Time began, after a while, to drag heavily and Shibusawa thirsted for a change. The day Chayo, moon festival (in the latter part of September), had already come, and while sitting in the evening with his favourite sister, Nehachibana, he half spoke, half meditated:

“Do you think I could go out to see the moon rise to-night? You know it is Chayo, and I want to wander off by myself and see the ‘grand three.’ It will enable me to start under a good omen. Pray come, don’t say ‘No,’ for I fear I shall have to go anyway.”

Nehachibana had been his almost constant companion since the night of his misfortune, and she felt nervous about his taking any undue risk now that he was recovering so nicely. She was tall and seriously earnest, and her counsel was invariably welcomed by her energetic brother, though not always acted upon. Therefore she spoke with uncertain confidence when she answered:

“It certainly is a shame to stay indoors at such a time and upon such a night as the day promises. You are now somewhat accustomed to the open air, and if you do not remain too long I can see no danger. I myself am going out upon the green there, below the house, and I should be glad to have you for company. Come join me, will you not?”

“No, thank you; I want to be alone, for once. I shall go inside the gate to find a good lookout there, on the hillside. It is a splendid chance—and there will not be so many sight-seers there. Few of those on the inside engage in so light a diversion, and from the outside—well, only those who can enter can stroll.”

“Oh, Shibusawa, how can you think of venturing in there! You know it is absolutely forbidden, and the guards may beat you down, should you try,” said she, her voice trembling with fright.

“Have no fear, Nehachibana; I am already on more than friendly terms with those fellows, and I assure you when once inside there is no danger of discovery. I want to go there, where I can see and think without molestation, and you know nothing less can rid me of my good fellow Okyo. And then, the adventure. That will be stimulating, and I shall tell you all about it to-morrow. There, now, let us not discuss it further. Good-night.”

Later in the evening Shibusawa, as planned, passed through the gate and entered the august enclosure, where lived the only earthly being whom he had been taught to revere above his own ancestry. True, the mikado[9] had received no less a consideration, but his was of a divine character. The one, the mikado, spiritual; the other, the shogun, material: both, rulers supreme and eternal.

Upon entering the sacred place a mist of uncertainty seemed to envelop him and, though there was no particular wrong in his doing so even in such a manner, he felt as if he were unprepared, and that his presence might profane the place. Contrary to any precedent, while entering he chatted freely with the guards on duty and did not hesitate to disclose his identity; nor did he in any manner attempt to deceive. His motives were pure and his means convincing; the guards had occasion to trust him, hence they passed him. No mention had been made of his noticeably injured condition, for the very good reason that no questions had been asked; and, beside his father, to whom Shibusawa had made a full explanation, the cause and manner of his wounding remained unknown to all, excepting himself, and possibly the man who did the striking. Before starting he had changed his customary dress for that of an ordinary attendant, so that had he been discovered in the grounds anywhere not forbidden he might have been taken for a regular attachÉ; especially inasmuch as he was again well tanned and somewhat rugged.

Keeping to the left as was the custom, Shibusawa strolled along the main roadway until he came to a path which chanced to be the one leading toward the gardener’s cottage. As he walked along in that silent mysterious dusk he had passed unnoticed several who were each on his way to the city outside either to keep an engagement or seek diversion from the monotony of court life. Now and then the rattling of a sword-hilt or the clanking of steel warned him of the rank and occupation of the passerby. A slight faintness came over him as the first sound of one had grated upon his ears, and then his understanding changed and he felt something of pity for the man whose only means of a livelihood seemed to be the striking of his fellow-men.

Taking the cottage roadway he gladly, and with more leisure, plodded along the hillside until he came to a bypath which led off to his right and seemingly rose over a cliff farther on. The desire for adventure as well as a better chance of being let alone prompted him to follow this path, and as he trod upon the soft, beaten mould his sandals made no sound save now and then an accidental rasping or the occasional rattling of a fallen leaf. Nothing but quickened thoughts disturbed him here, until presently he came to a rustic bridge which crossed a dancing brooklet that faintly moaned and cried on its way. Half doubtful he stepped upon the beaten plank, and the sound aroused from her reverie a young maiden who stood midway on the bridge, and whom he had not until then observed. She turned as he proceeded, and then he recognised her and cried out:

“My honourable maiden.”

Kinsan, too, had stolen away and gone there that she, also, might have the good luck to see the moon rise in her majestic form of three. She had been standing she knew not how long in the centre of the bridge, with her elbows resting on the side rail and her dimpled cheeks buried in her hands, watching and dreaming as only one of her age can, and already there was beginning to shadow from above that mysterious, awe inspiring grey blue which hovers between the last of twilight and the coming of moonrise. Perhaps she also was thinking of one who had risen in her life, yet of whom she could not hope to know. Thus startled she did not recognise Shibusawa, nor did she attempt to move, but stood there undecided, while he, blushing perceptibly, said in a reassuring tone:

“I pray your forgiveness, madam, for so disturbing you. My name is Shibusawa, and I beg of you the pleasure of knowing who you are and what brings you here to this lovely spot at this delightful hour?”

