While Shibusawa had been constant and true in his attentions he had never apprised Kinsan of his real position, nor of the difficulties which stood in the way of their marriage. That he was worthy there could be no doubt in her mind, and she only knew that she loved him—loved him as they were and with no thought of what might or would befall them. Instinct was enough to keep both from mentioning their affairs to any others, for such a thing as mutual regard was by right or practice unknown in the land; hence must have been deemed improper, especially by the parents, and there were no others to whom they could or should confide their secrets. Whether allowable or not, and without any real knowledge of the consequences, their love had grown and manifested itself in its own mysterious way, and they were destined as they were to meet an uncertain fate.

Very wisely Shibusawa had not in the meantime neglected any of his proper relations at home, but on the contrary entered into life with an earnestness that was not only to his father, but to others of the family and to his friends, a great source of joy. Whether at the Koyo-odori (maple dance for girls), or at the New Year’s feast, or at any of the many fÊtes of the season, his interest was equally keen and his presence always sought. Nor did he neglect his personal improvement, for all of his time and energy not devoted to Kinsan and his social duties were expended in an orderly quest for knowledge; not of a theoretical nature, but of that practical, satisfying kind that, whether for good or for ill, moves the world.

Maido had observed with keen interest all these healthy activities of his son and was proud of his achievements and offered him every encouragement within his power. No particular attention had been paid to Shibusawa’s future other than properly to fit him for the place destined for him, and such a thing as the young prince’s marriage had never seriously entered his father’s mind. Since the birth of his rising successor Maido had always hoped to avoid the necessity of sometime being compelled to sacrifice his son’s or his own happiness to gratify the pleasure or convenience of the court, though he might at any time have been prompted to do as much by an extreme test of loyalty. As far as the lord daimyo’s own interests were concerned there had as yet appeared no need for matrimonial alliances of any kind, and not until political discontent began to arise in the south had he been called upon to concern himself particularly about outside affairs. He had personally held aloof from all entangling alliances, and aside from his duties at court devoted himself to the upbuilding and preservation of his own prefecture, which was now so strong and prosperous that it could reasonably be expected to stand of its own accord.

There was the best of feeling and good content everywhere at home, and when there Maido himself might at any time be seen among his workmen encouraging thrift and economy, while all of the new ideas were regularly taught by learned instructors. As a result his people had become the most skilled and industrious in the land, excelling in the production of rice, silk, lacquer rugs, matting, bronzes, pottery, steel, and implements of husbandry and articles for ornamentation.

Therefore Maido was one of the most powerful as he was resourceful of the shogun’s daimyos and had wisely looked askance at the petty quarrels and fierce rebellions that were constantly devastating other parts of the country and robbing them of their treasure. Still he did not neglect to cultivate a true martial spirit, nor to maintain an army in keeping with the country’s dignity; which, owing to the mountainous approaches at the east and south, and to the broad open sea and rocky shores of the west and north, was as against an invading foe easily defended. These natural barriers having been seized upon early after the beginning of the shogunate and from time to time fortified, Maido had but to keep them in repair and refrain from interfering with outside affairs in order to induce the powerful armies of the north and south, while marching against each other, to pass him by unmolested. In consequence his vassals—secure in their peace, in plenty, sure of kind and liberal treatment, their religion inviolate and their customs well established—were quite content to labour faithfully for the promotion of their daimyo’s comfort and power. He was at the same time the most respected and envied personage at court, and even the shogun himself found it both agreeable and advantageous to cultivate his friendship.

This pleasing situation, however, was not long to continue, for the outgrowth of Maido’s wisdom, and his abundance at home, made him the more coveted at Tokyo; and now that hostilities were assuming proportion in the south, the necessity for new expedients was fast crowding upon the northern party. To Iyeyoshi, the over-fed, easy-going shogun, these matters were rather irksome and in consequence were being more and more turned over to the newly appointed prime minister, the young and restless Ikamon. The shogun was satisfied; Ikamon, ambitious.

The latter had risen from the lower ranks by dint of his own exertions, and his career was as unbounded as it was unbridled. In presence he was pinched and bony, stoop shouldered, of peaked face, had eagle eyes, rather sparse, stiff black hair, and for strength of mind displayed a wonderful mixture of cunning and craft. He had already formed a personal alliance with Maido (which materially strengthened him at court and directly helped him into his present position) by taking in marriage Yasuko, the daimyo’s second daughter; and now ostensibly as a state measure, but in reality to further Ikamon’s personal schemes, Shibusawa was urgently brought forward as a likely match for Takara, a rising member of the royalty, and a daughter of the mikado himself.

When the proposal was first made, Maido paid but little heed to it, passing it by as one of his son-in-law’s many visionary schemes; in the majority of which he had not much confidence and as yet less concern. He had intended to govern himself in this matter, when the proper time came, as he had in all others, as best conserved his own interests and the happiness of his son. That any one dared to interfere with what he considered his and his family’s private affair had not seriously dawned upon his mind, and was this time looked upon as a piece of ill-advised impertinence.

