AYS went by. The entire force at the command of Mori moved slowly in the direction of the Emperor’s capital of Kioto. As the days stretched into weeks and months, still the army moved without haste. Mori was now in communication with the other leaders of his party, through runners. All were concentrating upon the capital.

Echizen, moreover, had sent word to Mori by special courier. The boy Shogun was dead, and the young Prince of Mito, who had headed the army of chastisement against the Imperialists in Kioto, had been appointed Shogun. But Echizen’s tidings of death did not stop here. The Emperor Kommei Tenno had succumbed to disease and oppression, and upon his death, his son, young Mutsuhito, a youth of sixteen, had succeeded to the throne.

When Mori learned of this latter event he despatched long epistles to each of the leaders. He urged that all should concentrate their forces in small parties, whose approach should be gradual upon the Imperial palace. Once having possession of the Imperial city and the palace, the Aidzu-Catzu supporters would be instantly expelled, and Mutsuhito, the new Mikado, should be proclaimed sole ruler of Japan.

To this all assented. The 3d of January was settled upon as the day.

Dividing his force into small parties, who were assigned a rendezvous in Kioto, Mori continued his advance. Then came the news to him from Echizen that the Prince of Mito (now the Shogun) had been persuaded to resign his office. Now there seemed small obstacle in the way of the Imperialist plan.

On the day appointed, the various relays of Mori’s force which had preceded him to Kioto met and joined his personal following. At the hour of noon they marched in perfect order to the western gate. Each of the nine gates was taken without force by a large body in command of one of the Imperialists.

Two hours later Mori, Echizen, Oguri, and the other leaders were in full possession of the Mikado’s person and policy. The shogunate was declared abolished. An edict was issued declaring the Mikado the sole ruler, and a government was created. Aidzu and Catzu had been expelled from the palace.

It was reported to Mori that the ex-Shogun, Mito, had left Kioto in anger, and that, regretting his resignation, he was gathering troops about him to dispute the coup d’État.

Wearily Mori assumed command of some two thousand troops, went to Fushimi, where he met the Prince of Mito, with an army much larger than his own. After three days’ fighting the ex-Shogun was driven back to Ozaka, whence he departed for Yedo on an American vessel. Mori followed more slowly.

He was now embarked upon the most desperate stage of his undertaking. Mito possessed in his capital, Yedo, forces, ships, and resources in great excess of any belonging to the new government. Nevertheless Mori marched upon Yedo steadily. At the gates of the city the senior Lord of Catzu met Mori.

“How now, my lord?” demanded the Mikado’s defender. “Are you come again to bid me lay down my arms?”

“No,” said Catzu, almost humbly, “I am come to offer you the submission of the Prince of Mito.”

“Ah!” Mori veiled his satisfaction.

“Under my counsel,” continued Catzu, “his highness the Prince of Mito has seen his error. Never again will he take up arms against his sovereign lord the Mikado. I but beseech you now to spare the city of Yedo.”

“My business here is done,” was Mori’s reply.

“Stay, my lord.” Catzu entwined his fingers in an effort to conceal a strange nervousness.

“I await your words, my lord.”

“Thy wife—” began Catzu.

The brain of the leader became clouded and dark with passion.

“Another word, my lord,” he replied, haughtily, “and thou and Yedo shall both be put to the sword. Having found my armor invulnerable to the darts of your spears and arrows, you think to advantage yourself by an ancient weakness of mine. Be assured that I am as invincible in that regard, my lord, as in the matter of warfare.”

At the end of twelve days Mori was again in Kioto. The surrender of the late Shogun had not carried with it the submission of Aidzu, who had fled to his province. The Prince despatched Oguri into the highlands of Aidzu to complete the unification of the country. Eventually Oguri fulfilled his mission, bringing complete victory to the Imperial cause.

In the Kioto court the new party wrought speedy change. The daimios, or territorial lords, were summoned, and resigned into the hands of the Mikado their feudal possessions.

At one of the last councils attended by Mori, the Shining Prince made an address of deep import.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “may not be insensible to the changes forced and hastened in your country by the advent of the foreigner. I have been fighting feudalism, the bakufu, and the shogunate with the civilization and weapons of the foreigners. Through them we have conquered and prevailed. Since we owe our supremacy to their rifle and cannon, a conviction has forced itself upon me. Your Majesty no longer lives behind a screen, seen by a few eyes only. Your Majesty is a world power, and must have relations with other nations. We must assimilate foreign civilization, if only to combat the foreigner.”

Thus Mori came to the spirit of New Japan, speaking almost the identical words uttered by Iyesada long ago.

Having accomplished his share of the establishment of the new government, Mori felt that he could now turn his attention to the welfare of his faithful followers.

He set a day for a final interview with them, when he should bestow such rewards as were now in his power, as chief adviser to his sovereign, to give.

For himself, an important cabinet portfolio had been offered, but he had come to no decision. He felt that his work was done. He desired only peace. He was not ready to think further.

