again to his favor. He is silent. He is surrounded
by his enemies. We must attack the
palace and rid it of the Aidzu-Catzu combination,
thus allowing the Mikado once more
to become a free agent.”

Oguri and Genji leaped to their swords.

“Now, on the instant, my lord,” they cried.

Mori answered, calmly:

“No; we must first gain some knowledge of
the exact plans of those within the palace.
I want a volunteer for this service.”

Simultaneously the four cried out for the
service. Mori considered.

“No, not you, Toro; you would be recognized
too quickly; nor you, Oguri, for you are
needed sorely here. Perhaps you, Genji, but
you are too large.”

“I am small. The task is mine,” broke in
Jiro. “I will go.”

“Not without me,” said Genji.

“Why not without you, Sir Genji?” inquired
Mori, mildly. “The boy Jiro needs no guardian.
He has proved his valor and discretion
upon many an occasion.”

With a smile whose influence was ever potent
with the Shining Prince, Jiro moved nearer
his commander. He said, gently:

“Permit Sir Genji to accompany me. I have
resources within the palace I need not speak
of now, which will insure me complete safety,
but I would ask that the samurai be placed”—he
smiled boyishly—“under my command, so
// 345.png
.pn +1
that if I am forced to remain within the palace
he may carry to you whatever news I may
gain.”

“What do you mean?” inquired Mori.
“What resources can you have in the Mikado’s
palace?”

The lad, stammering, blushed.

“My lord,” he said, “you know I visited the
palace before, and—and—”

He broke off in confusion.

“As you will,” said Mori, turning aside.

An hour later the samurai Genji strode
through the eastern gate of Kommei Tenno’s
palace, accompanied by a young woman with
the air of a princess. They were allowed to
pass, while Genji answered the challenge of
the guard readily.

“Of the household of the Lord Catzu,” he
said, pointing to the young woman. “My
lord’s apartments?”

The guard indicated the house in which the
Lord Catzu had temporarily taken up his residence.
Without further challenge, the two
reached the door of Catzu’s private apartment.
The guard at the door, recognizing the two,
ushered them into the presence of the Lord
Catzu.

They found him before a table on which were
spread plans and letters. In irritation at being
disturbed in the midst of some important employment,
Catzu glanced up from his scrolls.

His face became purple with astonishment
// 346.png
.pn +1
and mingled emotions. From the caverns of
flesh surrounding his puffy cheeks his little
eyes gleamed. He stared at the two with his
mouth agape. They regarded him smilingly.
Finally Catzu gasped out:

“By the god Bishamon!” and again lapsed
speechless.

The woman, advancing, knelt at his feet.

Catzu lifted her into his arms.

“Wistaria!” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” she smiled up at him. “It is indeed
Wistaria.”

Catzu held her at arm’s-length.

“Ah, my lady,” he chuckled, wagging his
head at her, “it is plain to be seen that a religious
life has dried your tears and honorably
mended a foolish heart-break. The mountains
have made you as rosy as its flowers
and as strong and hardy as its trees.”

“And thou, dear uncle?” she inquired.
“Thou, too, seemest in good health and
spirits.”

Catzu sighed, somewhat out of keeping with
his fat and happy appearance.

“Alas, my dear Wistaria,” he said, “your
poor old uncle has suffered much.”

“But how?” asked Wistaria with feigned
surprise.

A tear appeared in Catzu’s eyes and rolled
over his puffed cheeks.

“I have lost my graceless son,” he said.

“My uncle!” said Wistaria, sympathetically,
// 347.png
.pn +1
while she looked past him at Genji with a
knowing glance.

Catzu also turned towards Genji.

“And you, Sir Genji, what became of you?
Now, sir, tell me how it comes that you are
here with my lady niece.”

“My lord,” answered Genji, “I joined my
lady, summoned by a messenger at Yokohama,
on the day of the reception in the
Treaty House. I turned my prisoners over to
another. I trust they were deservedly punished
for their offence.”

“Nay,” said Catzu, “they escaped. But
no matter. And you, Wistaria, have you any
love left for that husband of yours who deserted
you on your wedding-day, or have the
mountains and the gods taught you of his
baseness?”

Wistaria’s features darkened in seeming
hate.

“I could kill him,” she said. Under her
breath she added, “Forgive me.”

The Lord Catzu appeared satisfied and turned
to Genji.

“You may resume your old place in my
train. There will be work for you soon.”

Genji bowing, withdrew.

“Uncle,” said Wistaria, “tell me what your
words just now meant?”

“Presently, presently,” returned Catzu. “I
have good news for you. But, first, what of
yourself?”
// 348.png
.pn +1

Wistaria shrugged her pretty shoulders.

“Oh, of myself there is little to tell. I grew
tired of the service of the temple. Thou knowest
that I was never meant for a priestess.
Thou didst use to declare,” she added, smiling
roguishly, “that the gods designed me
for the court.”

“True, true,” said Catzu, regarding her
fondly, “and more than ever I declare it.
Thou hast budded into a very beautiful woman,
my little niece. But continue. Thou
wert tired of the temple—yes?”

“Well, I thought I had surely offered up
sufficient supplication to the gods to have
saved a hundred ancestors and parents’ august
souls. So I sent for Genji, and have, as
thou seest, returned unto thee.”

“Thou didst well. And, what is more, it
shall be my task to punish your husband.”

Wistaria averted her face for a moment.
Then seating herself on the floor, comfortably
against his knee, she raised to him innocent
eyes.

“Punish him? Why, how can that be,
honorable uncle?”

“He is encamped near by with a rebel army,”
said Catzu, lowering his voice confidentially;
“the day after to-morrow we send an army
of chastisement against him under the valiant
Prince of Mito.”

“The Prince of Mito,” repeated Wistaria,
half aloud.
// 349.png
.pn +1

“Yes, a brave nobleman I desire to become
your husband in time. You will be free ere
long, I do assure you.” Catzu chuckled confidently.

“What is the offence of—of—this rebel?”

“Your husband dog? He conspires against
the Mikado. Oh, we shall drive him out.”

An attendant, interrupting them, ushered in
Aidzu. Wistaria slipped to the door. Catzu
recalled her.

“Thou mayest remain, niece. Hear our
plans. They closely concern thee.”

“I will return in a moment; but Genji has
my perfume sack, which I desire.”

Outside the door, Wistaria spoke in an excited
whisper to Genji.

“Quick, Genji, you must hasten back to the
camp without delay. Tell the Prince that an
army of chastisement under the young Prince
of Mito will attack him the day after to-morrow.
You yourself have seen the forces in the gardens.
Go to the camp at once. Make your
report and return then to me.”

