As she approached the centre of the stage, the music lowered, the dancers slowed, and the singers gradually stopped; then her voice began its soft, enchanting notes. Every man leaned forward speechless; and as she sang her song of love they were thrilled with the wondrous message of her heart. In that vast audience there was one who understood the language of her pathos, who communed with her soul.

It was Shibusawa; and not words, but actions revealed the secret of his feelings. He sat in his booth, leaning over, and silent. He did not grieve, nor exult, but sat there a dweller in another world. It was one from the spirit land with whom he spoke. She told him she loved him; her voice, not words carried the message, spoke the language of her soul. He listened, and when the farewell came would have gone to her, thrown himself at her feet, had not his strength failed him. He hesitated, and upon regaining his composure Kinsan had gone—he knew not where.

Tetsutaisho sat near Shibusawa, and he too felt the force of her great melody, and knew that some inward action moved her. He had long before guessed her secret, and Shibusawa’s strange emotion now impressed him. Instinctively connecting the two, though holding his own counsel, he knew from that day who his rival was, and he felt that her song had won for her its reward. He chided himself for having yielded to Ikamon’s entreaty, and wished that he had denied even his best friend the favour of her loan. It was now too late. The mistake had been made beyond rectifying.

Kinsan had not observed Shibusawa, or at least did not distinguish him in the audience, but sang purely and simply from her heart. No incentive moved her, nor did she heed the elegance, or feel the great honour she had gained. She was conscious of only one, and in another world poured out her soul’s desire; and thus without being aware of it brought to her feet the noble, royal sons of a nation, made them her slaves, and went forth from that scene the most famed of her sex.

Thenceforth it was “Kinsan, The Nightingale,” and she bore well the sobriquet.

CHAPTER XXV
THE UNHAPPY MEETING

The beautiful song of the unknown star had stimulated the most hearty good cheer, and the playing, feasting, and conversation did not wane until a late hour. And when the festivities had ended, Ikamon was accounted the prince of entertainers; while Shibusawa confronted a new danger.

When the guests had gone home his father began making preparations to go to Kanazawa. Maido, pleased with the reception accorded him, felt highly complimented for his long and faithful services at the capital. He deemed it a fitting finale to what he considered the close of his active public career, and the honour seemed to him a splendid reward. And now that so much had been done by his friends in appreciation of his services and in recognition of his retirement, he believed himself in duty bound to show his proper regard by making his exit as elaborate as his circumstances would permit. Therefore he called his son to him and said: