Time passed quickly and each returning season lent anew its never dying symbol, for to them autumn’s master flower, the chrysanthemum, meant in truth loyalty, sincerity, and earnestness. When these days had passed and winter come Shibusawa sang to her the song of the pine and its fidelity, the bamboo and its elasticity, the plum and its courage, vigour, and reputation. Then spring brought in its train the cherry, the peach, the pear, the primrose, the peony, the wisteria, each in turn adding its voice, for the cave stood in the midst of bloom, everywhere doing its part in the beautiful fulfilment of a divine promise.

Yes, spring had come and with it the budding and the joy of creation. It was now April, the day of the cherry blossom, and the sun had gone down behind the hills and the stars were twinkling their story. Two lovers sat close together—the one ambitious, courageous; the other obedient, loyal—both joyous, but earnest. Her hand rested in his and he bent over and whispered:

“Kinsan, I love you. I love you with a heart that is pure and true. I love you with all my life, my soul voices it. I think of you always—the one constant thought of my life—my hope, my happiness, my existence. Speak, Kinsan, speak and tell me that this is not a hopeless fancy. Tell me that you love me. Tell me that you will be my wife, my love, my sweetheart, my all.”

She leaned forward and laid her rosy cheek upon his bosom, and with her eyes softly upturned she whispered:

“Yes.”

He stooped down and kissed her, and in the warmth of those lips she saw a world of joys; he, the beginning of earnest life. The kiss was unknown to them, but it came as the spontaneous outpouring of a true affection, the token of a master passion; and in that embrace there dawned a new light, the opening of another world.

CHAPTER VII
AN UNEXPECTED COMMAND

While Shibusawa had been constant and true in his attentions he had never apprised Kinsan of his real position, nor of the difficulties which stood in the way of their marriage. That he was worthy there could be no doubt in her mind, and she only knew that she loved him—loved him as they were and with no thought of what might or would befall them. Instinct was enough to keep both from mentioning their affairs to any others, for such a thing as mutual regard was by right or practice unknown in the land; hence must have been deemed improper, especially by the parents, and there were no others to whom they could or should confide their secrets. Whether allowable or not, and without any real knowledge of the consequences, their love had grown and manifested itself in its own mysterious way, and they were destined as they were to meet an uncertain fate.