When Shibusawa arose the next morning, he set about with a heavy heart to plan some course of action. He had not slept much during the night, and with a clouded atmosphere the morning was dull, so he remained in the garden but a short time, returning to his now cold and dreary chamber.

At first he planned to hurry to Kinsan and tell her the truth and beg her forgiveness; then he realised the impossibility of doing so; the gates were closed to him, and his strategy would not avail him in the daytime. He rightly divined his father’s helplessness, and knew that an appeal to the court would fall upon deaf ears. The law was inexorable, and those in authority would use it, as they were using him, to further their own schemes. To fly was worse than hopeless, and to disclose the identity of his love would surely bring death if not torture to her. Such were some of the conditions confronting Shibusawa, and with which he must struggle.

Ikamon was fully advised of the rapidly rising influence of the literary, or southern party, at the mikado’s, or royal court, and he hastened that no time be lost in using this last measure to check its growth. The banns were accordingly that day published at Tokyo, and the marriage proclaimed to take place at the earliest possible day in May, the month following; while messengers were despatched to Kyoto with the intelligence, so that Takara might make ready and repair to her intended father-in-law’s seat at the shogun’s capital city.

During the interval of waiting the busy prime minister more than ever bestirred himself with making preparations for the ceremony. Maido was pushed to one side and his natural prerogatives usurped by his son-in-law, Ikamon, who, without much regard to rank, invited everybody whom he thought could in any way further his own political chances and incidentally those of his party. Thus Tetsutaisho was included among the selected guests, for in him more than any other Ikamon saw a future powerful weapon.

This young officer was rapidly advancing in favour, and Ikamon reasoned that his chances of being placed at the head of the shogun’s army, already good, would be effectually strengthened by an alliance with the powerful house of Maido. There was the good and handsome Nehachibana, Maido’s daughter and Shibusawa’s favourite—why not offer her to Tetsutaisho? With Tetsutaisho, his ready confidant, securely in command of the northern army, his alliance with the royal court established through Shibusawa’s marriage, he had designed a still more sweeping stroke, that of tricking the mikadate into a tacit coalition of the two armies, the north and the south, with Tetsutaisho as the recognised head of both. Ikamon believed that in such a situation he could effectually put down any local disaffection, gradually dissipate the mikadate, and eventually establish the shogunate as the sole, supreme authority in the land.

His plan was a vital one, and there seemed to be no real obstacle in the way of its final consummation. Tetsutaisho had already looked upon Nehachibana with a sordid eye; she was young and vivacious—that was enough for him. Shibusawa was now perceptibly occupied with his own troubles, and should readily fall a victim to the magic of a royal court. Maido was rapidly approaching a certain state of senility—possibly apparent to none but his covetous son-in-law—and could no longer offer any serious resistance. There was no further chance for a misalliance in the family, no moral gulf between the driver and the goal, so Ikamon devised and the wedding day found him easily prepared.

When that day had arrived and the guests were assembled, a dust-bedraggled train of carriers and attendants came filing up the roadway to the front of Maido’s castle, where they halted and demanded entrance in the name of Takara, daughter of Komei, the divine mikado. Upon the conclusion of this short ceremony the party was passed through the gate to the house door, where the bride was delivered into the care of Ikamon and Yasuko, his wife, who bade her welcome after the fashion of another polite ceremony. Takara wore a flowing kimono of soft white material, and now that she had entered the house of her future husband she forthwith retired and changed her dress for one provided by the bridegroom. Having thus completed her toilet she was escorted to the chamber of state by Yasuko, while Ikamon attended Shibusawa.

Takara meekly entered, and as she did so the sound of many voices and much merry-making greeted her; the guests were assembled in a room adjoining, waiting for the conclusion of the ceremony and the beginning of the feast. Shibusawa then came forward, betraying only a slight colour, and Takara humbly bowed recognition; he bowed and motioned her to a mat at his side. They had met, and for the first time looked into the mirror of each other’s life. The two-lipped cup was offered by Haraku, the bride’s maid-servant, and Takara moistened her lips therefrom, then passed it to the bridegroom, who in turn drank a draught, and passed it back to her. Thrice three times they did this, and the ceremony was complete.

Without any further ado the bride again retired and changed her light kimono for a coloured one of her own providing. In her absence the sliding partitions had been removed, and when she returned she found herself in the midst of the merry guests, who crowded about to offer their congratulations.

Shibusawa appeared to be deeply impressed with the formal part of the ceremony, but after that was concluded he showed an indifferent feeling, and had it not been for the state character of the doing, there might have seemed to be even less cordiality. Ikamon, of course, outdid himself, particularly in an effort to impress the bride with his own importance, and his squeaking voice and glancing eyes were everywhere in evidence. Tetsutaisho was also pleased and, at first sight of the bride, became so infatuated that she did not thereafter lack attention: an unadvised observer might even have taken him to be the bridegroom.

This gallant young officer naturally was charmed with Nehachibana upon his arrival and introduction early in the evening, and certainly would have continued his attentions had she been the last to come upon the scene. As it was, and as he was unable to divide his gallantry between two, Takara received his favours after their first meeting, which, strange to say, seemed mutually agreeable. On the other hand, Nehachibana had been not unfavourably impressed with Tetsutaisho, and were it not that Takara was now her sister-in-law she might have been a little jealous. Shibusawa, however, consoled her with more than his usual ardour, and he may not have neglected to express in some measure his opinion of the would-be seducer. At all events, he was under the circumstances perfectly willing that the latter should make haste with his wife rather than with his sister. Nor did he disclose the cause of his indifference about the one and his coldness toward the other, because he felt that he had best let events take their own course, especially that the position of both would save either from bringing disgrace into his family.

“I do not mind saying,” said he to his sister, as they sat quietly together, “that I am not at all pleased with Tetsutaisho’s appearance. More I do not care to venture.”

“But he is so large and so heroic,” answered Nehachibana. “Do not such men fight fiercely? And have they not warm hearts? And are they not chivalrous? But he does not seem to care for me. Only Takara has saved him from being bored.”

“Such men are neither bored nor saved. They are incapable of the one and beyond hope of the other,” replied Shibusawa, mindful of his own experience.

“I trust so,” mused she, thoughtfully.

“And I am—well, except for you, indifferent as to the whole affair,” said he, as he arose and went toward Takara.

Shibusawa soon returned to his sister, and bowing himself away from her retired from the company, going with the full consciousness of having acquitted himself as best he could under the circumstances. Perhaps, as he lingered on the veranda above, he did not think of Kinsan, more likely he did not notice particularly the group of sight-seers in the road at the front of the house, but if he had, he might have seen her there, and have observed that her eyes were filled with tears; that she trembled a little and that suspicion was trying hard to enter her heart. He did not distinguish her, however, but turned and went into his own chamber and was seen no more that night.

Kinsan, though, had recognised him, and when he had gone she too turned and stole away toward her house as silently as she had come, but with a heavy heart and uncertain step.

From the time Kinsan had first heard of the intended wedding, something told her that she must go there. True, she had no reason for believing that the Shibusawa to whom she had given her love was a prince, or that he could possibly be the suitor of Takara, the mikado’s daughter; yet a power not explained moved her to go, and opportunity enabled her to see only too much. She had seen him there, and in that she surmised an insurmountable gulf between them, and felt that he in such a station, however true, must be lost to her. She went home and with an aching heart prayed for future light and strength.