of these days I shall hear that Nagato has been killed in some foolish brawl. What have you been doing now, incorrigible and imprudent fellow?"
"When Hieyas, the regent, comes before you, you will know only too much about it," said the Prince; "you will hear fine things, O illustrious friend, in regard to your unworthy favorite. Methinks I already hear the sound of the terrible voice of the man from whom nothing is hid: 'Fide-Yori, ruler of Japan, son of the great Taiko-Sama, whose memory I revere! grave disorders have this night troubled Osaka.'"
The Prince of Nagato mimicked the voice of Hieyas so well that the young Shogun could not repress a smile.
'And what are these disorders?' you will say. 'Doors broken open, blows, tumults, scandals.' 'Are the authors of these misdeeds known?' 'The leader of the riot is the true criminal, and I know him well.' 'Who is he?' 'Who should it be but the man who takes a share in every adventure, every nocturnal brawl; who, but the Prince of Nagato, the terror of honest families, the dread of peaceful men?' And then you will pardon me, O too merciful man! Hieyas will reproach you with your weakness, dwelling upon it, that this weakness may redound to the injury of the Shogun and the profit of the Regent."
"What if I lose patience at last, Nagato," said the Shogun; "what if I exile you to your own province for a year?"
"I should go, master, without a murmur."
"Yes; and who would be left to love me?" said Fide-Yori, sadly. "I am surrounded by devotion, not by affection like yours. But perhaps I am unjust," he added; "you are the only one I love, and doubtless that is why I think no one loves me but you."
Nagato raised his eyes gratefully to the Prince.
"You feel that you are forgiven, don't you?" said Fide-Yori, smiling. "But try to spare me the Regent's reproaches; you know how painful they are to me. Go and salute him; the hour of his levee is at hand; we will meet again in the council."
"Must I smile upon that ugly creature?" grumbled Nagato.
But he had his dismissal; he saluted the Shogun, and moved away with a sulky air.
Fide-Yori continued his walk along the avenue, but soon returned to the lemon grove. He paused to admire it once more, and plucked a slender twig loaded with flowers. But just then the foliage rustled as if blown by a strong breeze; an abrupt movement stirred the branches, and a young girl appeared among the blossoms.
The Shogun started violently, and almost uttered a cry; he fancied himself the prey to some hallucination.
"Who are you?" he exclaimed; "perhaps the guardian spirit of this grove?"
"Oh, no," said the girl in a trembling voice; "but I am a very bold woman."
She issued from the grove amidst a shower of snowy petals, and knelt on the grass, stretching out her hands to the King.
Fide-Yori bent his head toward her, and gazed curiously at her. She was of exquisite beauty—small, graceful, apparently weighed down by the amplitude of her robes. It seemed as if their silken weight bore her to her knees. Her large innocent eyes, like the eyes of a child, were timid and full of entreaty; her cheeks, velvety as a butterfly's wings, were tinged with a slight blush, and her small mouth, half open in admiration, revealed teeth white as drops of milk.
"Forgive me," she exclaimed, "forgive me for appearing before you without your express command."
"I forgive you, poor trembling bird," said Fide-Yori, "for had I known you and known your desire, my wish would have been to see you. What can I do for you? Is it in my power to make you happy?"
"Oh, master!" eagerly cried the girl, "with one word you can make me more radiant than Ten-Sio-Dai-Tsin, the daughter of the Sun."
"And what is that word?"
"Swear that you will not go to-morrow to the feast of the God of the Sea."
"Why this oath?" said the Shogun, amazed at this strange request.
"Because," said the young girl, shuddering, "a bridge will give way beneath the King's feet; and when night falls, Japan will be without a ruler."
"I suppose you have discovered a conspiracy?" said Fide-Yori, smiling.
At this incredulous smile the girl turned pale, and her eyes filled with tears.
"O pure disk of light!" she cried, "he does not believe me! All that I have hitherto accomplished is in vain! This is a dreadful obstacle, of which I never dreamed. You hearken to the voice of the cricket which prophesies heat; you listen to the frog who croaks a promise of rain; but a young girl who cries, 'Take care! I have seen the trap! death is on your path!' you pay no heed to her, but plunge headlong into the snare. But it must not be; you must believe me. Shall I kill myself at your feet? My death might be a pledge of my sincerity. Besides, if I have been deceived, what matters it? You can easily absent yourself from the feast. Hear me! I come along way, from a distant province. Alone with the dull anguish of my secret, I outwitted the most subtle spies, I conquered my terrors and overcame my weakness. My father thinks me gone on a pilgrimage to Kioto; and, you see, I am in your city, in the grounds of your palace. And yet the sentinels are watchful, the moats are broad, the walls high. See, my hands are bleeding; I burn with fever. Just now I feared I could not speak, my weary heart throbbed so violently at sight of you and with the joy of saving you. But now I am dizzy, my blood has turned to ice: you do not believe me."
"I believe you, and I swear to obey you," said the king, touched by her accent of despair. "I will not go to the feast of the God of the Sea."
The young girl uttered a cry of delight, and gazed with gratitude at the sun as it rose above the trees.
"But tell me how you discovered this plot," continued the Shogun, "and who are its authors?"
"Oh! do not order me to tell you. The whole edifice of infamy that I overthrow would fall upon my own head."
"So be it, my child; keep your secret. But at least tell me whence comes this great devotion, and why is my life so precious to you?"
The girl slowly raised her eyes to the King, then looked down and blushed, but did not reply. A vague emotion troubled the heart of the Prince. He was silent, and yielded to the sweet sensation. He would fain have remained thus, in silence, amidst these bird songs, these perfumes, beside this kneeling maiden.
"Tell me who you are, you who have saved me from death," he asked at last; "and tell me what reward I can give you worthy of your courage."
"My name is Omiti," said the young girl; "I can tell you nothing more. Give me the flower that you hold in your hand; it is all I would have from you."
Fide-Yori offered her the lemon twig; Omiti seized it, and fled through the grove.
The Shogun stood rooted to the spot for some time, lost in thought, gazing at the turf pressed by the light foot of Omiti.
[1] Lord of the kingdom. This is the same title as Tycoon, but the latter was not created till 1854.
[2] Six hours after noon.
[3] Six o'clock in the morning.
CHAPTER II.
NAGATO'S WOUND.
The Prince of Nagato had returned to his palace. He slept stretched out on a pile of fine mats; around him was almost total darkness, for the blinds had been lowered, and large screens spread before the windows. Here and there a black lacquer panel shone in the shadow and reflected dimly, like a dull mirror, the pale face of the Prince as he lay on his cushions.
Nagato had not succeeded in seeing Hieyas: he was told that the Regent was engaged with very important business. Pleased at the chance, the young Prince hurried home to rest for a few hours