Maido as yet had said nothing to Shibusawa about his prospective marriage, though he himself had been fully convinced that there was no possible way for him to avoid its final consummation without as a last resort breaking faith with the shogun: a thing entirely beyond the pale of his moral rectitude. He had from time to time avoided the subject, trusting that some failure at Kyoto might save him the necessity, but now that the mikado had favourably responded and the shogun positively commanded, all hope was dissipated.

He therefore called his son to him and led him into the great chamber, where he bade him be seated at his side. It was in the evening, and Maido had just returned flushed and heated from an animated council, and he chose the open side of the room, where they sat facing each other and alone. A warm breeze floated in from the garden, and the air seemed to Shibusawa almost as sweet with cherry blossom as it had the day before while sitting with Kinsan at the hidden cave. He realised that some grave question disturbed his parent, but little thought that he himself was the victim of a prearranged plan that should augur so uncertain a future. He would have spoken, but his father beckoned him be silent; then himself spoke distinctly, telling him of what he was expected to do, and waited for an answer.

There was no mistaking the meaning, yet Shibusawa sat in silence; he was for the moment dazed and unable to make any answer. After the first flush he resolved upon throwing himself at his father’s feet and explaining all; to ask forgiveness for what he had done, and beg indulgence for what his life seemed pledged to do, but prudence bade him not. He knew only too well that such a thing was impossible. Maido’s anxiety doubled with each succeeding moment, until finally surprise, then fear, moved him and his voice trembled as he said:

“Shibusawa, my son, have you no ears?”

“I hear you, father, and I assure you it is my weakness and not the answer that makes me slow. I would frame you a better speech than the one I have in mind.”

“Hold, my boy! I know your answer. And, besides, I would rather you save your words for a higher purpose. This old self of mine is satisfied that you do the thing. That is it. Oshaka! Oshaka! good god of self, forbid that I hear, let me only feel a father’s blessing and a son’s forgiveness. Come, my good son, your liberal indulgence of me and your ready acceptance of her has removed from me the greatest concern of my life. A long one, and a happy one—hah! h-a-h! h—a—h!”

Maido’s eyes flashed dry and hot as he sat there swinging his powerful frame back and forth to the rhythm of his parched words. Shibusawa knelt quickly at his father’s side and steadied and soothed him. The long white locks parted and fell from his splendid brow, and in an instant the son’s whole soul went out to the one who had given him being and had showered upon him a constant devotion.

The lord daimyo went to sleep presently, and Shibusawa sat for a long time, debating the consequences of this new and unexpected situation. It was only yesterday that he had pledged himself to the one he loved, and now he was bound by every tradition and law to break that engagement and perform a duty. Had this sudden mandate come only a day sooner his honour, at least, might have been saved; but to sacrifice that was more than he could do. Filial affection—but was there not a higher purpose, and if so why not devote his life to its fulfilment? He pondered, then said to himself:

“Although I uphold the traditions of our religion, maintain the honour of my family, and obey the command of the shogun, I can and will be true to Kinsan.”