T last Prince Echizen, the new premier, and the Prince Mori completed all arrangements for the issue and execution of the order promised by the Mikado.

It was agreed between the two and their Imperialist allies that when the bell within the Emperor’s private belfry should sound, the transport of troops and cannon to Shimonoseki, in Choshui, should begin. When the hour struck, a vast army of laborers should move in the same direction, to build fortifications under the direction of Mori, for there a foreign fleet was now lying.

It was also agreed that everywhere within sound of the bell the order of the Emperor for the expulsion of the foreigners should be heralded and placarded by agents in waiting for this purpose.

The Emperor, in spite of the protests of Aidzu, whom he distrusted but dared not remove as yet from his governorship of the city, still held to his promise. Having once gained that promise, Echizen had troubled him as little as possible, knowing that to succeed, he must seek the Emperor last of all.

Mori, on his part, had sent to the forces he had ordered to march on Yedo, other commands that bade them halt until he himself should join them. They would be the flower of his force against the foreigner.

Knowing that Aidzu would interfere with his own person, if need be, to prevent the issuing of the edict of expulsion, Echizen, on the afternoon of the day decided upon, caused it to be whispered about the court that two days hence he would give the signal. He thought thus to put Aidzu off his guard, for he knew that the shogunate meant nothing by its formal request of the Mikado. Meeting popular demand, it had advocated the banishment of foreigners through diplomatic negotiation which signified little. Echizen knew that the shogunate desired open ports, and thought it extremely unlikely that the Mikado would issue any expulsion decrees in response to their statement.

That night Mori and Echizen met the Emperor by secret appointment. Aidzu was not in sight. The three took the way to the belfry, which stood near the outer wall on the western side of the court enclosure. The path lay through a garden little used save by the Emperor alone. Down the hill-side it went through a field of iris to the temple belfry, a low building set on the ground, not in a tower.

The Emperor was still doubtful, even while on the way to issue the order.

“Is it the best thing to do?” he repeated, fretfully.

“The only thing,” replied Mori, firmly.

“There is no other course,” insisted Echizen.

The wind, stirring in the tree-tops, swayed the shadows gloomily from side to side.

“What is that?” exclaimed the Emperor, halting in alarm.

“Only the wind, sire,” answered Mori.

“Come,” repeated Echizen.

Arrived at the belfry, the Emperor, gathering his cloak closely about him, stepped gingerly upon its broad platform, and stood there doubtfully regarding the swaying iron chain, from which was suspended, close to the bell, the heavy metal hammer.

“I am to draw this back,” mumbled Kommei, stupidly.

“You are to draw it back as far as the chain will permit, your Majesty,” answered Mori. “Do, I beg your Majesty, ring; sound the signal at once.”

The Emperor, stretching out his hand, reached for the chain with its swinging hammer. A form burst from out the iris bed behind him. In alarm, the trembling Kommei dropped the chain.

“Quick!” whispered Mori, excitedly. “Ring, sire—ring!”

“Ring, sire!” repeated Echizen, frantically.

But the Emperor was staring with fascinated gaze into the face of Aidzu, who stood beside him.

“Do nothing of the kind, sire,” he panted, heavily. “Do nothing of the kind. It means ruin to the empire.”

“It means ruin to your enemies, sire,” cried Echizen.

“It means death,” said Aidzu.

“It is the doom of the shogunate,” cried Mori.

Still the Emperor hesitated and shivered.

Again there was a sound of running feet. Suddenly a boyish figure leaped into the group of men and sprang upon the belfry platform. A quick hand drew back the swinging hammer to the full length of the chain. Then releasing it, the hand shot the hammer straight and true at the bell’s heart.

The signal, reverberating heavily, far-sounding, floated into the distance, filling the air with its sombre zoom! gohn! gohn! gohn!

A slender boy knelt at the Emperor’s feet.

“Your Majesty commanded me to ring,” said a voice.

Mori, peering forward, recognized in an instant the boy Jiro. A great lump welled up in his throat, choking him with the intensity of his emotion.

“Treason! Kill him!” shrieked Aidzu. “Your Majesty gave no such command.”

Nettled at the air of constant authority about Aidzu, the Emperor forgot his caution. Perhaps, too, the deed of the boy had touched him, just as it had relieved him of embarrassment.

“I so commanded,” he said.

“But your Majesty spoke no words,” ejaculated the infuriated Aidzu.

“The Son of Heaven need not speak by word of mouth to be understood,” was the exasperating and perfectly dignified response of the Mikado.

Forgetting himself in his rage, Aidzu turned to Echizen and Mori.

“I will thwart your plans yet, be assured, my lords.”

Mori drew himself up proudly, and throwing back his head, surveyed the governor contemptuously.

“It is too late,” he said. “Listen!”

From all quarters of the city about the palace there came the sound of stirring movement. At first the noises mingled in confusion and were indistinguishable. Gradually, as their several origins receded and drew apart, they became capable of separate identification. Off to the west a large body of horsemen were fiercely galloping. To the east the tread of men marching in regular formation shook the ground. Farther south there was the indistinct tramp of distant horses, mingled with the metallic clank of gun-fittings. Cannon were being moved.

The march to Shimonoseki had begun.