“And thou, my lady?”

“I cannot return at this time without exciting
suspicion, perhaps hastening the attack
upon my lord by a day. I must remain. I
can be of service here.”

“I like not to leave thee,” said Genji, in great
doubt and perplexity.

“Nay, you must do so; I insist.”

“I cannot. My duty—”
// 350.png
.pn +1

“Ah, Genji,” remonstrated Wistaria, “the
devotion of a samurai is best proved by his
obedience. Go thou to the camp of my lord;
do, I beg—nay, I command thee.”

Genji bent his forehead to her hand, then
very slowly turned and left her.

Her uncle, grown impatient for his niece,
came into the ante-chamber.
// 351.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XXXIX
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-t.jpg w=200px align=l
HE
.if-
.if t
THE
.if-
report of the samurai Genji
caused an instant stir of preparation
throughout the camp
of Mori. The commanders of
the batteries inspected their
pieces carefully, giving orders
for hurried repairs where necessary;
horses were examined
foot by foot, and within the
tent of the Irregulars’ leader a
last council of the staff arranged
the details of an early morning
march. Then the rank and file
were sent to sleep upon their
arms.
.pi
“You are certain Jiro is
in no danger?” Mori asked,
// 352.png
.pn +1
just before the samurai’s return to the palace.

“None whatever,” answered Genji, “even
if I am not with him, your highness. He has
friends at court and may yet serve us further.”

Relieved in mind concerning the safety of
the youth, in whom Mori placed deep confidence
and for whom he had great affection,
the leader of the Irregulars returned to his tent.
There he found his staff, the leading kuge of
Choshui, still gathered, though the morning’s
attack had been thoroughly ordered.

Seating himself, Mori began the composition
of a memorial to the Imperial throne.
Glancing up, he saw his officers silently watching
him.

“What is it?” he inquired.

Oguri stepped forward. There was a strange
gravity and even sadness in his face as he
bowed deeply before his superior.

“Your highness,” he said, “our cause is
just, and history should accord us our proper
place when the anti-Shogun government is
established.”

“Yes.”

“But it is of the present we think.”

“Speak on.”

“The present esteem of our friends in the
Kioto court—we must advise them of our
purity of motive.”

Mori held up quietly the scroll upon which
he had been engaged. He replied:
// 353.png
.pn +1

“I have thought of that. At this moment
I am inditing a memorial to the throne, begging
his Imperial Majesty’s pardon for creating a
disturbance so near to the base of the chariot
(throne), but declaring that we do it that he
may rule without a Shogun, the sole and Imperial
master of his own empire.”

The officers looked at each other with solemn
expressions of approval.

“My lord,” said Oguri, “we would wish
also to write letters to our personal friends at
the Imperial court. May we have your august
permission to do so?”

“Do so at once, my brave men,” returned
Mori, “but do not forget that we cannot send
them this night, since that would warn them
of our contemplated attack. Leave your letters
with me. Write them here, if you wish,
and I will be responsible for their delivery.”

Then the company, careful of their honor
with their friends and foes alike at court, set
to their task. With tears in their eyes, the
patriots traced upon the paper words of devotion
to their country and their cause. Soon
a little pile of epistles lay under Mori’s hand.
Their valor was in no way diminished by this
satisfaction of their honor.

During the night Mori obtained some rest,
which was broken at intervals when bands of
ronins, who had devoted themselves since the
Yedo troubles to the extermination of anti-Imperialists,
came to his encampment, offering
// 354.png
.pn +1
their services in any movement against
the Aidzu-Catzu combination. So small was
Mori’s force that he would have been glad of
their aid, but for his unwillingness to stand
sponsor for their unlicensed acts.

At the hour when the Lord of Catzu was
unsealing a letter from his son, Toro, justifying
all his actions in the past, and at the same
time beseeching his father’s forgiveness, the
little force of Irregulars encircled the Imperial
palace.

The Lord of Catzu had read enough of the
letter to understand its import, when the movements
of the army without, accentuated by the
sharp cries of the guarding samurai, came to
his ears.

“There has been some strange treason here,”
cried Catzu, wildly, as he summoned his followers
to arms.

Mori’s plan of battle was simple. The force
had been divided into three divisions, commanded
by himself, Oguri, and Toro respectively.
It was not without misgivings that
the Prince had intrusted the command of a
division to the rash Toro, but the reflection
that his very temerity might be a valuable
element in the day’s events had decided
him.

Each of these divisions was to proceed to a
different gate, through which a simultaneous
attack upon the inner palace was to be made.
Those within were to be driven out by the
// 355.png
.pn +1
infantry into the streets, where cavalry and
artillery would cut and pound them to pieces.

The artillery was upon no account to be
directed against the palace itself, since the
life of the Son of Heaven and the safety of
the charging forces within might thereby be
imperilled. A portion of the artillery was
given to each division; the cavalry, acting as
one body, was to act as the circumstances
might require.

To himself and a band of chosen samurai,
Mori reserved the capture and guarding of
the Emperor’s sacred person.

At the western gate Mori halted the van of
his division, while the cavalry, closely compact,
rested on his right in readiness for their
orders. At his left was his artillery force,
so arranged that their fire should cut obliquely
the line of entrance.

The Irregulars who faced the samurai guarding
this port of entrance presented a far from
uniform aspect. They, the infantry of his
force, were all in armor, but their weapons
differed. Some carried rifles, others were
armed with spears, swords, and bows and
arrows. They were gathered into corps according
to the nature of their arms, but all were
infantry.

At a signal from Mori a rifle volley cut down
the samurai at the gate. Those who were
struck dashed through the portals, whence
issued audible proofs of the alarm felt within.
// 356.png
.pn +1

Instantly the ranks of the infantry parted
to permit the passage of a body of laborers
and sappers, who, attacking the gate with
their tools, gave promise of a speedy breach.

At the moment when one of the doors gave
way, when the infantry, straining every nerve,
waited couched for the charge, when Mori
in their rear gathered about him the picked
samurai he was to lead, there thundered from
a point across the palace directly opposite the
heavy detonation of artillery.

The commander was thrown into grave anxiety.
From its volume he knew that one of
his lieutenants, disobeying his orders, was
shelling the Imperial palace. The safety of
the Emperor, and his own good faith, were
equally endangered, since the death of the
Mikado would make him and his men choteki
(traitors) in the eyes of the nation.

Mori came to an instant decision. Even
at the cost of the utter failure of the storming
of the palace, such a false position must be
avoided. Committing the assault of the western
gate to a young officer, and bidding his
picked samurai follow him, he seized the horse
an attendant held for him, and galloped around
the angle of the palace wall.

