“To the strongest,” said the Shogun; “to that one who, seizing it, by his ability and wisdom uses it for the good of all. I am strong—he is weak. The strong—”
The Shogun ceased. Across his face there shot a spasm of acute pain. His breath came in gasps. Mori helped him to regain his couch. He smiled gently, sorrowfully.
“I said I was strong, yet I am indeed weak. I cannot live to see the new Japan. You may; but go, go! I have tried to save you from the folly of blind enthusiasm. You disappoint me—”
“My lord!”
“I will allow you to go in peace. Until now I have thought well of you. Now I give you up to your fate. Your life is in danger.”
Mori’s hands clutched his sword-hilt. The Shogun shook his hand weakly.
“Not now. You may leave the place safely, but I warn you that henceforth you will be hunted. You will be killed the moment you show yourself. I give you twelve hours!”
Keiki bowed profoundly but coldly.
“As you please, my lord,” he said, in leave-taking.
As Mori retraced his steps through cross-streets he heard hesitating footsteps behind him.