Knowing that Aidzu would interfere with his own person, if need be, to prevent the issuing of the edict of expulsion, Echizen, on the afternoon of the day decided upon, caused it to be whispered about the court that two days hence he would give the signal. He thought thus to put Aidzu off his guard, for he knew that the shogunate meant nothing by its formal request of the Mikado. Meeting popular demand, it had advocated the banishment of foreigners through diplomatic negotiation which signified little. Echizen knew that the shogunate desired open ports, and thought it extremely unlikely that the Mikado would issue any expulsion decrees in response to their statement.
That night Mori and Echizen met the Emperor by secret appointment. Aidzu was not in sight. The three took the way to the belfry, which stood near the outer wall on the western side of the court enclosure. The path lay through a garden little used save by the Emperor alone. Down the hill-side it went through a field of iris to the temple belfry, a low building set on the ground, not in a tower.
The Emperor was still doubtful, even while on the way to issue the order.
“Is it the best thing to do?” he repeated, fretfully.
“The only thing,” replied Mori, firmly.
“There is no other course,” insisted Echizen.
The wind, stirring in the tree-tops, swayed the shadows gloomily from side to side.
“What is that?” exclaimed the Emperor, halting in alarm.
“Only the wind, sire,” answered Mori.
“Come,” repeated Echizen.