Shibusawa returned to his lodgings shortly after midnight, and soon lay down to sleep. He had seen more of the gay side of life than ever before, and though in a measure not averse to it he was deeply impressed with some of the incidents, which he thought unnecessary if not vicious. And now that the revelry was dying out and the night regaining its quietude he slept soundly until a late hour. When he arose he pushed back the sliding partition, and a warm burst of sunlight streamed into the room; the air was balmy, and the once deserted streets were again taking on renewed life; the brocaded hillside across the moat in front, with its samurai huts and maple trees, waved and sparkled with a thousand tints. It was a joyous morning, and Shibusawa ate and drank to his content as he sat and watched the oncoming of the day’s festivities.

He had not long to wait, though, for Iyeyoshi, twelfth Shogun, was more noted for his ceremonious punctuality than for his official dignity; there had been so little of importance to mark the shogunate for more than a century that each incumbent had become rather indifferent to everything except pomp and show. Therefore the procession began to move promptly at twelve o’clock, and in less than an hour the chair of state came up to the inner gate and halted—as did also each detachment, before crossing over into the profane world—so that his royal highness might bow and pray the gods for a happy going and safe return. Details of soldiery and squads of officials, interspersed with symbolic banners and huge floats, were aligned according to birth and rank, and as they moved along, strange incantations or lamentations arose above the din of discordant instruments and the loud shouts of excited men, who leaped in the air or threw themselves upon the earth in wild exultation.

Shibusawa sat and watched the long procession slacken and start with each recurring interruption, until a temporary pause brought to a standstill directly opposite to him a high float which was arranged like a pyramid and covered with flowers, shrubs, and vines. Amid the lotus blossoms in the centre there sat a young maiden not more than fifteen, who wore a crown of maple leaves and did her hair in a manner to indicate that she was yet unmarried. Her hair was black and abundant, and set beautifully a rosy face in which a pair of large dark eyes betokened tenderness, if a little serious. Her kimono was of soft but plain material and folded gracefully about her, and she quietly sat there the queen of the shogun’s garden, though only the daughter of its keeper. She did not turn this way or that as others did to attract attention, but modestly looked at the beautiful things around her, thinking only of the honours due to her kind and beneficent shogun, for whom she was then being privileged to do homage.

It was while her attention was thus directed that Shibusawa first saw Kinsan. She sat so high up among the flowers as to be almost on a level with his place of sitting, and she was so close that he could have spoken to her had he dared or deigned to do so. She did not observe his keen recognition nor was she conscious of his presence until the carriers began slowly to straighten up and make ready to go forward. Then as if by intuition she turned and looked toward him and as she did so his eyes fairly met hers. Shibusawa did not look away, but became more intent as her soft dark eyelashes drooped and a faint flush crept into her cheek. A something which he had never before experienced came upon him, and for the moment he felt bewildered and unable to move or speak, and when the float had gone and Kinsan was lost in the distance he made an effort as if to follow; then recovering himself he lapsed into serious thought.

He had little further interest in the parade and gave no heed to it until the high-raised chair and brilliant trappings of the shogun himself went past. He was conscious only that a new life had dawned: that something had taken hold of him which was new to his being; something which seemed to wield a more powerful influence over him than even the presence of the shogun—the one person other than his own kith and kin whom he had been taught to revere as supreme.

The stately train marched along, though Shibusawa had dismissed all but the one event; the circumstance that raised the most serious problem which as yet had confronted him.

“Is it possible after all that there is something higher and better than kings and ancestors?” thought he, as he grappled with the struggle which had already seized him. “And yet the instrument of that something but a woman? What thing is this that seems so contrary to all our philosophy, so different from our religion, yet keenly gnawing at my very inner self? I needs must find out and if possible confront the author; the one who has so impressed me, even though she be but a woman and I a transgressor.”

So saying he called Okyo and proposed that they, too, follow the line of march to the river’s bank, or so far as they might be permitted to go.

By this time great crowds of sight-seers had fallen in behind the procession, and Shibusawa was compelled to take his place with the rest and plod along as best he could. The route traversed was along an old roadway, which wound its course through a thickly inhabited part of the city, coming directly to the ancient bridge Ryozoku. As they wended their way past endless rows of deserted houses or closed shops, amidst streamers and bunting, Shibusawa became deeply impressed with the boundless patriotism and intense loyalty of the people. Everywhere they were doing homage and nowhere was heard the voice of discontent. He felt more than ever proud of his country, and realised as never before the importance of each individual’s place.