When he came within sight of the central
gate of the eastern wall, Mori saw that Toro,
wearying of the slowness of his pioneers, had
ordered his artillery to batter down the doors.
One small volley had been fired when the
// 357.png
.pn +1
Prince, riding fiercely at the men serving the
guns, beat them down with the flat of his
sword.

“Remove these guns at once,” he shouted;
“you must not fire.”

Sheepishly the gunners picked themselves
up, as the horses dragged the pieces to one
side. Mori, dismounting, strode up to Toro,
now standing abashed before the very gate he
was to storm.

“You are superseded,” roared the enraged
Mori. “I give the command to—”

With a quick, almost superhumanly nervous
movement, the gates were thrust aside from
within. The black muzzles of cannon threatened
the now disorganized division of the
Irregulars.

“After me,” cried Mori.

A flying leap carried him across the line
of cannon. Out from their mouths belched
their fire. The invaders were swept aside.
Mori, striking terrible blows about him, ordered
his men to advance, when the Shogun
cannon were withdrawn, and a body of horsemen,
with savage cries, rushed from within
the palace, driving before them and scattering
the survivors of Toro’s division.

A horse felled Mori and tossed him aside.
As he struck the ground a gigantic samurai
seized his motionless form, threw it across his
shoulder, and carried it into the group of
palaces.
// 358.png
.pn +1

The body of chosen samurai who had followed
Mori, more slowly because on foot, now
came up, and made a disheartening stand.
A terrible cry arose that carried dismay, disorganization,
and defeat to all divisions of the
Irregulars.

“The Shining Prince is taken! Mori is
killed!” was shouted by some witless member
of Toro’s division.

Taken up by others, the report came to the
officers in whose charge the various divisions
had been placed. Although Oguri made
every effort to carry cohesion throughout the
force, the shout had done its work. Mori,
the Shining Prince, their invincible leader,
was dead, thought the rank and file. All was
lost. With such a spirit to combat, the officers
could do nothing.

A superstitious fear that the gods had deserted
them entirely for their sacrilegious act
of attacking the palace of their representative
on earth, the divine Mikado, added terror
to the Irregulars.

Some little advantage was gained here and
there by charges into the gardens of the palace,
but the great force of Aidzu easily repelled
them. Then pouring out into the streets,
the army of chastisement, under the young
Prince of Mito, cut asunder the already divided
and leaderless force of Choshui. Away from
the vicinity of the Imperial enclosure the
centre of battle rolled. The cavalry of Mori,
// 359.png
.pn +1
dashing about compactly, made charges that
were intended to rally the men of Choshui,
but fruitlessly. They alone, of all the bodies
of the Mori army, hung together.

The Shogun troop, having seized the cannon
of Toro’s division, turned them upon the Imperialists.
Fresh troops, ordered to the palace
some days before by Aidzu, now arriving,
overwhelmed by sheer swamping effect the
artillery of Mori, once their fire was drawn.
Most of Mori’s artillery was now in the hands
of the shogunates.

As the flood of fighting men surged through
the city of Kioto in diverse, disintegrating
directions, fire ingulfed large portions of the
city. A gale sprang up from the west, fanning
the work of incendiarism and cannon. Houses,
squares, streets, yashishikis of the visiting
daimios, whole districts were destroyed, while
the bakufu followers cannonaded and beat
to pieces the public store-houses, lest some
Choshui men should find hiding there. The
lowly Eta in their peaceful villages were driven
out and their houses consumed before the
breath of angry war. An Imperial city fell
almost to ashes and ruin in a day and night.

But scattered and isolated as they were,
the valorous men of Choshui, once they recovered
themselves from the disaster of the
palace, made a last, wild, determined resistance.

A party under Toro, now insane with grief,
// 360.png
.pn +1
occupied house after house and building after
building, as with their rifles they brought down
the enemy during a slow retreat, when they
fired every edifice they were forced to abandon.

Darkness drew no kindly curtain over the
red-heated stage of action. The light of vast
conflagrations gave sufficient illumination for
sword to meet sword in a shock broken only
by death. The houseless, homeless residents
of the city, non-combatants, fleeing to the hills
for their lives, deepened the tragedy of the
scene.

In the confusion of this isolated series of
battles, Oguri had come upon the cavalry
division. Vaulting into an empty saddle, he
took command. Diffused as the avenging
wave of the young Mito had now become, it
could be broken through in some single spot,
Oguri believed. The bakufu men thought
only of attack, not of being attacked.

Through a quarter of the town as yet untouched
by the fury of either party, Oguri led
the cavalry back towards the palace. Coming
upon Toro’s party, he added them to his forces.
But with his meeting of Toro he had chanced
upon a fighting zone. Through the cleared
space on which still smouldered the ruins of
buildings fired by Toro, Oguri directed a
charge against the infantry opposed to him,
and passed on. In this way, Oguri gained
gradually a passage towards the palace.
Whenever he came to a region of houses
// 361.png
.pn +1
from which he was attacked, Toro and his
followers, become pioneers and sappers, levelled
and set fire to them, clearing the way
for a new charge of Oguri’s horse.

Slowly, still undiscovered by the main body
of the enemy, they reached the palace.

Gray, dismal, haggard dawned the day, as
though fearing to look with sun eyes upon
the horror wrought by dark night. From
the burning city great mists of smouldering
débris hastened to veil, as though in sympathy,
the eyes of the lord of day.

Within the palace Mori came to consciousness.
He lay in a chamber looking upon
what he recognized as the inner court of the
Imperial palace. One hand wandered in convulsive
movements down his person. He
found that his armor was still upon him,
though loosened. Upon the floor by the side
of his divan lay his swords and helmet. Mori
fell, rather than rose, from the divan, and stood
dizzily, uncertainly erect. Then attempting to
raise his sword, he fell from weakness.

At the sound a woman came forward from
the recesses of the apartment. Mori regarded
her with delirious eyes. She seemed a white
phantom who had risen up in his path to taunt
him with her wondrous loveliness. But over
her there was the gauzy cloud of falsity. She
was a vampire.

“You are yourself?” she breathed, in soft
question.
// 362.png
.pn +1

Sullenly, dizzily, Mori raised himself, and,
with the motion of a drunken man, stooped
to his sword and helmet. Obtaining them,
he turned on the woman burning eyes.

“Touch me not,” he muttered. Then flinging
aside the door, and seeking the stairway
as if by instinct, he tumbled rather than walked
down the stairs.

