The beautiful song of the unknown star had stimulated the most hearty good cheer, and the playing, feasting, and conversation did not wane until a late hour. And when the festivities had ended, Ikamon was accounted the prince of entertainers; while Shibusawa confronted a new danger.

When the guests had gone home his father began making preparations to go to Kanazawa. Maido, pleased with the reception accorded him, felt highly complimented for his long and faithful services at the capital. He deemed it a fitting finale to what he considered the close of his active public career, and the honour seemed to him a splendid reward. And now that so much had been done by his friends in appreciation of his services and in recognition of his retirement, he believed himself in duty bound to show his proper regard by making his exit as elaborate as his circumstances would permit. Therefore he called his son to him and said:

“Shibusawa, we have been honoured at the hands of our friends and especially are we under obligation to the court. Let us be equally generous in our withdrawal from life at the capital, and depart with a procession that will show due appreciation, and declare our loyalty to his august highness. We have always been modest in our pretensions, and I believe that some such demonstration would not be unfitting or beneath the dignity of our station. What do you say, my son?”

“If it is your pleasure, I certainly can see no valid objection. We need not be ashamed of such showing as we can make, and real display is sometimes a good promoter and always a splendid encouragement. What can I do to be of service?”

“Please consider yourself my guest; that will better suit me, since it may be my last opportunity. Once the young get a good hold, there is little chance for the fathers. Let me do the thing once more, then surrender to you. The last is the greater.”

“Very well, if you like, Shibusawa will obey; there is no greater pleasure, nor higher honour.”

Shibusawa not only wished to please his father but was glad for the opportunity to occupy himself in another way. Since his startling discovery of Kinsan he had resolved to find her and claim her, whatever might be the cost. He reasoned that his agitation upon seeing Kinsan on the stage would be passed as merely an incident, and that no explanation would be required; and that he take no steps that might involve his family, he deemed it advisable to keep his own counsel until, if necessary, developments necessitated some sort of disclosure. Tetsutaisho had said nothing, and in consequence Shibusawa did not know of any suspicion on his part; and being entirely unaware of Kinsan’s residence he had, of course, no reason whatever to suppose that she was domiciled at his brother-in-law’s house. His idolised queen had appeared to him as if in a vision, and the more he pondered the situation the more deeply he became perplexed.

And as the days rapidly passed and his allotted time shortened, Shibusawa began to grow nervous and despair of his mission. All his friends with whom he could discuss the new prima donna were even more than he in the dark; they had never heard of her and like himself could get no information as to where she could even be found. He rightly refrained from saying anything to Ikamon, the only person besides Tetsutaisho who could have informed him; and even had he approached him he would have received no encouragement, for the prime minister had promised faithfully to keep her identity a secret. From day to day the disconsolate young prince went from friend to friend and place to place discussing the crowning feature of the big event, in hope of getting some bit of information that would serve as a clue. In geisha circles they were equally mystified, and from that source no encouragement could be offered. He became disheartened, though more than ever resolved.

The time for his departure from the city had already arrived, and before going he set out to make his sister, Yasuko, a parting call. While there, she for a second time cautioned him about his going to see Nehachibana; whereupon he promised forthwith to go and bid his favourite sister farewell, even though he had not as yet made up his mind to forgive or become friendly with her husband. Shortening his visit with Yasuko, accordingly, he kept his promise and immediately went to call upon Nehachibana.

It was a gloomy day, and the clouds hung low and drove cold the chill of autumn. The dusk of night already overshadowed the earth and he felt uneasy, much disliking to disturb even his sister at so late an hour; yet he knew that it would be his only chance, for on the morrow he must make ready to take his departure. As he approached the house no one greeted him; he hesitated; resolving to meet her if possible, he pressed forward, making known his desire to see Nehachibana, his sister.

He had not long to wait, however, for she came in person and greeting him warmly bade him enter the house and sit in her own chamber. Here they sat and sat, he listening, and she pouring out her troubles—it had been her first opportunity in all those pent-up years. Again and again they had drained their teacups when, flushed and excited, she said:

“Yes, there is a son, and you must know its mother. I will show it to you and then you can better appreciate my terrible sorrow. Oh, I cannot bear it longer! It will kill me, and yet it is no fault of mine. I have been a dutiful wife, and I have the only right to be the mother of his children. Tell me, Shibusawa, my brother, is there no help for woman?”

“It is the law of the land, Nehachibana, and as long as it is such, it is our duty to abide by its decree.”

“But the law is so unjust!”

“The injustice is in the making of it. But there, now, let us not discuss that any further. You have done your part, and I will venture it is better a husband whom you love, than a wife who loves your husband. Come, now, when shall I expect you to pay us a visit in the country?”

“I wish you were not going so far. I am seldom allowed such a privilege, and were I—oh, that other one! I should never give her the satisfaction. I hate her! I love—oh, I dare not, I cannot go away! Come with me, now, won’t you? I want you to see—to see with your own eyes—I shall have revenge!”

