Kinsan was so engaged with her companions that she seemed about to go by without even a chance look, and as she came closer his heart appeared almost to stand still; though he was soon to be transported, for when directly opposite, Kinsan gave him the long looked for opportunity. Nor was there any mistaking her intention for mere accident. Shibusawa read that she too had experienced some sort of feeling which this time prompted her to look, and to manifest an interest, if not desire. It was more than he could bear to let her go in silence; she would not stop again, and he had not a moment to lose; he felt that he must speak to her--his very life depended upon it--he knew not why, nor did he care. He must do what his heart told him to do.
Now had he realised his present position Shibusawa might not have done what he was about to do, but with his whole heart set upon one thing he for the moment forgot himself, and ran down the straight-set stairs and out at the front, wholly under the force of blind impulse. Under ordinary circumstances there would have been no breach in doing what he sought to do, for custom gave a gentleman the right to approach an inferior without the least formality.
When he reached the street he found it difficult to pass, and in consequence ran close to the moving column and toward Kinsan. Coming almost within reach of her he ran against an officer--who followed next after her--and before he could fully recover his balance the angered samurai whipped out his long sword and struck him a blow that felled him; and not being satisfied with this punishment he made a thrust at the prostrate man and ran him through to the ground.
Fortunately Okyo had followed close after, and upon reaching his helpless master he threw himself in front and personally suffered the tramping and jeering of the curious crowds--he was too grieved and thoughtless to offer any other relief, and lay there face downward, pulling at the soiled clothing and crying, "Shibusawa! Shibusawa!"
They had not remained in that situation long, however, till the lord daimyo of Kanazawa himself marched up--his carriers stumbling in an effort to pass the stricken Shibusawa and his faithful watch--when Okyo cried out as before the name of his master. Maido, only too accustomed to hearing this same distressing cry, would have gone by without heed had he not unmistakably distinguished the name of his son. He listened and heard it again, distinctly recognising Oyko's voice. Without waiting to call a halt he swung open the door, and to the amazement of all leaped to the ground.