Seeing that she hesitated as if debating what to do he continued:

“I pray you to believe me worthy, and to trust my motive, my honourable madam.”

Though Kinsan did not yet recognise her strange visitor she was not alarmed; there was something about him that invited her confidence, and before she realised it she had raised her eyes to his and there in the glimmer of the starlight had experienced the same feeling which had held her bounden since the time of their first meeting. The suddenness of the recognition and the fulness of her soul caused her to blush, and to stand meekly with drooping eyes and head bowed. Then she said modestly:

“I am Kinsan, the gardener’s daughter. I came here to see the beautiful moon rise, should it be so kind and I so fortunate. I do not know who you are, but I trust and I believe you will permit me to pass without harm. I have parents who love me, and I know you are of our faith. I trust you, honourable sir, to speak further if you so desire.”

“I thank you,” said he, “for your frank expressions, and I swear by the sword, Amanosakohoko, that I shall endeavour to merit your confidence. May I not spread this robe so that we can sit, and further speak to each other while waiting the moon’s pleasure?”

“You may do so if you like, but I should tell you that it is unsafe unless you have permission from a better authority. There is one who sometimes passes here, and should he discover you I fear his cruelty might be no less severe than my interest is great. If you do not mind a short, steep climb I will lead the way to a secluded spot near by where we can get a still better view and also guard against being seen. I was just going there, and no one will miss me at home until the hour has gone. Shall I proceed?”

“I certainly shall be glad to trust myself to your guidance, and if it is not too hard for you to go there it ought not to be for me.”

“You see,” said Kinsan, as she led the way back across the bridge and began climbing the hill above, “there is no pathway to follow. That is because no one but myself ever goes there, and I take pains not to establish a road and thus provide the means to a discovery of my hidden place.”

After leaving the by-path they scrambled up with some difficulty over the embankment and through a brier patch into the woodland beyond. Hereafter their passage through the scattering trees was quite easy, except the long grass and sloping hill made it necessary for them to choose well their steps, and as they went they chatted with no concern or accident to mar their pleasures or stay the confidence that was so rapidly growing between them. The balmy air, the inviting scenery, the romantic occasion, all inspired those feelings of trust which come of more than understanding and which are never abused.

Once Kinsan slipped a little and threw out her arms to recover her balance. As if by instinct Shibusawa was at her side and caught her hand in his just in time to save a fall; the soft skin told him of her good breeding, and the warm blood of her perfect health. He held it gently, a little longer, perhaps, than necessary to stay her fall, and then he did not drop it nor did she take it away, but as if moved by an unseen power and with feelings sweeter than life itself started on, and Kinsan did not fall or lose her balance again that night.

“Oh, what a grand place it is!” said he, as she led him to a seat on one side looking out over a panorama of woodland and battlement and castle ground and city far away toward the rising moon.

The place to which Kinsan led captive was an old abandoned nook, which had centuries before been used as a sight-seeing retreat by no less a personage than the shogun himself. It lay far up on the hillside in a small level space that rounded out at the head of a miniature gulch, through which ran the rivulet spanned by the bridge where the lovers met. The site, now dry and hard, was once the source of a natural spring, which had long ago disappeared through a tunnel made farther down the declivity. It was an ideal place for a hidden cave, such as it really appeared to be and as Kinsan called it; and the shogun under whose direction it was improved had spared no expense to make it a place of beauty as well as seclusion.

A retaining wall at the back,—in which were constructed wide and comfortable stone seats,—rounded up at both corners and arched over in front, while trees and vines had been so planted here and there as to shade the sun or break the storm, without in any manner obstructing the view. Some of these giant trees still stood, marking the grandeur of a different age. Others had fallen and long ago disappeared, while vines and shrubs had grown and regrown into tangled gnarls of brush and brier. All trace of its once gravelled approach and smooth floor had vanished with age, and no other person now found his way there except by merest chance or a curious reverence.

Kinsan was the cave’s only regular visitor and, jealously, she took every precaution to avoid attracting any attention to it. Unlike her sisters and her girl friends she wanted some place to which she could go and be by herself, and there indulge in that freedom which made her so different from others as well as the envy of all who knew her. She had with her own hands cleared the place of briers and fallen debris, and had carried straw and mats there to cover and make more comfortable a seat. Why, she did not know, but she loved different things from those which pleased the people whom she knew, and at times she longed to breathe a different atmosphere and to think new thoughts and experience other feelings. And now that this queer little house of hers contained another—one in whom all her sentiments seemed to enliven and to crystallise—her heart filled and there rose within her a new being, whose love and innocence and purity and sweetness shone forth like a flood-light of truth.

