“And I am—well, except for you, indifferent as to the whole affair,” said he, as he arose and went toward Takara.

Shibusawa soon returned to his sister, and bowing himself away from her retired from the company, going with the full consciousness of having acquitted himself as best he could under the circumstances. Perhaps, as he lingered on the veranda above, he did not think of Kinsan, more likely he did not notice particularly the group of sight-seers in the road at the front of the house, but if he had, he might have seen her there, and have observed that her eyes were filled with tears; that she trembled a little and that suspicion was trying hard to enter her heart. He did not distinguish her, however, but turned and went into his own chamber and was seen no more that night.

Kinsan, though, had recognised him, and when he had gone she too turned and stole away toward her house as silently as she had come, but with a heavy heart and uncertain step.

From the time Kinsan had first heard of the intended wedding, something told her that she must go there. True, she had no reason for believing that the Shibusawa to whom she had given her love was a prince, or that he could possibly be the suitor of Takara, the mikado’s daughter; yet a power not explained moved her to go, and opportunity enabled her to see only too much. She had seen him there, and in that she surmised an insurmountable gulf between them, and felt that he in such a station, however true, must be lost to her. She went home and with an aching heart prayed for future light and strength.

CHAPTER IX
THE WEDDING FEAST

On the third day after the wedding, all preparations having been made, the newly wedded couple started upon their bridal tour to the home of the bride’s parents. This was no small undertaking, and to any other than a bride it would have seemed decidedly unpleasant. The only means of transit was by chair, and, as she had just been borne over the same route and had in prospect a speedy return, Takara might well have complained of the three long journeys, if not of custom.

Upon coming to the wedding ceremony the bride had brought with her a large number of useful and costly presents, and, as might be expected, the family of the bridegroom had been exceedingly liberal in bestowing a return compliment. Maido had spared neither pains nor expense to laden Shibusawa’s train with tokens of his appreciation, and as squad after squad of carriers passed out at the front gate the gathering onlookers cheered with something like frenzy. It was, therefore, late in the morning before the last of the baggage had passed and the way was made clear for Shibusawa’s chair, and as he came forward there arose a mighty shout of “Long live the prince.” Early in the day the kaika (household treasurer), acting under Ikamon’s instructions, had begun distributing coins among the hangers-on, and now that the noble suite was passing a perfect shower of “cash” was thrown upon them. No other means could so readily call forth their hearty applause, and Ikamon was gratified and Maido perhaps pleased, if Shibusawa was entirely unconcerned.

As Shibusawa’s chair swung into the roadway he drew back the curtain and looked out at the excited throng. There was one who stood, amid all this noise, with a strained, eager expression. It was Kinsan; and Shibusawa, looking straight into her face, without offering to recognise her, closed the curtain and continued his way. Probably she knew as well as he that the least sign of recognition on his part might, if detected, bring horrible punishment, or even death to her. Possibly she believed him cruel. Whatever her thoughts may have been, she felt crushed and forlorn. She knew now that it was only too true; that her heart was broken and her life for ever shadowed.