He heard the tramp of horsemen without.
Brandishing his sword, he rushed into the
gardens. He was in the midst of Oguri’s
horsemen. The leader flung himself from his
horse and threw his arms about his disabled
chief.

Mori tottered into the arms of the chief of
his staff.

“Seize the Emperor!” he half moaned, half
gasped, in command; “then—retreat—south—back—to
our provinces.”

Anxious to retrieve himself in the eyes of
the army whose destruction he laid at his
own door, Toro set off for the building within
the court, shouting to his men, as Oguri
received the swooning Mori into his arms.

“Follow me! To the Emperor!” shrilly
cried Toro.

If any of the bakufu troops still remained
within the palace they did not show themselves
while Oguri, busied with Mori, let
his cavalry stand idly by. The footfalls of
Toro’s party resounded through the inner
quadrangle.
// 363.png
.pn +1

Within an inner chamber, crouching in
seeming fear, Toro found a figure dressed in
the garments his knowledge told him were
Imperial. He knew that the central, palace
was the Mikado’s residence. To the crouching
figure Toro made respectful obeisance.

“Oh, Son of Heaven, yield thyself to me.
I shall care reverently for thy person,” he
said.

The figure raised a pallid face, while trembling
lips murmured:

“Wouldst thou lay profane hands upon the
sacred person of thy Emperor?”

“It is he!” cried Toro, delighted. “Seize
him, my men, and carry him off.” He modified
his command to add: “Touch him with
respect, I command you.”

To Oguri they bore the still trembling man.
The lieutenant ordered him placed in a norimon,
where his sacred person might be shielded
from the scrutiny of his men.

“Is it indeed he?” Oguri questioned Toro.

“No doubt of it,” returned Toro. “He himself
admitted it.”

Oguri and Toro now consulted together as
to their next course. Mori was still insensible,
despite their efforts to arouse him. In
the reduced condition of their force, Oguri did
not deem it wise to remain longer, lest returning
bakufu hosts should spoil all. He could
not spare the men to carry an additional norimon.
He spoke thoughtfully:
// 364.png
.pn +1

“His highness, our beloved Prince of Mori,
is of royal lineage and blood himself, as thou
knowest, my Lord of Catzu. It will, therefore,
be meet that we place him within the same
norimon with the Son of Heaven.”

The body of their senseless leader was placed
in the norimon, while Oguri, in order to attend
to his wishes when he should regain consciousness,
was forced also to crowd into the
vehicle. Eight strong samurai lifted the carriage.

“Back to Choshui,” ordered Oguri, mindful
of the last order of his chief. Moreover,
the long march back to their base of supplies
was the best, and indeed the only course left
to them.

Three miles outside the city, Mori, moaning,
struggled in the arms of Oguri.

“All is lost! All is lost!” cried Mori, with
heart-breaking bitterness.

“Nay, my prince, my dear lord,” said Oguri,
in a voice as tender and soft as a woman’s,
“all is not lost. We were but a portion of our
one clan of Choshui. Our southern allies, our
friends, are only waiting to rally to thy aid.
Moreover, we have achieved a great triumph
over our enemies.” He lowered his voice.
“Your highness, we have honorably captured
the person of the Son of Heaven. See!”

He lifted with one hand the head of Mori,
while with the other he parted the curtains
of the norimon, letting in the strong light of
// 365.png
.pn +1
day, which shone upon the face of the figure
reclining on the opposite seat in the norimon.

Painfully Mori looked. His head fell back.

“Fools! Fools!” he mumbled. “You have
been tricked by the cunning Aidzu. That is
not the Emperor.”
// 366.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XL
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-f.jpg w=200px align=l
OR
.if-
.if t
FOR
.if-
two days the fleet carrying
the flags of four foreign nations
had bombarded Mori’s intrenchments
on the heights of Shimonoseki.
Towards the evening of
the second day, Mori cast up
the results.
.pi
Guns dismounted by the
foreign fire lay in heaps of
débris, the dead and the wounded
impeded the steps of the
living, and fully half of the
guns were out of action. Yet
steadily and fiercely the foreign
vessels, sweeping across the
fort’s line of fire in a wide circle,
one by one emptied their guns
// 367.png
.pn +1
into the fortress. Only a third of the garrison
now remained to Mori.

Again the Prince drew from his breast Jiro’s
brief letter, sent to him by Oguri, in charge
of the Choshui fortress, whither it had gone
from Kioto.

“My lord,” wrote Jiro, “your honorable
family, together with the two cadet families
of Nagate and Suwo, has been stripped of
all its titles. An order has been issued for
every loyal clan to march against you in your
southern stronghold. They are sending a vast
army against you. Be warned. It has already
departed for your province. Yet a little
cheer—a small light appears to me. The
Shogun’s troops, my lord, are garbed in Japanese
fighting attire. They are, moreover, far
from being a united or happy body of men.
There is sore dissatisfaction and unrest among
them. Many dislike the prospect of the long
journey to your province, many are secretly
opposed to the chastisement, many Kioto men
are entirely unfit for service. If you will
permit your insignificant vassal to suggest,
I would remark that it will be well for your
highness now to avail yourself of your many
years of labor in the perfection of the training
of your troops in the arts of Western warfare.
When the shogunate troops finally reach the
south, take advantage of their weakness.”

It was the month following Mori’s disastrous
expedition to Kioto, and the letter was now
// 368.png
.pn +1
many days old. As Mori bent his head in
restoring the letter to its place, a dull impact
shook the fortress. A shell from a heavy foreign
gun, striking the long cannon erected by
the youth Jiro at the previous bombardment,
bursting, rolled the bronze tube from the carriage
and swept it into a little knot of pioneers,
crushing and killing the majority of
them outright.

A bitter smile, torn from the heart of the
commander, curled his lips.

“Having defied the ‘civilized’ world, I little
fear the shogunate,” he said; “and yet I cannot
spend more time here. Our guns are dismantled.
That is an omen for retreat. It was
Jiro’s gun, and here is Jiro’s letter.”

Summoning his officers, the Prince gave
the order to evacuate the works. Horses were
attached to such of the guns as were worth
saving. Then, with these in the rear, the
remnant of the Shimonoseki garrison began
the march to the Choshui fortress.

Upon rejoining his chief in the latter’s private
apartment, Oguri had news to impart.

“It is a strange army, truly,” he said, “that
the Shogun has sent against us. They are
encamped near the highway, a good day’s
journey north of us.”

“A strange army, you say?” inquired Mori,
mindful of Jiro’s letter.

“Ay. Though all the clans were ordered to
march against us, but few have done so, and
// 369.png
.pn +1
they are sick, silly fellows, growling at having
to leave the court and its pleasures.”

