Shibusawa and Kinsan sat in their place and gazed at the beautiful moon as it rose, now unfolding a deeper meaning, teaching a sweeter lesson. Chayo was no longer to them only a mystic rite, but a living, eternal symbol of life’s greatest joy, and when they had seen all and felt its power they arose and parted, true to themselves and pleased with their good fortune. Shibusawa, though, returned to his house fully aware of the responsibilities which he had assumed and deeply impressed with their probable consequences; yet he realised that the circumstances which had brought about this irresistible situation were conceived directly within his own heart, and that he could not and should not escape their natural and just conclusion. He loved Kinsan, and, whether right or wrong in that love, he must know a higher virtue before he could in justice to himself surrender what seemed to him purely a liberty of conscience.

Nor would his love be unrequited, for he saw in Kinsan the same unknown force which had moved him and held him its willing victim. She too was a slave to its inevitable decree, and now that they had witnessed in each other that repose of confidence necessary to a perfect understanding, he must not let love, a higher purpose, fail at the bidding of family or state, nor allow himself to halt in his proper pursuit at the voice of tradition or, said he:

“Even by the law’s decree; for after all, ‘Is law higher than our understanding?’”

Having decided not to swerve from his course Shibusawa began to plan the means whereby he could meet Kinsan and be with her as much as prudence would allow. He longed to be near her and to share with her his thoughts and gain her approval, but in doing so he must encounter many hardships and much danger. Both statute and custom bade him marry the woman selected only by his parents, and to woo any other and in such a manner was deemed a most serious breach, subject to a severe penalty. He needs must, therefore, employ strategy, for there was no other means of meeting Kinsan, and even that could never make her his wife. The laws of his country were rigid, and his parents, like others, inexorable on that subject; and Shibusawa was not unmindful of either, nor of his duty toward society; yet he was undaunted, and could see no wrong in his loving the woman of his choice, so long as that one brought neither disgrace to his family nor failure to himself; neither of which was probable from his way of thinking—and had he a right to think? That was one of the questions which had determined Shibusawa’s course, and it now became a burning factor in his life.

The hidden cave was their rendezvous, and Kinsan grew to live for the happiness its welcome shelter gave. There, the sweet voice of love whispered and rewhispered the new song that soothed and quickened and held her captive, for Shibusawa came faithfully and constantly, each recurring visit deepening his love, every serious obstacle strengthening his determination.

Time passed quickly and each returning season lent anew its never dying symbol, for to them autumn’s master flower, the chrysanthemum, meant in truth loyalty, sincerity, and earnestness. When these days had passed and winter come Shibusawa sang to her the song of the pine and its fidelity, the bamboo and its elasticity, the plum and its courage, vigour, and reputation. Then spring brought in its train the cherry, the peach, the pear, the primrose, the peony, the wisteria, each in turn adding its voice, for the cave stood in the midst of bloom, everywhere doing its part in the beautiful fulfilment of a divine promise.

Yes, spring had come and with it the budding and the joy of creation. It was now April, the day of the cherry blossom, and the sun had gone down behind the hills and the stars were twinkling their story. Two lovers sat close together—the one ambitious, courageous; the other obedient, loyal—both joyous, but earnest. Her hand rested in his and he bent over and whispered:

“Kinsan, I love you. I love you with a heart that is pure and true. I love you with all my life, my soul voices it. I think of you always—the one constant thought of my life—my hope, my happiness, my existence. Speak, Kinsan, speak and tell me that this is not a hopeless fancy. Tell me that you love me. Tell me that you will be my wife, my love, my sweetheart, my all.”

She leaned forward and laid her rosy cheek upon his bosom, and with her eyes softly upturned she whispered:

“Yes.”

He stooped down and kissed her, and in the warmth of those lips she saw a world of joys; he, the beginning of earnest life. The kiss was unknown to them, but it came as the spontaneous outpouring of a true affection, the token of a master passion; and in that embrace there dawned a new light, the opening of another world.