Kinsan had fortunately turned toward her companions and did not see any of the cruelty of the officer who so hastily invoked his authority. Her sudden exchange of glances with Shibusawa was unobserved by the rest of the party, and as they resumed their going Kinsan continued in her former happy mood, betraying only now and then a slight flush, or an indifferent far-away look. Though she was deeply impressed she had not attached any particular significance to the strange meeting, and had no thought of its being even the second time other than accidental.

The returning procession broke line as each division passed the main palace door, the several detachments proceeding to their separate destinations as custom or convenience might require, and accordingly the flower float was carried directly to the home of its chosen goddess. The house occupied by Kinsan and her parents was a little red-lacquered cottage which, standing at the farther end of a small garden plot, under an overhanging cliff, and at the side of a small brook which trickled down through the moss-covered rocks, was almost hidden from view by flowers, tall bushes, and trailing vines. It was reached by means of a long, narrow path, which branched off from the main roadway just inside the last gate and below the citadel, winding its way around the hillside, through a bit of woodland, past rocky gorges, and over a high, lacquered bridge, terminating at the bamboo gate which stood in front. Here Fujimoto, her father, had been permitted to live with his family and work in the gardens all his life-time as had his father and grandfathers for many generations before him.

Kinsan had never before been favoured with any special privileges, and except for her rare beauty and sweet disposition she might not have been selected to represent Asama, goddess of flowers. Though from birth her playground had been under the shadow of the great shogun’s palace she had never before been permitted to approach him so closely, and if he had ever even by accident spoken to her she did not remember it. However, the proximity of her dwelling and the occupation of her father had given her entrance to all parts of the mysterious enclosure, and in consequence she not only was familiar with the buildings and grounds but knew something of the habits and customs of all the household. Her bright simplicity and pleasing manners had so impressed others that she was well known to all of the servants and to many of the attachÉs, and had become a favourite among them.

Of these there was one who more than any other took a fancy to Kinsan, and had repeatedly expressed other than a passing interest in her. He had watched her closely for more than two years and already several times approached her father, offering to buy the little maiden, as he called her, at a liberal price, to serve his convenience for the lawful period of three years. All these proposals had been stoutly refused, though in a measure favoured by the mother—thrifty woman—who was not only captivated by the position of the applicant but inclined to consider three hundred yens of more service to the family than a doubtful daughter, especially that there were three others growing up.

Although the daughter had no right to be and never was a party to any of these negotiations she had heard enough to convince her that however repulsive this fellow, Tetsutaisho, might be, there was a good prospect of her being compelled sometime to sacrifice her life to gratify his desires. She could see but one hope, and that was in her father’s love. Her mother, poisoned as she was, had even gone so far as to entertain the base proposal in the presence of Kinsan herself, whose innate sense of propriety had each time prompted her to run away, with a blush of indignation. She knew that he had been instrumental in procuring for her the honour of that day, and yet she could not thank him, for she well realised that it was probably by his own arrangement that he and his detachment was placed in line next after her; not that she might thus be honoured, but that he might gaze upon her there in her helpless situation; for now that she had grown older and knew his intentions she had come to regard him with something of horror, and tried as much as she could to avoid his presence.

Whether Tetsutaisho had observed the glance of recognition which passed between Shibusawa and Kinsan matters not, for his rank in the shogun’s army permitted him to strike down any one of the common people who dared so much as to brush against his garment. He was a broad, sunken-chested man, nearly six feet tall, and though less than thirty years of age wore the uniform of a taisho (minor general) and was in fact a favourite of the shogun’s. There were a few stiff, blue-black hairs on his face as an excuse for a beard, and a pair of small bullet eyes glanced furtively or hung sullenly from his coarse, brutal countenance.

When Tetsutaisho struck Shibusawa he did so intending to cut him down as an example of authority—and as a warning to others of his supposed class—and thinking he had killed him outright with only a stroke and a thrust he squared about and swaggered on with his chest distended and his head thrown back.

It was a fortunate circumstance that Okyo was near at hand when Shibusawa fell, for though the thrust was not a vital one, it was dangerously near the heart and occasioned considerable loss of blood and much weakness. The blow had so stunned him that he lay unconscious and not only in the way of those marching, but subject to the cuffs and kicks of his fellows, who were profuse in their cries of, “Shame be upon the etas![8] He insulted his honourable superior!” However, Okyo’s faithfulness and the father’s coming saved him, while proper treatment and a vigorous constitution soon effected his complete recovery.

Nor was it any the less luck that Maido was there, for only his intense patriotism caused the lord daimyo, in the uncertain absence of his son, to quit his comfortable Kanazawa place and repair thus early to the Tokyo castle. It was an unusual thing for him to take up his residence at the capital city before late in the autumn, though in point of elegance and diversion of thought the latter home far surpassed the former.

This, the largest and oldest of the several daimyos’ castles at Tokyo, stood inside the second and just outside the inner moat which surrounded the palace. The grounds were spacious, and lay to the left of the main driveway, going toward the palace, close up against the inner moat. Indeed, it was the choice of a gentle slope which fringed the hill, rising on the opposite side of the moat, within the sacred enclosure above. A high stone battlement, battered and overgrown, stood sentinel at the water’s edge, and all around giant cypress and strange foliage told of another day. Here, in this place, was builded the official seat of one man, a daimyo, now Maido, who was the most favoured and courted at a shogun’s court, and who commanded the wealth, the intellect, and the aspiration of a thousand years of unbroken, unknown, and unsatisfied progress. Its environment spoke for the present; its tombs, of the past.

To this place, with such circumstances, Shibusawa was carried, and for the first time in his life entered there; a coming hoped and looked for, an ambition cherished and nursed by his father until it had become his constant dream; and yet that coming was to be when the spark of life seemed all but dead. Maido hastened to the family shrine and there prayed the good god Dajiza to grant him power to ward off death’s evil hand.

Shibusawa’s rooms were at the upper side of the main court building (a rambling red-lacquered structure, with curled tile roof) overlooking the greensward and battlement, toward where Kinsan’s cottage nestled in the nearby woodland. Here he lay for a long time, battling against death, till science and care had overcome danger, then his vigorous constitution rapidly brought on a complete and permanent recovery. While convalescing he would often sit chatting with his father, or dreaming of things now fast crowding upon him: the poverty and the toil; the suffering and the patriotism; the dormant power and the helplessness of the people which he had everywhere seen; his own new-born love; the ruthless force of an officer—all these were weighing heavily upon his young conscience, which already flamed with ambition.

Shibusawa did not dwell upon these things, though, while conversing with his father; and he asked no questions. But never before did he understand so well the whole philosophy of his parent’s teachings, nor grasp so firmly the force of his logic and the meaning of all their institutions. And there, and alone, while the vigour of youth yet fired the contact of life, after the bloom of knowledge, the polish of intercourse, the inspiration of travel, he determined his course.