“What! the Shogun?”
“Yes.”
“Certainly. In fact, one of our clan, who is secretly in sympathy with us, is a member of the Shogun’s household and stands close to his august person. You may pass for the Lord Sakura.”
Keiki, wrapped in a long cloak, stood near the entrance of the house awaiting some favorable moment, when the street should be clear of passers-by, to slip out into the night. As he was about to make a sudden spring to gain the street a hand clutched the hem of his cloak. The boy Jiro was restraining him.
“Go not out alone, my lord,” he entreated.
Keiki frowned impatiently.
“One would think I were about to encounter danger. I go but to observe. There is no danger,” he said, sharply.
The trembling hand of the boy Jiro tore wide the cloak.
“This uniform, my lord. It is of the Sho—”
Keiki, feeling a pang of sorrow at hurting the boy, but determined upon his mission, did not defer action long. At any moment, the street comparatively quiet, might be filled with wayfarers. He pushed Jiro gently but insistently from him and went out into the city.