“How are they armed? With rifles?”

“Some.”

“Artillery?”

“The pieces taken from us in Kioto.”

Mori was lost in reflection for some moments.
Then:

“Let all retire to rest at once.”

It was the middle of the afternoon.

Mori added, without pausing to explain to
his puzzled chief lieutenant the reason of his
strange order: “At dusk report to me.”

However large an army the Shogun might
have sent against the men of Choshui, the
fortress defenders with its attendant army
went to their unaccustomed rest without the
slightest fear. The fortress might now well
be considered impregnable. In addition to
its regular defensive works, constructed immediately
upon the return of Mori from his
melancholy wedding-day, there were now a
deep moat of great width constructed about
the whole region of the fortress, gun-factories,
and the works built by the Prince of
Satsuma.

All that afternoon the army of Mori slept.
The first hour of darkness saw a departure
from the fortress. First rode six companies
of horsemen, from whose body scouts were
thrown out. Next marched two thousand
infantry, all with rifles. They wore no heavy
// 370.png
.pn +1
armor, and as their company commanders
gave their orders, their tactics were seen to
be modelled upon European forms. Finally,
in the rear lumbered sixty field-pieces. Oguri
rode with the cavalry, directing the route of
the army. Close behind him was Toro, who,
since the affair of Kioto, was on intimate
terms of good-fellowship with the chief lieutenant.

Mori, attended at a distance by his staff,
rode in the centre of the infantry division.
The entire direction of the current routine he
left to his subordinates, riding moodily apart
from all. The men marched with firm and
light step. On their own soil they were more
assured and hopeful of the issue.

“Oguri,” asked Toro, as in perfect quiet they
advanced with their cavalry—“Oguri, how
may I atone for Kioto?”

“By following my orders closely,” answered
the serious Oguri. “You, with the cavalry,
are upon no account to charge before cannonading
begins.”

“I swear by the god of war I will not,”
promised Toro.

“You must move to the west at least four
miles, throwing out your scouts regularly.”

“I will. Only give me the chance. Was
not I responsible for the failure at Kioto?” said
Toro, his face quivering in spite of himself.

“Yes and no,” said Oguri; “but, at all
events, his highness has not held it against
// 371.png
.pn +1
you. He told me that after-events justified
you, since the enemy had artillery at your
gate.”

“But he allowed me no chance to explain
that I ordered the pioneers back when I heard
their artillery being brought up. I wanted to
check them at once.”

“The Prince has nothing but affection for
you,” said Oguri.

“Ah!” cried Toro, in delight.

The other smiled, half paternally, half reprovingly,
at the enthusiasm of youth.

“But you must restrain yourself during the
first half of your manœuvre,” said the chief
lieutenant; “during the latter part you may
give free rein to your impetuosity.”

As the first sharp light of the September
day began to make visible objects along the
highway, Oguri held out his hand to Toro.

“Now go,” he said, “and remember all I
have said to you. Now is your opportunity.”

Toro dashed a sleeve to his face. Then,
turning to his cavalry, he raised his sword in
command.

“Forward!”

Sharply turning, the six companies wheeled
due east, to disappear in the distance. The
main body advanced for two hours. Then
Oguri saw that Toro had reached the spot settled
upon in their plan of battle.

Mori, leaving the centre, came briskly up
with his staff, to assume the ordering of the
// 372.png
.pn +1
formation. The infantry were set out in two
close ranks. Back of them, in the centre, the
sixty field-pieces were assembled, their horses
tethered close by.

“Scouts!” called Mori to Oguri.

Scouts and skirmishers were thrown out.
All rested upon their arms.

The place was a broad and level plateau,
through whose middle the highway ran. Back
of Mori’s artillery rose a steady height which
the army had crossed. Facing the force, resting
upon its arms, the plateau stretched out
for a mile until a sharp descent came into view.
Up this the army of the bakufu must climb,
since the great highway was also there.

It was a time of idleness for Mori’s troops,
until towards noon, when the outposts reported
to the main body:

“The enemy is approaching.”

Mori issued a number of orders, the effect
of which was instantly seen. The artillery
horses were attached to the guns, the infantry
closed ranks. All stood at arms.

Oguri approached the Prince.

“Shall I send the guns to sweep them down
before they can gain the plateau?” he asked,
in excitement, as the natural advantages of
the place seized upon him.

“No, let them reach the plain and form in
their best order. I wish to crush them completely.”

Even when the first ranks of the enemy appeared,
// 373.png
.pn +1
Mori remained inactive. They formed
quickly and advanced. Still Mori remained
impassive.

When the bakufu troops had advanced half
of the mile separating the two armies, Mori,
turning upon the little eminence, whispered
in the ear of his youngest lieutenant. The
young man rode off at full speed to the artillery.

A moment more and the lines of infantry
split apart to allow the passage of forty guns.
At full gallop they rushed towards the enemy,
sending up great clouds of dust from the dry
plain as they sped on. Their carriages swayed
from side to side without disturbing the pose
of the impassive men seated there. The postilions
lashed their horses.

Mori faced his staff. He smiled with a
quiet smile.

“Now we shall see, my lords, how the line
holds.”

The officers addressed, thinking he referred
to the cannonading, looked for an unexpected
fire from the batteries. None came.
Straight and true towards the heart of the
enemy’s lines, the artillery, drawn by foaming
horses, rushed. The enemy’s lines held.
But a hundred yards separated them. It
held at eighty; it wavered; at sixty—it
broke.

As if in answer to his unheard command, his
flying batteries whirled in irregular curves,
// 374.png
.pn +1
stopped, unlimbered, fired, then with the speed
of wings were off again, this time in retreat.

Again Mori’s infantry lines parted. Out
went the twenty remaining guns, straight for
the enemy.

Mori’s lips poured out a stream of orders.
His staff flew over the ground. The whole
army advanced to support the artillery attack,
while the boomerang batteries were recovered.

“To the left wing,” cried Mori to Oguri.

Oguri placed himself to the left of the centre,
while Mori took the right. Still in one compactly
joined front, the infantry advanced.

“Now, now,” moaned Oguri. “Toro—where
is Toro?”

As the line advanced, the artillery, having
reloaded, bore down again upon the enemy’s
centre, pounding it.

The infantry neared the bakufu. Mori
despatched an officer to silence the batteries.

Now was the crucial moment. Broken and
scattered like a herd of untrained cattle was
the bakufu’s centre.

A cheer sounded in the enemy’s rear. Just
at the proper moment Toro’s cavalry charged
the rear, dashing through the centre.

