CHAPTER XXVI
DAIMYO’S PROCESSION

The final preparations for the gorgeous procession progressed without interruption all of the next day, notwithstanding a light rain fell almost incessantly, and Shibusawa, at least, regretted though encouraged a speedy going. He must on the very eve of Kinsan’s discovery part with what seemed to be the last hope of ever realising his life’s ambition. And she the property of his bitterest enemy! Sometimes it seemed more than he could bear; but a recurring sense of the inevitable always stayed the doing of some rash thing, and long before the evening had passed friends were calling to bid the family good-bye.

As night came on, however, the rain ceased, and the weather began to clear under a stiff breeze blowing from the eastward. It was a chill October night, the leaves were falling, and the white clouds sped low in the sky. The sun had fringed the western horizon with a snowy-fleeced red, and Shibusawa stepped to the outer edge of his veranda to take a parting glimpse of the golden scene spread over the hills above. He could not see the site of the hidden cave, but his eyes moistened; he turned away and looked toward the lake below.

There he saw emerging from a cluster of bushes Okyo, tugging along a coy maiden, whose dress and appearance signified that she did not belong to the castle; yet he observed her neat and modest appearance; also that Okyo endeavoured with difficulty to induce her to approach. Shibusawa drew back and waited their coming with amusement, if not interest.

Presently they came near, and after much consultation and persuasion on Okyo’s part they entered the house and groped their way hand in hand—he pulling and she shying—into Shibusawa’s presence. Okyo saluted his master, she courtesied; between them they stammered an explanation, and the host begged forgiveness for the unseemly confusion of identities.

“And this is Shiyoganai, the pretty young girl whom we rescued while guests at the Look-See tea house. Let us see, that is several years ago, and I am afraid our claim is now more than forfeited. However, I suppose the double is fancied and the bargain might be renewed,” said the young prince, in a manner intended to place them at ease, and save the direct embarrassment of a possible recognition.

The unexpected rather upset Okyo, and a feeling somewhat akin to fright suddenly came over him. He said nothing; his voice failed him, and hanging his head he partly turned and whispered:

“You tell it, Shiyoganai; I can’t.”

She blushed deeply, and told the story of how Okyo had again met her after his venture upon the sea and with his meagre assistance saved her from being sold a second time, possibly into something worse than slavery. She added with much hesitation that they had dearly loved each other for a long time, and asked him to be so kind as to let Okyo come back sometime to see her.

“Tell him that I want to marry you,” interposed her would-be suitor, boldly.