In time, however, the over-confident daimyo discovered his mistake, for Ikamon persisted and before long had enlisted the support of a higher influence, one that presently assumed the shape of an urgent request, if not command. Such an alliance, once proposed, was not in times of stress to be overlooked even by the shogun, and Maido soon found himself entangled with a problem that was to bring his son face to face with the queenly and much coveted Takara.

Though only the daughter by a favourite concubine, this beautiful princess was much loved by Komei, the mikado, and it was conceded that whoever gained her hand would not only gain his royal highness’ favour, but strengthen his position at the Kyoto court. She was tall and slender, not yet twenty years of age, had bright, tender eyes, a soft, clear skin, and silken hair as dark as the raven. Her manner was that of grace and distinction, her speech calm and deliberate, while at court and among her friends she was regarded with almost reverence. Daikomitsu, a rising young prince and staunch supporter of the southern party, had already sought her hand in marriage, and withal, aside from any political considerations, she might have been thought eminently fitted to become the wife even of a Maido’s successor.

It was with different considerations, though, that Ikamon urged the suit. He knew of no demand except that of policy, and now that he was in a position effectively to reach both sides he hastened the business as much as he consistently could. The mikado was, notwithstanding the advice of his counsellors, still in favour of peace, and thus he lent a ready ear to any proposal that might be reasonably expected to calm the disturbance and ward off a final conflict. His daughter, having grown to womanhood within the palace and its traditional and superstitious atmosphere, knew nothing of the profane world and was possessed of a loyalty that carried her far over into the sweep of ancestral worship. She believed that her only province was to serve, and that of right she should be handed from father to husband, from the one family to the other. Her birth seemed but a necessity, her life a sacrifice, and her death only a natural consequence—why should she look or think or hope beyond? She offered no protest when told of her lot—that she must yield her all unto a stranger—but bowed in grateful submission at the command of an unquestioned fate. She promised her father, and he was pleased, and hastened to inform the shogun.

Maido as yet had said nothing to Shibusawa about his prospective marriage, though he himself had been fully convinced that there was no possible way for him to avoid its final consummation without as a last resort breaking faith with the shogun: a thing entirely beyond the pale of his moral rectitude. He had from time to time avoided the subject, trusting that some failure at Kyoto might save him the necessity, but now that the mikado had favourably responded and the shogun positively commanded, all hope was dissipated.

He therefore called his son to him and led him into the great chamber, where he bade him be seated at his side. It was in the evening, and Maido had just returned flushed and heated from an animated council, and he chose the open side of the room, where they sat facing each other and alone. A warm breeze floated in from the garden, and the air seemed to Shibusawa almost as sweet with cherry blossom as it had the day before while sitting with Kinsan at the hidden cave. He realised that some grave question disturbed his parent, but little thought that he himself was the victim of a prearranged plan that should augur so uncertain a future. He would have spoken, but his father beckoned him be silent; then himself spoke distinctly, telling him of what he was expected to do, and waited for an answer.

There was no mistaking the meaning, yet Shibusawa sat in silence; he was for the moment dazed and unable to make any answer. After the first flush he resolved upon throwing himself at his father’s feet and explaining all; to ask forgiveness for what he had done, and beg indulgence for what his life seemed pledged to do, but prudence bade him not. He knew only too well that such a thing was impossible. Maido’s anxiety doubled with each succeeding moment, until finally surprise, then fear, moved him and his voice trembled as he said:

“Shibusawa, my son, have you no ears?”

“I hear you, father, and I assure you it is my weakness and not the answer that makes me slow. I would frame you a better speech than the one I have in mind.”

“Hold, my boy! I know your answer. And, besides, I would rather you save your words for a higher purpose. This old self of mine is satisfied that you do the thing. That is it. Oshaka! Oshaka! good god of self, forbid that I hear, let me only feel a father’s blessing and a son’s forgiveness. Come, my good son, your liberal indulgence of me and your ready acceptance of her has removed from me the greatest concern of my life. A long one, and a happy one—hah! h-a-h! h—a—h!”

Maido’s eyes flashed dry and hot as he sat there swinging his powerful frame back and forth to the rhythm of his parched words. Shibusawa knelt quickly at his father’s side and steadied and soothed him. The long white locks parted and fell from his splendid brow, and in an instant the son’s whole soul went out to the one who had given him being and had showered upon him a constant devotion.

The lord daimyo went to sleep presently, and Shibusawa sat for a long time, debating the consequences of this new and unexpected situation. It was only yesterday that he had pledged himself to the one he loved, and now he was bound by every tradition and law to break that engagement and perform a duty. Had this sudden mandate come only a day sooner his honour, at least, might have been saved; but to sacrifice that was more than he could do. Filial affection—but was there not a higher purpose, and if so why not devote his life to its fulfilment? He pondered, then said to himself:

“Although I uphold the traditions of our religion, maintain the honour of my family, and obey the command of the shogun, I can and will be true to Kinsan.”