Now a movement of division took place in
the forces of Mori. Oguri’s left divided on the
centre and swung to the west, while Mori’s
right swung eastward. The artillery became
two corps, one for each of the divisions; the
// 375.png
.pn +1
cavalry, divided, also followed the direction
of the two leaders.

Mori’s forces had sundered the centre of the
bakufu and were rolling up on either side,
driving in two opposite directions the immense
army of the shogunate.

As panic and fear spread through the poor-spirited
forces of the bakufu, the cavalry withdrew
to pursue fugitives. Mori’s infantry in
its two divisions was now sufficient for the
isolating and destroying of the two segments
of the enemy.

At last it was done. The forces of the shogunate
were routed or destroyed at the first
battle.

With every mark of his favor, Mori received
Toro into his circle of officers. Toro’s face,
black and grimy from the smoke of cannon
and the dust of action and the road, nevertheless
was shining.

“My lords,” said Mori, “we are now at the
crucial time in our career. We must advance
instantly upon the capital. This time no small
force will be sufficient. The entire army must
accompany us to Kioto. Oguri, you take the
cavalry. You know the country well. Ride
forward to Kioto at full speed. Then throw
out a long skirmish line and capture every
fugitive from the bakufu, that the news of
our advance may not reach Kioto. We shall
give the depleted army of the shogunate now
in Kioto a noble surprise.”
// 376.png
.pn +1

Mori drew Toro to him.

“Return thou, Toro, to the fortress. Take
every available man, leave only the company
of the governor of the fortress, and march
speedily to join me on the highway.”
// 377.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XLI
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-d.jpg w=200px align=l
AYS
.if-
.if t
DAYS
.if-
went by. The entire force
at the command of Mori moved
slowly in the direction of the
Emperor’s capital of Kioto. As
the days stretched into weeks
and months, still the army
moved without haste. Mori was
now in communication with
the other leaders of his party,
through runners. All were concentrating
upon the capital.
.pi
Echizen, moreover, had sent
word to Mori by special courier.
The boy Shogun was dead, and
the young Prince of Mito, who
had headed the army of chastisement
against the Imperialists
// 378.png
.pn +1
in Kioto, had been appointed Shogun. But
Echizen’s tidings of death did not stop here.
The Emperor Kommei Tenno had succumbed
to disease and oppression, and upon his death,
his son, young Mutsuhito, a youth of sixteen,
had succeeded to the throne.

When Mori learned of this latter event he
despatched long epistles to each of the leaders.
He urged that all should concentrate their
forces in small parties, whose approach should
be gradual upon the Imperial palace. Once
having possession of the Imperial city and
the palace, the Aidzu-Catzu supporters would
be instantly expelled, and Mutsuhito, the new
Mikado, should be proclaimed sole ruler of
Japan.

To this all assented. The 3d of January
was settled upon as the day.

Dividing his force into small parties, who
were assigned a rendezvous in Kioto, Mori
continued his advance. Then came the news
to him from Echizen that the Prince of Mito
(now the Shogun) had been persuaded to resign
his office. Now there seemed small obstacle
in the way of the Imperialist plan.

On the day appointed, the various relays
of Mori’s force which had preceded him to
Kioto met and joined his personal following.
At the hour of noon they marched in perfect
order to the western gate. Each of the nine
gates was taken without force by a large body
in command of one of the Imperialists.
// 379.png
.pn +1

Two hours later Mori, Echizen, Oguri, and
the other leaders were in full possession of the
Mikado’s person and policy. The shogunate
was declared abolished. An edict was issued
declaring the Mikado the sole ruler, and a government
was created. Aidzu and Catzu had
been expelled from the palace.

It was reported to Mori that the ex-Shogun,
Mito, had left Kioto in anger, and that, regretting
his resignation, he was gathering
troops about him to dispute the <i>coup d’état</i>.

Wearily Mori assumed command of some
two thousand troops, went to Fushimi, where
he met the Prince of Mito, with an army much
larger than his own. After three days’ fighting
the ex-Shogun was driven back to Ozaka,
whence he departed for Yedo on an American
vessel. Mori followed more slowly.

He was now embarked upon the most desperate
stage of his undertaking. Mito possessed
in his capital, Yedo, forces, ships, and
resources in great excess of any belonging
to the new government. Nevertheless Mori
marched upon Yedo steadily. At the gates of
the city the senior Lord of Catzu met Mori.

“How now, my lord?” demanded the Mikado’s
defender. “Are you come again to
bid me lay down my arms?”

“No,” said Catzu, almost humbly, “I am
come to offer you the submission of the Prince
of Mito.”

“Ah!” Mori veiled his satisfaction.
// 380.png
.pn +1

“Under my counsel,” continued Catzu,
“his highness the Prince of Mito has seen his
error. Never again will he take up arms
against his sovereign lord the Mikado. I but
beseech you now to spare the city of Yedo.”

“My business here is done,” was Mori’s
reply.

“Stay, my lord.” Catzu entwined his fingers
in an effort to conceal a strange nervousness.

“I await your words, my lord.”

“Thy wife—” began Catzu.

The brain of the leader became clouded and
dark with passion.

“Another word, my lord,” he replied, haughtily,
“and thou and Yedo shall both be put
to the sword. Having found my armor invulnerable
to the darts of your spears and
arrows, you think to advantage yourself by
an ancient weakness of mine. Be assured
that I am as invincible in that regard, my lord,
as in the matter of warfare.”

At the end of twelve days Mori was again
in Kioto. The surrender of the late Shogun
had not carried with it the submission of Aidzu,
who had fled to his province. The Prince
despatched Oguri into the highlands of Aidzu
to complete the unification of the country.
Eventually Oguri fulfilled his mission, bringing
complete victory to the Imperial cause.

In the Kioto court the new party wrought
speedy change. The daimios, or territorial
// 381.png
.pn +1
lords, were summoned, and resigned into the
hands of the Mikado their feudal possessions.

At one of the last councils attended by Mori,
the Shining Prince made an address of deep
import.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “may not be insensible
to the changes forced and hastened
in your country by the advent of the foreigner.
I have been fighting feudalism, the bakufu,
and the shogunate with the civilization and
weapons of the foreigners. Through them
we have conquered and prevailed. Since we
owe our supremacy to their rifle and cannon,
a conviction has forced itself upon me. Your
Majesty no longer lives behind a screen, seen
by a few eyes only. Your Majesty is a world
power, and must have relations with other
nations. We must assimilate foreign civilization,
if only to combat the foreigner.”