They reached the river, Sumida, long after the last of the courtiers had passed, and the long bridge was then so thronged as to be impossible of further access. Hence they abandoned that, the choicest vantage point, and remained on the bank of the river, from which they got only an indistinct view of the shogun and his suite as they sailed down the river in their gaily-decked house-boats, and passed under the bridge, the crowning feat of the day. Had they been closer Shibusawa might have recognised, in a boat close after the shogun’s, familiar faces—the same that escaped him earlier in the day, while he sat dreaming of Kinsan and the accidental meeting.

Now that the most exciting feature of the day had passed, Shibusawa’s thoughts reverted to the incident which had so deeply impressed him. Try as best he might he could not dismiss it, and after a while he became anxious, and wondered if it were possible to see her again; and if he should, would she recognise him? Then he said to himself:

“Why should she recognise me? And, what is more, why should I seek to see her?”

However, he did try to see her, and when it became certain that there was no chance of doing so at the river he grew impatient, though more determined. The daylight fireworks floating high in the air; the music, the songs, and the laughter wafted from the river; the dancing, the feasting, and the merry-making on shore, ceased to be of interest, and by the time they had finished a light luncheon at a convenient tea house Shibusawa became anxious to return to their own lodgings.

He had made up his mind that the most likely place to meet the young maiden a second time was at the very one where he first met her. There she should pass while returning from the fÊte, though under what circumstances he did not know. And would she look again, or had she not remembered him? These and many more were the questions which Shibusawa asked himself during the interval of returning and waiting; and as time passed he grew uneasy. Something burned within him, and he felt that he must see and know this beautiful woman. He sat quietly in his rooms thinking only of her coming. Presently a hurrying and gathering upon the street signified the returning of the royal party; whereupon Shibusawa sprang up and seated himself at the balcony’s edge, so that none could pass without his seeing him.

A number of detachments had passed in order, and then Kinsan came as before, except that she was accompanied by several girl friends whom she had been permitted to invite with her on the return trip. They were laughing and chatting about things which pleased them most, and Kinsan’s added charms appealed more than ever to Shibusawa. He leaned over the balcony, as if drawn toward her by an unseen hand, and prayed that in some way her attention might be drawn to him and that he might once more look into her eyes, if only for an instant.

Kinsan was so engaged with her companions that she seemed about to go by without even a chance look, and as she came closer his heart appeared almost to stand still; though he was soon to be transported, for when directly opposite, Kinsan gave him the long looked for opportunity. Nor was there any mistaking her intention for mere accident. Shibusawa read that she too had experienced some sort of feeling which this time prompted her to look, and to manifest an interest, if not desire. It was more than he could bear to let her go in silence; she would not stop again, and he had not a moment to lose; he felt that he must speak to her—his very life depended upon it—he knew not why, nor did he care. He must do what his heart told him to do.

Now had he realised his present position Shibusawa might not have done what he was about to do, but with his whole heart set upon one thing he for the moment forgot himself, and ran down the straight-set stairs and out at the front, wholly under the force of blind impulse. Under ordinary circumstances there would have been no breach in doing what he sought to do, for custom gave a gentleman the right to approach an inferior without the least formality.

When he reached the street he found it difficult to pass, and in consequence ran close to the moving column and toward Kinsan. Coming almost within reach of her he ran against an officer—who followed next after her—and before he could fully recover his balance the angered samurai whipped out his long sword and struck him a blow that felled him; and not being satisfied with this punishment he made a thrust at the prostrate man and ran him through to the ground.

Fortunately Okyo had followed close after, and upon reaching his helpless master he threw himself in front and personally suffered the tramping and jeering of the curious crowds—he was too grieved and thoughtless to offer any other relief, and lay there face downward, pulling at the soiled clothing and crying, “Shibusawa! Shibusawa!”

They had not remained in that situation long, however, till the lord daimyo of Kanazawa himself marched up—his carriers stumbling in an effort to pass the stricken Shibusawa and his faithful watch—when Okyo cried out as before the name of his master. Maido, only too accustomed to hearing this same distressing cry, would have gone by without heed had he not unmistakably distinguished the name of his son. He listened and heard it again, distinctly recognising Oyko’s voice. Without waiting to call a halt he swung open the door, and to the amazement of all leaped to the ground.

Divining the full situation the lord daimyo quickly threw himself at the side of his almost lifeless boy, and raising him in his arms called for water. After reviving him, and making a hasty examination of the wound, Maido ordered attendants to place Shibusawa in the chair and hasten with him to his own home.