OR a moment Keiki was blinded by the profusion of light that blazed near the door of entrance, leaving the rest of the chamber in shadow. It was a large room, its walls tapestried in silk, wrought with embossed figures telling the history of the early Tokugawa wars. At irregular intervals about the room were set screens bearing the same gold-embroidered, symbolic figures. There were a few low tables, against which were thrown the implements and paraphernalia of war—swords, helmets, cuirass, armor, all richly wrought.

“Who are you?”

Keiki became conscious of a presence in the room. Stretched upon a low divan in a shadowed recess lay an indistinct figure, at whose elbow a low table, piled high with parchment and writing materials, stood.

“Who are you?” repeated the voice.

Keiki approached nearer, bowing courteously, though somewhat stiffly.

“Sakura,” he said, to gain time, while he held out a roll of paper in his hand. He drew nearer to the figure on the divan. The cold eyes of the other scanned him without fear.

“You are not Sakura. You are—I know you. Be good enough to bring me that cabinet.”

Keiki crossed the apartment to the spot indicated by the other’s gesture. He brought a small, inlaid, lacquer box to the side of the divan.

The one upon the divan, without a trace of nervousness, opened the box and held up to the Prince of Mori a picture of himself.

“See,” he said, “I have your portrait, with an interesting description attached of certain cannon foundries and works I believe you maintain in the south. Ah, there is something else written beneath the picture.” He held it to the light. “Mori, head of the rebel cause, to be followed and beheaded. What is it you want with me?” he finished, replacing the portrait in the box.

Mori laid his hand upon his sword.

“What do you want with Iyesada? I am he, as you are well aware. It is less than a year, I believe, since your lordship was at my court.”

Mori winced. The memory of that last visit recalled his first meeting with Wistaria. He became very pale.

“What do you want with me?” inquired the other, quietly watching him.

“To know your intentions towards the foreigners.”

“Are you aware,” returned the Shogun, “that a single sign from me would bring down a thousand guards upon your head?”

Mori smiled coldly, grimly.

“Ah, but your highness will not make that sign,” he said.

“Why will I not?”

“Because your highness loves life.”

“You would murder me?”

“I would cut off your head and show it to the people as the head of a traitor and an enemy to the Son of Heaven.”

The Shogun appeared rather amused than alarmed. He regarded Mori with a peculiar and penetrating glance. Then he sighed.

“I was young and venturesome once,” he said. “I, too, at one time, secretly believed as you do. Now—” He shrugged his shoulders.

“What are your intentions regarding these foreigners?”

“Are you here to treat with me, young Mori?”

“If you wish, yes. I represent a considerable party in the empire. I ask with right, for one day I shall unthrone your excellency.”

Iyesada turned himself quickly upon his elbow, while his eyes continued to scrutinize the other keenly.

“What would you do in my place?” he asked.

“Refuse their every demand and drive them into the sea,” returned Mori, as the blood tinged his cheek.

“No, you would not; that is, not if you are as far-sighted as I take you to be. Japan has been sealed to the foreigners for two hundred years, during which time she has grown strong in the development of her resources and her civilization. That period is at an end. It can never return. Foreign nations will demand trade with us. They will not depart at our refusal. They will use force, if necessary, holding that every nation must share in the comity of nations. If a nation refuse, they will divide her.”

“Pah!” said Mori, impatiently. “Is the policy, then, of our Imperial realm to be dictated by a hoard of barbarous peoples concerning whom we know naught, save what our history in the past has taught us? When in the years long past they were admitted to our lands and we opened our arms in hospitality towards them, what was our reward? Foreign disease, insolent demands, a fanatical religion, intolerant and exacting. Finally we came to be treated as dogs by these our inferiors until we were forced to expel them, since which time has not our land been the happier for our seclusion?”

“It would seem,” said Iyesada, “that you are not, in spite of the reports I have heard concerning you, keeping abreast of the times. You are not a son of the dawning new Japan; you would retard the progression which is pressing upon us from all sides.”

“I would not have this progression come from the outside. I would have my country advance from within. That is the reason I am an Imperialist. You are right, my lord; a new Japan is about to dawn, but not through the invasion of yonder barbarians, but because the rightful ruler of our country will be restored to his throne.”

Iyesada frowned.

“Again I ask,” continued Mori, flushed with his feeling, “do you intend to treat with these foreigners?”

“I will treat with them. I will yield, but combating every step.”

“I could declare a truce with you,” said Mori, “and I possess the power to enforce it, if you will assume your rightful function of war lord and expel the foreigners.”

Iyesada looked him through. There was in his glance the patient scorn of the man who sees beyond his life.

“You appear, Prince of Mori, to appreciate European civilization, you who have fashioned rifles. I have looked to you as one who might think with me. I thought you represented progress, in spite of the fact that your activities were directed against myself. I have left you to yourself for a time. I thought you saw, as I see, the new Japan, the Japan that in self-defence must assimilate European civilization to beat back these Europeans. I could offer you much.”

“I belong to the Emperor, who rules by the right of the gods.”

To his feet the Shogun leaped. Into his disease-deadened eyes there came the fire of strong will. He raised his arm.

“Sovereignty belongs to—”

“The Emperor,” finished Mori, passionately.

“To the strongest,” said the Shogun; “to that one who, seizing it, by his ability and wisdom uses it for the good of all. I am strong—he is weak. The strong—”

The Shogun ceased. Across his face there shot a spasm of acute pain. His breath came in gasps. Mori helped him to regain his couch. He smiled gently, sorrowfully.

“I said I was strong, yet I am indeed weak. I cannot live to see the new Japan. You may; but go, go! I have tried to save you from the folly of blind enthusiasm. You disappoint me—”

“My lord!”

“I will allow you to go in peace. Until now I have thought well of you. Now I give you up to your fate. Your life is in danger.”

Mori’s hands clutched his sword-hilt. The Shogun shook his hand weakly.

“Not now. You may leave the place safely, but I warn you that henceforth you will be hunted. You will be killed the moment you show yourself. I give you twelve hours!”

Keiki bowed profoundly but coldly.

“As you please, my lord,” he said, in leave-taking.

As Mori retraced his steps through cross-streets he heard hesitating footsteps behind him.

His sword flashed out. Running around an angle in the street, he came upon a slight figure.

“Who goes there?” he shouted.

“It is I, my lord,” said a strangely sweet voice.

“Jiro! Well, my boy, so you followed me?”

“To protect you, my lord.”

Mori’s amused eyes scanned the slim figure of the stripling. He laughed tenderly.

“There was no need. I have twelve hours yet,” he said, reflectively.