Thus Mori came to the spirit of New Japan,
speaking almost the identical words uttered
by Iyesada long ago.

Having accomplished his share of the establishment
of the new government, Mori felt
that he could now turn his attention to the
welfare of his faithful followers.

He set a day for a final interview with them,
when he should bestow such rewards as were
now in his power, as chief adviser to his sovereign,
to give.

For himself, an important cabinet portfolio
// 382.png
.pn +1
had been offered, but he had come to no decision.
He felt that his work was done. He
desired only peace. He was not ready to
think further.

Realizing that the lost Jiro, if alive, must
be in some portion of the palace, Mori caused
him to be sought for.

On the evening prior to his final meeting
with his officers, Jiro came to him as he sat
alone in his chamber. The sight of the lad
affected the Choshui Prince peculiarly. He
realized in a moment of self-revelation that the
feeling of loneliness and isolation among his
officers had first manifested itself just after
the departure of Jiro. While his relations
with the youth had not been of an intimate
nature, still Mori felt that he had ever sought
and found tacitly a silent, unspoken understanding
and support of his purposes from
him. He felt drawn towards the boy as one
great soul seeks the penetrating sympathy
of another. A longing, throbbing into wistfulness,
pervaded him. Wearily, yet patiently,
he regarded the youth.

“Jiro, my boy, why have you left me so
long?” he said.

The boy flushed slightly as an eager delight
betrayed for a moment his pleasure in Mori’s
words.

“Have you, then, missed me?” he began,
in a warm voice, to break off abruptly as a
forced coldness took possession of him. “I
// 383.png
.pn +1
have been much engaged, my lord,” he said,
without enthusiasm.

“Ah!” said Mori, quietly, noting his flushing
face; “and I am ready to wager it was
with a maiden.”

“It was, my lord.”

“Ah!—thou, too, Jiro,” said Mori, sadly.
“A youth, thou hast come to the gates of love,
to enter paradise—or hell.”

“It was not an affair of love, my lord.”

“No?”

“I have been endeavoring to right the
wrongs of a woman—a very near kinswoman.
But I find that I am without power to
proceed further.”

“Nay, tell me, Jiro, thy troubles, and those
of thy kinswoman. I am not without power
now, and may assist thee.”

Mori smiled pitifully at thought of his power
and the poor satisfaction it held, now that its
great consummation had been crowned.

A slight nervousness fell upon Jiro. While
his hands tremblingly fingered his obi, there
came into his eyes and his voice a suggestion
of something ulterior, something beyond.

“My lord, my kinswoman loved a man and
he loved her,” he said, pausing.

“Sad,” murmured Mori, with the cynicism
of his broken mood.

Without noticing the Prince’s comment, Jiro
continued:

“My lord, has not a parent the right to exact
// 384.png
.pn +1
obedience from his child, even though that
obedience lead her to utmost misery?”

“Such is the Japanese idea,” returned Mori.

“Then, my lord, the parent of my kinswoman
exacted a task from her. He forced
her to betray her lover, though she, ignorant
that he was the person implicated, yet sought
to warn him of the danger to himself and the
unknown.”

Mori’s eyebrows contracted darkly. He half
rose from his seat. Then with a forced calm
he dropped back into his place.

Jiro’s face was now flushed a deep scarlet.
He seemed to be using all his strength in an
effort to control his emotions.

“My lord,” he added, “my kinswoman was
not only forced to betray her lover by her father,
but she was driven further—into marrying,
and, consequently, degrading him, because
only in that way could she save his life
from the hands of the public executioner.”

Mori was white to the lips with his anger.
But he controlled himself strongly. Jiro had
claims upon his gratitude.

“You have failed to tell me,” he said, coldly,
“in what way I can serve you—and your kinswoman.”

“My lord, the lover put away my kinswoman,
being in ignorance of the treachery
of her parent. Yet so grievously is he wounded
that he could not be approached by one so
slight as I. He would not listen to truth.”
// 385.png
.pn +1

Impenetrability masked the face of Mori.
His thoughts were veiled behind a set countenance.

Half abashed, and fully shaken in his late
confidence, Jiro spoke trembling words.

“Do you, my lord, speak to this lover—tell
him that it was the fault of their fathers, and
that his lady, indeed, loves him and has always
loved him.”

Still silent and motionless remained Mori.

Jiro faltered. “I have served thee,” he said,
as he went a step closer to Mori; “do thou this
now for me.”

Mori spoke.

“To-morrow,” he said, “I take farewell of
my officers. My worldly tasks are then finished.
Then I will endeavor to serve you, Jiro—to-morrow.”

“But, my lord, thou speakest of thy worldly
tasks. Wilt thou, then—?”

“Nay, Jiro, I will not take my life, I promise
thee, before I have seen thee. To-morrow.”

“To-morrow,” repeated Jiro, and was gone.

Near the iris field in the Emperor’s garden
there is a slight hill, set upon whose sides
are a number of fanciful shelters. Under one
of these, upon a bench that night long sat
Prince Mori Keiki. Above him the bare trees
supporting the structure twined their naked
boughs together into what in the leaftime was
a natural roof. This night, bare of leaf, they
were as open to the cold as the structure’s
// 386.png
.pn +1
side, yet Mori seemed unaware of the season.
There was no chill upon his limbs. A strange
smile flitted across the features of the solitary
Prince.

With a shrug of the shoulders he glanced at
the slight structure under which he sat.

“It is a summer-house,” he muttered, “and
it is now winter. Fitting—fitting.”

Farther up the hill above him, within the
shadow of another similar structure, a slight
form crouched, while burning eyes were fastened
upon Mori. With chilled and shivering
being, the youth watched.

“He must not depart this life,” said the
little watcher on the hill; “he must live—and
believe. Oh! all the gods, lend me the
strength and power to convince him!”
// 387.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.if h
.il fn=i006-2.jpg w=400px
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Decoration]
.if-
.sp 4
.h2
XLII
.ni
.if h
.sp 4
.il fn=ch-a.jpg w=200px align=l
LONE
.if-
.if t
ALONE
.if-
in his deserted apartments
the Mori sat—prince no
longer, for with other nobles
and daimios he had resigned
his fief into the Mikado’s hands.
The officers had long ago departed,
to enter upon the new
courses the parting benefits of
their leader had determined for
them. Some were already upon
their way to the provinces, the
offices of Mori had procured for
them, as governors appointed
by the Mikado.
.pi
Toro had gone to Catzu, to
govern for the Mikado the territory
his father had administered
// 388.png
.pn +1
for the Shogun. Father and son had
been reunited. The Lady Evening Glory had
long been dead, and Catzu was without a mistress.