Realizing that the lost Jiro, if alive, must be in some portion of the palace, Mori caused him to be sought for.

On the evening prior to his final meeting with his officers, Jiro came to him as he sat alone in his chamber. The sight of the lad affected the Choshui Prince peculiarly. He realized in a moment of self-revelation that the feeling of loneliness and isolation among his officers had first manifested itself just after the departure of Jiro. While his relations with the youth had not been of an intimate nature, still Mori felt that he had ever sought and found tacitly a silent, unspoken understanding and support of his purposes from him. He felt drawn towards the boy as one great soul seeks the penetrating sympathy of another. A longing, throbbing into wistfulness, pervaded him. Wearily, yet patiently, he regarded the youth.

“Jiro, my boy, why have you left me so long?” he said.

The boy flushed slightly as an eager delight betrayed for a moment his pleasure in Mori’s words.

“Have you, then, missed me?” he began, in a warm voice, to break off abruptly as a forced coldness took possession of him. “I have been much engaged, my lord,” he said, without enthusiasm.

“Ah!” said Mori, quietly, noting his flushing face; “and I am ready to wager it was with a maiden.”

“It was, my lord.”

“Ah!—thou, too, Jiro,” said Mori, sadly. “A youth, thou hast come to the gates of love, to enter paradise—or hell.”

“It was not an affair of love, my lord.”

“No?”

“I have been endeavoring to right the wrongs of a woman—a very near kinswoman. But I find that I am without power to proceed further.”

“Nay, tell me, Jiro, thy troubles, and those of thy kinswoman. I am not without power now, and may assist thee.”

Mori smiled pitifully at thought of his power and the poor satisfaction it held, now that its great consummation had been crowned.

A slight nervousness fell upon Jiro. While his hands tremblingly fingered his obi, there came into his eyes and his voice a suggestion of something ulterior, something beyond.

“My lord, my kinswoman loved a man and he loved her,” he said, pausing.

“Sad,” murmured Mori, with the cynicism of his broken mood.

Without noticing the Prince’s comment, Jiro continued:

“My lord, has not a parent the right to exact obedience from his child, even though that obedience lead her to utmost misery?”

“Such is the Japanese idea,” returned Mori.

“Then, my lord, the parent of my kinswoman exacted a task from her. He forced her to betray her lover, though she, ignorant that he was the person implicated, yet sought to warn him of the danger to himself and the unknown.”

Mori’s eyebrows contracted darkly. He half rose from his seat. Then with a forced calm he dropped back into his place.

Jiro’s face was now flushed a deep scarlet. He seemed to be using all his strength in an effort to control his emotions.

“My lord,” he added, “my kinswoman was not only forced to betray her lover by her father, but she was driven further—into marrying, and, consequently, degrading him, because only in that way could she save his life from the hands of the public executioner.”

Mori was white to the lips with his anger. But he controlled himself strongly. Jiro had claims upon his gratitude.

“You have failed to tell me,” he said, coldly, “in what way I can serve you—and your kinswoman.”

“My lord, the lover put away my kinswoman, being in ignorance of the treachery of her parent. Yet so grievously is he wounded that he could not be approached by one so slight as I. He would not listen to truth.”

Impenetrability masked the face of Mori. His thoughts were veiled behind a set countenance.

Half abashed, and fully shaken in his late confidence, Jiro spoke trembling words.

“Do you, my lord, speak to this lover—tell him that it was the fault of their fathers, and that his lady, indeed, loves him and has always loved him.”

Still silent and motionless remained Mori.

Jiro faltered. “I have served thee,” he said, as he went a step closer to Mori; “do thou this now for me.”

Mori spoke.

“To-morrow,” he said, “I take farewell of my officers. My worldly tasks are then finished. Then I will endeavor to serve you, Jiro—to-morrow.”

“But, my lord, thou speakest of thy worldly tasks. Wilt thou, then—?”

“Nay, Jiro, I will not take my life, I promise thee, before I have seen thee. To-morrow.”

“To-morrow,” repeated Jiro, and was gone.

Near the iris field in the Emperor’s garden there is a slight hill, set upon whose sides are a number of fanciful shelters. Under one of these, upon a bench that night long sat Prince Mori Keiki. Above him the bare trees supporting the structure twined their naked boughs together into what in the leaftime was a natural roof. This night, bare of leaf, they were as open to the cold as the structure’s side, yet Mori seemed unaware of the season. There was no chill upon his limbs. A strange smile flitted across the features of the solitary Prince.

With a shrug of the shoulders he glanced at the slight structure under which he sat.

“It is a summer-house,” he muttered, “and it is now winter. Fitting—fitting.”

Farther up the hill above him, within the shadow of another similar structure, a slight form crouched, while burning eyes were fastened upon Mori. With chilled and shivering being, the youth watched.

“He must not depart this life,” said the little watcher on the hill; “he must live—and believe. Oh! all the gods, lend me the strength and power to convince him!”