SMALL portion of the night had been spent by the Prince in that sleep, troubled by nervous starts and awakenings, which was now his only repose, when there was a sound of disorder in the great enclosure without the fortress. The challenging of sentinels, the rattle of arms, the gallop of a considerable body of horse, came to him plainly within the palace interior.

Hastily Keiki passed through the castle apartments to a parapet high above the area of the enclosure. Leaning against a cannon, he sought among the shadows for the cause of the disturbance. If he had any fears as to the state of his defences, none appeared in his face, now grown impassive almost to the point of apathy.

Gradually, as his eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness of the enclosure, he saw that his followers were receiving an accession of fresh troops, many of whom were mounted. Quarters for the rest of the night were being made ready for the new-comers. Plainly, it was the arrival of some of the long-expected clans.

With the knowledge that a report would be made presently, for such was his standing order by day or by night, Keiki returned to his apartments, seeking, after a few further preparations, the chamber in which he was accustomed to receive guests.

Soon a number of his people, among them Toro and the boy Jiro, ushered in his cousin, the cadet Lord of Nagato. Scarcely had he announced the number and strength of the clans he had gathered about him, when he burst out:

“Strange news, your highness!”

“Speak,” said Keiki, briefly.

“With these eyes have I seen it. Ill augurs it for our land and cause.”

“Speak,” said Keiki, impatiently.

“My lord, I have just come from Yedo, whither I went alone in disguise, joining my men only yester morn.”

“My lord,” said the impatient Keiki, “pray remember that the hour is late. All things wait upon your utterance. Tell me in a breath what is your news. What did you see in Yedo?”

“Foreign ships-of-war sailing up the harbor.”

“What was their purpose?”

“They demand the opening of our ports, closed for two hundred years, to the trade of the world.”

Keiki reflected.

“It is evil—this complication with foreign peoples at this time,” he said. “But proceed, my lord.”

The other continued:

“Four foreign ships-of-war are now in Yedo Bay. They are American. They are in much doubt as to who is the ruler of the country. The Shogun Iyesada has assured them that he reigns supreme. Treaties are now being negotiated. The Shogun has taken it upon himself to change the policy of our country without reference to the Son of Heaven” (the Mikado).

“This is treason,” cried Keiki. “We must march against the Shogun at once.”

“Nay, my lord, permit an insignificant vassal to suggest that our country must present at this critical juncture an undivided front against the foreigner. It may be that the Shogun in his weakness before the foreigner but temporizes in his presence. The foreigner must be expelled, and, after that, the Shogun dealt with.”

“You are right, my lord. I congratulate you upon your wisdom and foresight, and beg that you will now retire to rest.”

“May I inquire whether you purpose taking any action, your highness?” inquired Nagato.

“I am decided,” said Keiki. “In the morning I shall set out for Yedo, whatever the peril. I must make observations.”

Long after the others had retired, Keiki tried to review clearly the train of events that had led up to this occurrence. He must decide upon his course. In spite of the European knowledge transferred to him by the Lord of Satsuma, the very term “foreigner” sent a vague thrill of unknown terror to his soul. He had been told of their arms and other methods of warfare; many of their secrets were his. He had, if not their armaments, at least fair imitations—gunpowder, cannon, and rifles. Yet in spite of all this, an emotion that was not fear, not cowardice, made its way subtly to his heart. These foreigners stood for a strange civilization which, despite his vaguely derived knowledge, might yet include greater destructive agencies.

Then who could clearly see beyond their diplomacy? They might come simply, as they said, to demand open ports. But their own history showed that such things had been the forerunners of wars of aggression, wars for the acquisition of territory. No man might know what the extent of the latter demanded. They were a distinct peril to the whole of Dai Nippon. Yet what was to be done with regard to the shogunate? Iyesada was dealing with these foreigners, making treaties, without the sanction of his imperial master, the Mikado. If, on the other hand, Keiki should move with all his forces against the Shogun, would not the foreigners, taking advantage of civil war, better their mysterious position and gain whatever object they might have in view?

No, it seemed clear to Keiki that, unless something unforeseen intervened, every energy must be made by a united country to keep out the foreign powers. When this was definitely accomplished the Mikado’s reign would be established with little delay before the foreigners could recover.

This was the final and definite conclusion reached by Keiki. He saw a certain advantage in the arrival of the foreign ships-of-war, provided they came in good faith. They would serve to distract attention from the aroused and armed state in which the southern provinces now were, to which they had been brought under his direction.

“I will go to Yedo at sunrise,” he told himself.

His temples were throbbing painfully, the result of long nights without sleep, of long days of thought and care. He sighed and drew his hand across his brow.

“My lord is ill?”

He started at the voice. It had a vaguely familiar sound. The young boy, Jiro, had started towards him a pace, and then had retreated backward, as though overcome by his temerity.

“My lord is ill?”

“An insignificant pain in the brow,” said the Prince.

The boy slipped behind the Prince softly and fell upon one knee.

“Dear lord, will you not permit me to relieve the pain of your august brow?”

The Prince stirred uneasily. Again the strange quality of the boy’s voice touched some hidden spring of memory. Taking his silence as consent, the boy laid a soft, cool hand on either side of Keiki’s temples, pressing them with his finger-tips. The action, the touch, recalled in an instant a memory that was better than sleeping. It was thus the Lady Wistaria had been wont to woo away the pain that beset his brow when he had lain ill in her father’s house.

Suddenly the Prince clasped his hands over those on his brow. Gradually he was drawing Jiro to a position facing him, when, eluding the Prince’s grasp, Jiro sank to the floor and laid his head at Keiki’s feet.

“Oh, my lord, I beseech you not to be angry with me for my forwardness. It was my solicitude for your pain—”

“Nay, rise,” said the Prince, gently. “Pray do not confound me with apologies.”

With his head still drooping, the boy retreated towards the door.

The Prince smiled at the fear apparent in Jiro’s demeanor.

“You have done me no ill,” he said, kindly; “you have actually soothed away the pain. I thank you.”