“But you must not, my dear Nehachibana. It is not she that has wronged you; and it is a terrible thing to misjudge. Better suffer the wrong; the charity will repay you the sacrifice.”

“Then look, as I have done these many days, and you will know better a woman’s way. It is an image of the devil, and its eyes rivet me. Come?”

“To please you, Nehachibana.”

Nehachibana arose and stealthily disappeared; in a few moments she returned and, scarcely speaking above a whisper, bade Shibusawa follow. Guiding him through several rooms, into a long passageway, thence to a chamber out of which a soft light shone through the frail paper partition, she cautioned him, then pushed back the slide a little and beckoned him approach. Kinsan sat in deep thought near a small screen, with the child fondled in her lap, and for the moment did not observe their entrance. She had often been intruded upon in such a manner and therefore paid little heed. Perhaps she meditated the night of her dÉbut upon the stage; or she may have been thinking of another time when all the world seemed glorified to her. The visitors approached, however, and their stockinged feet made hardly any noise on the soft, matted floor. They came at Kinsan’s back, partly sidewise, and when not too far away Nehachibana clutched at Shibusawa’s kimono and pointing her bony finger at the child, leaned forward and said, almost breathlessly:

“It is he!”

She trembled violently, and her eyes stared wildly as they came in contact with the child. Until Nehachibana spoke, Kinsan had not recognised them, nor would she then have done so had not Shibusawa sprung forward to save Nehachibana from falling as she reeled and lost her balance. Shibusawa had recognised Kinsan the moment Nehachibana spoke, and it was a hard struggle for him to refrain from speaking to her. His whole being bade him respond to an overpowering impulse, but sober thought checked him, and he grasped at an opportunity to turn his back by leading Nehachibana away.

This movement, however, did not serve to shield him, for before he had entirely turned about Kinsan saw his face and knew him, and sprang to her feet, while the child fell to the floor. Though her very being flamed she did not follow, but stood speechless and helpless; there was no force to move her. She waited, and presently he returned.

Shibusawa led his sister back to her apartment and left her under promise that she would try to regain her composure and remain there until he came for her. He told her that he desired to meet the child’s mother privately, but would return to her in a short time.

Nehachibana said nothing to relieve her brother’s mind. She knew in her own heart that Kinsan was not the mother of the child, yet she did not speak. He, of course, took it for granted that the child was hers. He got only a glance, but saw in its eyes a familiar image; also in that he was misinformed. Had it been a woman who saw, she would not have made so grave a mistake; reason is sometimes the victim of deception; intuition, never.

As he returned, he judged. Every step deadened his feelings and each thought blinded his reason. He conjured her false, and made himself the victim. He re-entered the room, sternly and deliberately; she stood there, hopeful and expectant. As he stepped inside she came forward, but before reaching him stopped and bowed in silence; she had divined his heart and read correctly the message. The child cried playfully, and she blushed deeply and confusedly. She realised fully the possible consequences of its being there, and would have hastened to explain had he given her the opportunity; on the contrary he approached and said calmly, but coldly:

“Kinsan, I would like a word with you, if you will so permit me.”

She raised her hands and looked at him with pleading, earnest eyes, but he made no offer to meet her. His arms hung limp, and his look fell to the floor. She waited for him to recover, to deign some word or act of encouragement. Perhaps he battled for power; perhaps he accused her. He made no sign, and she recovered herself and calmly asked him:

“Will you please be seated?

They sat down upon the clean white floor; the child lay coaxing in front of them. Neither offered a remark, but both sat in serious contemplation. It was he who first attempted to break the silence, and as he ventured to speak the partition in front slid back with a jerk, and Tetsutaisho walked forward and bowed.

“I trust I am not intruding,” said he, as he waited for Shibusawa to arise.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the younger of the two, rising and drawing his kimono about him. “It is I who seem to be unwelcome. Therefore please grant me the privilege of retiring.”

“As you like,” said the other, with an air of disinterestedness and a low bow. “Tetsutaisho welcomes his friends, always.”

“And Shibusawa recognises his enemies, now and then,” retorted he with a courteous bow, as he gracefully withdrew from their presence.

Shibusawa hurried back to Nehachibana’s room where he found her sitting and staring into space. Her features were expressionless, and her toilet showed a carelessness which until now had escaped his notice. He said a few kindly words to her, and retiring, hastened toward his own home. She paid little heed to what he said, and when he warmly gave her a parting farewell she blankly answered:

“Sayonara.”[17]

The disconsolate young man went home with a sadder heart and firmer determination than ever. He was fully convinced that Kinsan had been untrue, yet in charity he charged her failure to the law’s barrier. At first he had been stunned, and his love momentarily wavered; but as he gained freedom and more carefully reflected, his heart withstood the test and his mind regained its composure; and when he arose the next morning he set himself to his task with a will that knows no better victory than constancy.