“It is not too late!”

Plunging forward and grappling the listless, helpless form that lay heavily upon the brink, she tugged and pushed it almost over, then stopped and weirdly looked around. There was no one there, but the thought startled her, and she said:

“No. I can take a better revenge.”

Pulling her intended victim away from the dangerous place, Nehachibana brought water in a dish, and showered it in her face; then went away, and by the time she had revived she returned, offering assistance and nourishment. Many weeks passed before Kinsan fully recovered, and not until then had she been told of the fate of Tetsutaisho’s son.

No one had witnessed the sad scene except Nehachibana, and she took care to remain silent and undiscovered. Kinsan took the blame all upon herself and sorrowed deeply and pined much over the loss. Tetsutaisho was grief stricken, and for a long time unable to reconcile himself to his only son’s destruction, hence became more kindly disposed toward Kinsan and solicitous for her love. She, however, remained steadfast and true to herself, seeking in every right way to serve her master and atone for the great sorrow that she charged herself with having brought upon him. The disappointed wife in the meantime resorted to every artifice within her weakened range to win Tetsutaisho for herself, and no material change took place among them until she had fully resolved that no hope remained.

Takara had not heard of the disappearance of the child. In fact, having little means of gaining any knowledge of him without too great danger to all concerned, she had long ago ceased to worry about his fortunes. The past was now more than ever a blank to her. She devoted herself to the day at hand, untrammelled by that which had gone before.

Kido, her friend and counsellor, had called a new meeting of the daimyos, confining his invitations to the south and only such others as he knew to be safe. They had been warned against Daikomitsu by Takara, and wisely heeded her advice: the mikado’s cause was a sacred right, and its supporters knew no such thing as disloyalty; their claims were founded upon principle and their measures smacked not of the charlatan. Kido, the recognised “head and pen,” Saigo, the accredited “heart and sword”—they planned nobly and stood ready to fight honourably.

As they had been anxious to secure Maido’s friendship before, they were hopeful of claiming Shibusawa’s after the succession, and Takara, bending all her energies to that end, would gladly have sacrificed home, position, everything, to secure and advance him at the mikado’s court. No one knew better than she that his sympathies were more in accord with their ideals than with the shogunate’s; and could they but enlist him they would be in a position to withstand, if not overwhelm, the enemy. It became a duty with Takara, and Shibusawa rose to be her god.

He on the other hand, knowing himself, and cognisant of his strength, dared not act so quickly. True, his faith in the shogunate was rapidly being shattered—not alone because of his father’s wanton destruction—nor did bitterness poison him; he could see beyond vicious revenge. There were at stake the destinies of a nation, the survival of a civilisation, and the maintenance of a principle that gave or took the liberties of mankind. He must first see the right, then succeed even at the cost of life.

He still doubted Takara, even, in a measure, after learning something of her heroic sacrifices. In serving Maido, she had also served him, told him that his father had died by an honourable rite, to Shibusawa not the chiefest, but a high aim. He thanked her from his heart and promised a blessing, though Daikomitsu he dismissed as unworthy a hearing. He had less desire to avenge an act than to right a wrong, and when the would-be-trickster sought his aid in setting the ronin to move on what he professed to be a common enemy, Shibusawa frowned him away, saying: