“I will hunt him down!” said he to himself, as he entered his den, and there stayed and fretted, in spite of Takara’s repeated urgent calls. “It is not Kinsan, but her lover that is the real cause of my discomfiture. Law makes right, and Tetsutaisho shall vindicate the law.”

He retired late, but felt himself rewarded by the day’s ending. At first he had really intended to give Kinsan only the care of the child, but now it occurred to him to make it her own. The power was in his hands; why not use it? She seemed glad of the care, and it would give her an occupation, an excuse for being in his house: her lover would divine another reason.

Takara ought not to suffer much from the loss, and should profit by the subterfuge. Her birth, her position, her ambition, all demanded a better protection, a surer disposition. Why not benefit her? There was not a soul in the house who might be any the wiser, unless it were Michizane, the poet, and banishment must silence him. That were a simple matter and Ikamon would attend to it at once. His own devotion to Takara for a short time should quell any misgivings and allay all feelings on her part, while a little deception would start everything smoothly on its proper course.

“I am the man!” thought he, and he slumbered long and in peace.

The next morning he hurried to Takara, and when he had left her she was thankful for his having come, and less doubtful about his sincerity. Whether real or not, she realised that the wiser course is to turn a bad bargain to good use, and resigned herself to the hope, if not belief, that his plans were for the best and that he would keep his promises.

Before leaving the house for the day Tetsutaisho ran in to see the child and incidentally make some assurances to Kinsan. She, glad of the opportunity, resigned herself to her task without questioning too closely the purpose or thinking much about the outcome. Here at least was a respite, and anything promising to stay the hand of fate was to her indeed welcome. Therefore, when Nehachibana came in later in the day and found Kinsan cooing over a little red baby, all flounced with silk, a-kicking and a-crying, her face coloured and she began to question its kindly mistress with something of curiosity, if not suspicion.

“Oh, what a pretty baby!” said she, as she crossed the room and squatted on the floor in front. “And where did you get it? It is so cunning. Is it yours? I wish I had a baby like that—so big and bright. But then it wouldn’t have eyes like those, I know. Would it? Let me see your eyes, Kinsan—I never could tell a baby’s mother.”

“I shall not let you have this one, though you don’t see its mother in its eyes. It’s a good baby, and its name is Sodachinojoi, and no more.”

“Oh, what a name! and how? My husband said you are a gardener’s daughter.”

“And even so, the breeding may be none the less. I hope you will like the baby, and I will do all I can to make him worthy of his name and a joy to us all.”