Often her feelings ran on and on until she fancied her own husband the hero of her life. No taint had ever entered her heart. She believed him the master of her destiny and the fulfilment of her fortunes. Then Tetsutaisho came again, toward the latter part of September, and she was not displeased with his courtesies. He had come at the instance of Ikamon to talk over the matter of the shogun’s successor—that Iyeyoshi was now ill and there seemed to be no hope of his recovery—but, presently he came, there arrived a message for Maido to appear forthwith at a council meeting (prefacing the expected), at which the grief-stricken daimyo hurried away, leaving the young and careless general there to entertain the ladies or idle away his time at will.

It was a quiet afternoon and Tetsutaisho and Takara wandered off beneath the falling leaves to a sheltered place on the lawn. Takara was lonely. She had had no friendships since Tetsutaisho’s last visit except only Maido’s, her father-in-law. To him she was already beginning to be a comfort, and in a measure to take the place of his lost daughter. But it was an old man’s friendship; and when the younger gallant left her that evening she may have bidden him welcome to return.

CHAPTER XIII
DANGER IN SHIBUSAWA’S ABSENCE

So far as Tetsutaisho was concerned he had called at the daimyo’s castle only by accident, though there was much anxiety and probably no one’s fortune more at stake. Iyeyoshi had grown old and inert amidst strained conditions, and appreciated more fully than could Iyesada, his youthful successor, the necessity of advancing the bold, heedless young general. Nor was Tetsutaisho free from the danger of rival aspirants; yet there was no war at hand, and he knew of no better business than pleasing Ikamon and paying respect to the ladies at court.

Here he need not concern himself with rivalry, for the one guided with a jealous eye his rising place and the other enjoyed without interruption his pleasing address. He came and went at will, and had he not sooner possessed an unknown love he might have quicker formed an attachment. Takara responded naturally to the voice of inevitable will, but a yearning heart unconsciously bade him seek Kinsan.

Without neglecting the former, he pressed his suit for the latter, and now more than ever became a faithful caller at the modest cottage in the garden; and as he persisted Kinsan determined and withdrew patiently into the solitude of her unknown retreat, and there conjured feelings of love that ripened with each thought and strengthened in the face of every danger. Filial affection bound her and crowned her, yet she was possessed of a new force, moved by a deeper impulse. She battled with the inevitable and yielded her life to what seemed to be the impossible; no quarter was given, and fate tracked her even to her last place of hope.

It was on a warm afternoon in early spring, when the clouds overhung with threatening storm, that Tetsutaisho, hurrying toward his home, wended his way along the selfsame pathway, which led past Kinsan’s lonely spot on the hillside. As he came into sight a gust of wind swept down the gully and whipped his kimono close round his limbs. He paused and looked overhead, but none too soon, for large drops, falling straight and swift, warned him of the rapidly approaching downpour.

“If I mistake not,” said he, to himself, “I shall get a good drenching this time. I wonder what shelter is that in the distance? If I could get there without too much hobbling—it is my only chance. I shall venture.”