Shibusawa, too, felt the irresistible oncoming of that new life which had taken hold of him the first time he saw Kinsan; nor did he try to dissuade it, for in it he saw and felt the force of nature, the power of Infinity.

They sat there and talked and thought of things that were sweet and dear to them. Only once were they disturbed, and that was shortly after they had gone there and while they were sitting and dreaming as only true lovers can. It was just when the light and dark seemed most uncertain and everything mysteriously told of a parting and welcomed an oncoming. A cloud lazily floated overhead, turning its golden fringe into a border of silver. Not a leaf rustled or a note sounded on the hollow air. Not even they seemed conscious of another living thing, when out of the stillness there came the unmistakable sound of a man walking rapidly in a silk kimono.

“Swish, swish, swish,” continued grating upon Shibusawa’s ear, each time more distinct, and he half rose to his feet as if ready to bound upon an enemy. Kinsan caught hold of his kimono and whispered:

“Do not be disturbed. I have heard it before, and I can tell from the sound just who it is and about where he is walking: he is now on the by-path not far from the bridge where we last met. If he turns this way I shall warn you in time so that we can hide in a secret place I have found out just above this. It is easy of access, and he never could find us there. It is grown over with an old wisteria and is out of reach of that one, I am sure.”

The man in the by-path continued to walk briskly along, keeping a close watch on either side. He seemed to be quite nervous and anxious, though he moved with determination and evinced a fixed purpose. His course led him around the gulch so far below, and they were so hidden behind the trees, that they were seldom exposed to his view, yet they themselves could see and distinguish even the features of any person well impressed upon the memory. The intruder did not pause until he had reached the footbridge, where only a short time before Shibusawa and Kinsan had met, and then he stopped and looked as if expecting to see someone. Once he stared momentarily straight toward the cave, and had he been aware of such a place he might have distinguished the two sitting there only partially shielded by the bushes. Shibusawa as it was had the advantage, and looked the stranger directly in the face. He trembled, then leaned forward and stared intently.

“Pray do not be alarmed,” said Kinsan, in a low voice, already divining his keen interest. “Even though he see us and should come this way we are yet safe. My hiding-place will not fail me.”

“If I mistake not,” answered Shibusawa, “we shall have no need for hiding—I have at least a more satisfactory thought.”

“Oh, no, honourable sir, we must not be seen by him!” said Kinsan, nervously. “He is such a terrible man; and very powerful and brave, they say. If he should discover me here, and at this hour, and in the company of a man—oh, how late it is getting! I think I must be going.”

“Then you know him, do you?” asked Shibusawa, quickly and interestedly, though speaking in an undertone.

“Oh, yes; I know him well,” said she, without any hesitancy.

“And he is seeking you here? and now? I shall meet him forthwith.”

“Yes, he often does, and I am so glad—”

“Aha, and I am so nicely trapped!” said he, meditatively.

She did not answer him, for the reason that she did not understand him, and without so doing there was no occasion for an answer. He said nothing, but sat for the moment alternating between rage and jealousy. He looked at the burly form on the bridge, then at Kinsan. He thought of his love, then of his wounding. He at first determined to accuse her and fly at his antagonist, but afterwards reasoned that there was nothing to be gained by haste, and also that possibly he might be misinformed, if not entirely wrong.

Their visitor soon turned around, his back toward them, and as if disappointed at the prospect hung himself upon the bridge rail and stared vacantly at the distant horizon. Presently he straightened up and slowly walked away; and not until he had entirely gone did either Shibusawa or Kinsan speak; nor would they yet have resumed talking had Shibusawa been the first to begin. He still pondered a doubt about the real circumstance, though his faith in Kinsan strengthened as he himself recovered.

“I am so glad he has gone away. Oh, if he would only not come back! Did he frighten you much?” said she, her voice betraying her anxiety.

“I cannot say that I was so much as frightened, though I feel better now that he has gone,” said he, evasively. “Why, Kinsan, you do look pleased, and I really believe you, too, are glad to be rid of him. It is unfortunate that he came just at this time—I wonder if my being here influenced his coming? Still, I hardly believe it could have done so, because I do not even know his name, much less does he know me.”

“Oh, no. That was Tetsutaisho, an officer in the shogun’s army,” said Kinsan, assuringly and without divining Shibusawa’s purpose, “and I am certain it was not because you were here that he came. And I am so glad that you are here! I am lonely when I sit here by myself, and now—you will come again, will you not?”

Shibusawa did not answer her at once, but turned and looked, and her soft true eyes looked into his, and he saw how cruel he had been to let suspicion enter his heart and how unworthy of her confidence he had been. Then all his manhood rose and his thoughts became pure and his feelings true, and his courage spoke as he said:

“Yes.”

The moon had risen, and—how could they have seen it other than as it was, a good omen? for they two and it made three.