CHAPTER XXXI
THE CHILD’S FATE

Though the earthquake had spared no part of the capital, and devastated equally among the high and the lowly, the tidal wave did not rise to the top of the numerous hills spreading over the city. Thus many were saved, and by some unknown freak of fate Ikamon remained among them.

Nor did he suffer much regret; for it had been the certain means of destroying the unsightly evidence of his dastardly act, as well as an occasion for the distraction of the public mind. He had been anxious enough to get rid of his accounted enemies, but did not much relish the talk about it; and now that the nation had been inflicted with a great calamity that would distract their minds, he appeared really glad at heart. The dead daimyos’ succession engaged his attention first, and hastening to bury the official notification beneath the excitement of the moment he began on the very next day to forward letters of advice and condolence.

The prime minister’s expressions of sorrow, especially to Shibusawa, were more than profuse; they were prodigal, and ended by admonishing this young daimyo to repose in him that implicit confidence which “it had been the good fortune of his happy father before him to possess.” He cautioned him to look well to the shogun’s procedures, and speed the day of his coming to Tokyo to prostrate his person at the feet of his august highness.

While Ikamon had been so fortunate in escaping disaster, the same did not prove entirely so with Tetsutaisho. At his house the first shock occasioned much excitement, and dire disaster followed in the wake of the phenomenon. Kinsan had not retired for the night, but sat trilling and musing in her chamber. The child in its kimono lay sleeping on the floor near by, while the warm, sultry air floated in at the house sides, where the slides had not yet been closed. The tall trees overhanging her veranda seemed more shadowless than ever before, and she peered, as she so often did, into the dark solitude outside.

At the first tremor she ran and clasped Sodachinojoi in her arms; then crouched upon the floor, waiting with breathless expectation. In a moment—it seemed an age—Nehachibana flew into the room, with her hair dishevelled and eyes wild and furtive. Shrieking and wailing she implored Ninigi, now god of earth, to forego his quarrel with Sosanoo, and cease tormenting the good people of Jimmu. Kinsan parleyed with her to be calm, and come and sit by her side; but this she would not do, for she now bitterly hated her whom she thought to be her only rival. She would not be consoled, and when the second shock rent the earth beneath them and the house timbers parted and the heavy tiling fell upon their heads a ghastly smile crossed her face, and she played and snapped her fingers, and stole toward the deep, hollow crater opening beneath the rent in the floor.

A falling tile had struck Kinsan a blow on the head and she lay helpless at the edge of the gap in the floor, held only by her clothing from sliding into the yawning crevice below. The child was unhurt; it played upon the tilted mat, and cooed without a sense of its own peril. Nehachibana leaned over it, anxious and breathless. Her eyes flashed and she spoke incoherently, saying;

“Shall I end this wicked sorrow?”

Suddenly the mat slipped and the child slid into the gaping earth, and not a sound arose to tell of its terrible fate. Nehachibana made no effort to stay death’s angry claim, but recoiled from it and charged herself with remorse at having lost the chance to take revenge with her own hand. Then she braced herself and with set teeth said: