Though the earthquake had spared no part of the capital, and devastated equally among the high and the lowly, the tidal wave did not rise to the top of the numerous hills spreading over the city. Thus many were saved, and by some unknown freak of fate Ikamon remained among them.

Nor did he suffer much regret; for it had been the certain means of destroying the unsightly evidence of his dastardly act, as well as an occasion for the distraction of the public mind. He had been anxious enough to get rid of his accounted enemies, but did not much relish the talk about it; and now that the nation had been inflicted with a great calamity that would distract their minds, he appeared really glad at heart. The dead daimyos’ succession engaged his attention first, and hastening to bury the official notification beneath the excitement of the moment he began on the very next day to forward letters of advice and condolence.

The prime minister’s expressions of sorrow, especially to Shibusawa, were more than profuse; they were prodigal, and ended by admonishing this young daimyo to repose in him that implicit confidence which “it had been the good fortune of his happy father before him to possess.” He cautioned him to look well to the shogun’s procedures, and speed the day of his coming to Tokyo to prostrate his person at the feet of his august highness.

While Ikamon had been so fortunate in escaping disaster, the same did not prove entirely so with Tetsutaisho. At his house the first shock occasioned much excitement, and dire disaster followed in the wake of the phenomenon. Kinsan had not retired for the night, but sat trilling and musing in her chamber. The child in its kimono lay sleeping on the floor near by, while the warm, sultry air floated in at the house sides, where the slides had not yet been closed. The tall trees overhanging her veranda seemed more shadowless than ever before, and she peered, as she so often did, into the dark solitude outside.

At the first tremor she ran and clasped Sodachinojoi in her arms; then crouched upon the floor, waiting with breathless expectation. In a moment—it seemed an age—Nehachibana flew into the room, with her hair dishevelled and eyes wild and furtive. Shrieking and wailing she implored Ninigi, now god of earth, to forego his quarrel with Sosanoo, and cease tormenting the good people of Jimmu. Kinsan parleyed with her to be calm, and come and sit by her side; but this she would not do, for she now bitterly hated her whom she thought to be her only rival. She would not be consoled, and when the second shock rent the earth beneath them and the house timbers parted and the heavy tiling fell upon their heads a ghastly smile crossed her face, and she played and snapped her fingers, and stole toward the deep, hollow crater opening beneath the rent in the floor.

A falling tile had struck Kinsan a blow on the head and she lay helpless at the edge of the gap in the floor, held only by her clothing from sliding into the yawning crevice below. The child was unhurt; it played upon the tilted mat, and cooed without a sense of its own peril. Nehachibana leaned over it, anxious and breathless. Her eyes flashed and she spoke incoherently, saying;

“Shall I end this wicked sorrow?”

Suddenly the mat slipped and the child slid into the gaping earth, and not a sound arose to tell of its terrible fate. Nehachibana made no effort to stay death’s angry claim, but recoiled from it and charged herself with remorse at having lost the chance to take revenge with her own hand. Then she braced herself and with set teeth said:

“It is not too late!”

Plunging forward and grappling the listless, helpless form that lay heavily upon the brink, she tugged and pushed it almost over, then stopped and weirdly looked around. There was no one there, but the thought startled her, and she said:

“No. I can take a better revenge.”

Pulling her intended victim away from the dangerous place, Nehachibana brought water in a dish, and showered it in her face; then went away, and by the time she had revived she returned, offering assistance and nourishment. Many weeks passed before Kinsan fully recovered, and not until then had she been told of the fate of Tetsutaisho’s son.

No one had witnessed the sad scene except Nehachibana, and she took care to remain silent and undiscovered. Kinsan took the blame all upon herself and sorrowed deeply and pined much over the loss. Tetsutaisho was grief stricken, and for a long time unable to reconcile himself to his only son’s destruction, hence became more kindly disposed toward Kinsan and solicitous for her love. She, however, remained steadfast and true to herself, seeking in every right way to serve her master and atone for the great sorrow that she charged herself with having brought upon him. The disappointed wife in the meantime resorted to every artifice within her weakened range to win Tetsutaisho for herself, and no material change took place among them until she had fully resolved that no hope remained.

Takara had not heard of the disappearance of the child. In fact, having little means of gaining any knowledge of him without too great danger to all concerned, she had long ago ceased to worry about his fortunes. The past was now more than ever a blank to her. She devoted herself to the day at hand, untrammelled by that which had gone before.

Kido, her friend and counsellor, had called a new meeting of the daimyos, confining his invitations to the south and only such others as he knew to be safe. They had been warned against Daikomitsu by Takara, and wisely heeded her advice: the mikado’s cause was a sacred right, and its supporters knew no such thing as disloyalty; their claims were founded upon principle and their measures smacked not of the charlatan. Kido, the recognised “head and pen,” Saigo, the accredited “heart and sword”—they planned nobly and stood ready to fight honourably.

As they had been anxious to secure Maido’s friendship before, they were hopeful of claiming Shibusawa’s after the succession, and Takara, bending all her energies to that end, would gladly have sacrificed home, position, everything, to secure and advance him at the mikado’s court. No one knew better than she that his sympathies were more in accord with their ideals than with the shogunate’s; and could they but enlist him they would be in a position to withstand, if not overwhelm, the enemy. It became a duty with Takara, and Shibusawa rose to be her god.

He on the other hand, knowing himself, and cognisant of his strength, dared not act so quickly. True, his faith in the shogunate was rapidly being shattered—not alone because of his father’s wanton destruction—nor did bitterness poison him; he could see beyond vicious revenge. There were at stake the destinies of a nation, the survival of a civilisation, and the maintenance of a principle that gave or took the liberties of mankind. He must first see the right, then succeed even at the cost of life.

He still doubted Takara, even, in a measure, after learning something of her heroic sacrifices. In serving Maido, she had also served him, told him that his father had died by an honourable rite, to Shibusawa not the chiefest, but a high aim. He thanked her from his heart and promised a blessing, though Daikomitsu he dismissed as unworthy a hearing. He had less desire to avenge an act than to right a wrong, and when the would-be-trickster sought his aid in setting the ronin to move on what he professed to be a common enemy, Shibusawa frowned him away, saying:

“Please do not encourage the thought, much less the act.”

Daikomitsu, however, not so easily frustrated, had a purpose of his own, and sought in other ways to further his schemes, though a tangle ensued where he least desired. The ronin were his fit instruments, and knowing their readiness he sought and before the winter had passed set them well in motion. He not only had done this, but knew better than others just how the forces of state were scattered; and carrying his knowledge with him went to Tokyo and there posed as the wise man from the south, and incidentally, among the prime minister’s enemies, as a most likely successor to Ikamon.

The malcontents offered the means, Ikamon’s removal the place, and the ronin the instrument, through which Daikomitsu was to rise and prepare the way to reach Takara’s heart. Keeping well out of the way of Shibusawa, who, therefore, gave his movements no further concern, the apparent dullard proved equal to the occasion, and along these lines made the advance.