Yet Mori had detailed for Toro what he considered
a greater reward.

“Toro,” said Mori, “you will deliver this
order, signed by me, in person to the Lady
Hollyhock, directing her to cease forthwith
her mutinous rebellion, and to render herself
as a conquered province into thy hands.”

“But, your highness,” said Toro, “I do not
desire an unwilling bride, who yields herself
but to superior command.”

Mori’s smile had within it the tinge of a satirical
wisdom.

“Toro, my comrade and friend,” he said,
gravely, “I do assure you that you will not
need that order. The heart of the lady is
yours. Only her coquetry holds out, and
finding in my writ a convenient pretext, she
will gladly go the way the heart has long
directed.”

With exuberant joy Toro had started from
the apartment.

“Yet, once again, Toro,” said Mori. “While
I aid you with the Lady Hollyhock, I warn
you that you will never find your complete
happiness in a woman. After the first days
you must look to the faithful administration
of your province for your chief satisfaction in
living.”
// 389.png
.pn +1

“I do not agree with you, your highness,”
Toro replied. Then he added, with a cheery
laugh:

“But there will be some satisfaction, truly,
in administering my province, and mine ancient,
rebellious sire.”

Before the officers departed, Toro, as their
spokesman, had presented to their old commander
two swords, richly wrought, the usual
token of the samurai as their parting tribute.

“I do assure you,” Mori had responded,
“that in giving me these swords you have not
merely given me a reminder, as your spokesman
has said, of our services for the New
Japan, but you have given me as well the
conquest of a newer, higher, more happy
universe. As a citizen of a greater universe,
I thank you.”

In these words, and in every act of the former
Prince that day, the officers, save the delight-blinded
Toro, had observed a touch of finality,
the savoring grace of a farewell to earthly
things, that, samurai as they were, had not
failed to move them. Plainly their lord contemplated
something that their order called
honorable; yet they shuddered at the thought.

Now they were all gone out of Mori’s life,
into the new life he and they had created together.
The Shining Prince was left alone—alone
with two swords that lay upon a low
table at his side.

The moment long waited by Mori had come.
// 390.png
.pn +1
The Mikado had been restored to his ancient
sovereignty; peace was once more upon the
land. The great purpose of his efforts was
attained; every thread connecting Mori with
this new order of things had gone from his
opponents—from his life—save two swords
alone, which he had said were means for another
conquest.

Yet in spite of the atmosphere of finality that
he felt pervading his apartments, Mori was not
thinking of the termination he had set to his
activities. His thoughts carried him beyond
the black period he had said should close his
sentence. Over into regions of life across
finality his imagination strayed. The Lady
Wistaria came back to his memory, his mind,
his heart—occupied his whole being with the
force of the magic spell she had woven about
him.

When Jiro had made his plea the day previous
Mori had instantly recognized its meaning.
It came with no joy to him. His course
of thought and heart had been too long bent
in one direction for the timid, blind words of a
youth to swing it abruptly.

“It is one more device, perchance, of my
enemies,” he had said, dully, in the first bitterness
that came when the lad’s words had
touched his heart.

Now, when all was over, he was again, in
spite of his will, weighing the possibilities.
Of course there might be truth in what Jiro
// 391.png
.pn +1
had said, but it could not be determined save in
the eyes of the Lady Wistaria herself, and now
the lad Jiro had not come, as he had promised.

With a profound sigh, Mori, raising his head,
caught sight again of the two swords. Yes,
they held their meaning for him. Jiro’s words
were not worthy of belief. He stretched out
his hands to the swords.

“She was false—and Jiro lied!” he muttered.

His hand sought and found the hilt of one
of the swords and grasped it firmly, stiffened,
and fell to his side. Suddenly the face of the
Lady Wistaria with its all-pervading purity
and truth-compelling quality arose before his
vision. As he regarded the unsought vision
which had come to his uncontrolled imagination,
it dawned upon him with a sudden, great
light that he had been wrong—wrong. Back
to his consciousness floated that dark night
by the side of the stagnant moat, the memory
of the tortured white face that shone out from
the interlacing boughs of bushes about them,
the trembling hands and the little water-soaked
feet. Were she utterly false as he had
thought, would she have thus come to him to
warn him of the danger that encompassed the
one she did not know was he himself?

A great upheaval arose in Keiki. The rush
of emotions ingulfed him. A cry, a groan,
escaped him, as, burying his face in his arms,
he threw from him the swords.

“She was truth itself,” he said. “It is I
// 392.png
.pn +1
who have wronged her—I who have been unworthy.”

“Too late!” a voice within his world-dulled
soul said. He recalled now the intelligence he
had heard somewhere many months before.
The Princess of Mori had become a priestess
of the Temple Zuiganji.

“My lord!”

The voice behind him, vaguely familiar,
passed into that of the boy Jiro.

“My lord,” repeated the soft voice, “it is I,
Jiro, returned to thee.”

Mori answered:

“Alas, you come too late, my Jiro. Thou
canst tell me nothing now, for I know that she
was guiltless. I was at fault. The gods alone
can forgive me.”

Again he bent over the swords. The figure
behind him moved from its position. It stood
before the bending Prince now. A white robe
reached to the floor, brushing his hand and
covering the swords at his feet. Impelled by
a force he could not resist, Mori raised his head.
Wistaria—Wistaria in her bridal robes, with
white flowers in her glorious hair, stood before
him.

Mori started to his feet.

“Jiro—Jiro—”

He looked about the room, as though he
still thought the boy within the apartment.
Was he dreaming, or had he actually heard
the voice of the boy Jiro, saying:
// 393.png
.pn +1

“It is I, Jiro, returned to thee.”

But where was Jiro, and who was this white
being who had taken his place? Not the
Lady Wistaria, she who had become a priestess
because of her wrongs. Then her lips
framed themselves in words that reached his
consciousness.

“If it please thee, my lord, I am Jiro.”

“Lady Wistaria!” he gasped.

“I am Wistaria,” she said.

Slowly, with the movement of one dazed,
Mori moved towards her. Her exquisite hands
she held out to him. He seized them with
his own. For a moment he held them in a
close, spasmodic clasp, then suddenly he sank
to the floor, burying his face in the folds of her
kimono.

But the Lady Wistaria was upon her knees
beside him, her hands upon his head.
.sp 2
.nf c
THE END
.nf-
.sp 2
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.ul
.it Transcriber’s Notes:
.ul indent=1
.it Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
.it Typographical errors were silently corrected.
.it Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a\
predominant form was found in this book.
.if t
.it Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
.if-
.ul-
.ul-
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