Tsuya was now buried in thought, gloomily, her hand moving the short fire-picks aimlessly over the face of the ash bed in the brazier, over which she sat with her head drooped in apparent dejection. Following a pause of some moments, with the air of one just arrived at a decision of mind, she lifted her head and spoke in a dear and final note—
“If you are determined so strongly, there’s nothing else to be done. To tell you the truth, I hoped to go on keeping you here from day to day, until I should get you round, somehow, to my own ideas, for all time; but I’ve given it up. And, now, about this business to Mukojima, it’s all wrong what I said about coming back tomorrow morning—just an excuse to keep you longer. Now, I ask you to wait for me only till the second hour after midnight, because I’ll be sure to come back by that time.”
Shinsuké professed his agreement, yet it was with such reluctance that she could not feel sure of the ground she was to tread. Then, she suggested that he should rather come over there to fetch her, around midnight, dressing himself up like an attendant man. Shinsuké’s outright refusal sent her into a rage. She saw no reason why she should not deserve that much consideration, when it was to be her last and only wish to burden him with. If he was not coming, she said, neither was she going to budge—and Tokubey and everything else could go to perdition. As an outcome of their disagreement, Tokubey himself had to drag himself between them and offer arbitration. However, neither his effort to appease or coax her, nor his begging, fervid and almost humble, availed upon her mind. Only at long length did he succeed; it was a hard-earned acquiescence—wrested from the young man.
Part IV
Three hours or so after Tsuya and Tokubey left, the midnight hour tolled, and on its stroke Shinsuké started out, disguised as a geisha’s attendant man. The Mukojima house in view was said to be found after six or seven minutes’ walk beyond the temple of the Akiba Jinjya, and almost close upon the rice field, making a part of the farm village of Terashima-mura; and he went by foot, directing his way as he had been informed. He had been advised to come in a palanquin over a good part of the journey which was a calculated matter of two long miles from their Naka-cho house. However, it was his fond desire to absorb, as he went, such scenes as the town of Edo would offer under the spell of deep night, to permit himself this last indulgence, that he should feel deeply imprinted on his mind the imagery of this world whence he was soon to depart—never to return.
A step out of the Naka-cho, the place of garish lights and gaiety, the streets were shrouded in soulless gloom and silence; not a single house that kept such a late hour. After his stay at the Tsuta-ya of these three days and two nights, pent up in the upstairs room, festered in the cloying pleasures of unbridled orgies, Shinsuké felt himself refreshed and even revived in the sobering coolness of the breezes with which the late, deserted night breathed. As he was passing by the end of the Azuma-bashi bridge, he was brought into a feeling that he was so near the homes of his old father and the man who had kept him under his protecting roof. He paused, brought his hands together in the very humbleness of spirit, as he faced far in the direction of each of their houses in turn, and asked their forgiveness, following the words of his silent prayer—“My father, and Master Kinzo, forgive me, for tomorrow I go forth to meet justice!” When, after crossing the Makura-bashi bridge, he had come out along the riverside avenue stretched under the canopy foliage of the cherry grove, a waning moon of copper hue, hollowed out into an arching crescent, hung high overhead, mirrored on the face of the wide stream as if foreboding an evil it alone knew. He came to a halt to pause awhile before the sight of the black water moving on its hushed and sluggish course, and now to gaze at the stars arrayed over the open sky. At rare intervals, roofed dinghies carrying belated fares to the Yoshiwara came straggling, now by one and again by twos, and glided their furtive way up the deserted watercourse in the direction of the Sanya canal.
And, now, what could be the plot that Tsuya had on hand in concert with Tokubey, he mused wondering. So young yet her nerve!—such words that Kinzo brought back from his visit to the Naka-cho, the estimate in which the profession of the place summarily held Somékichi, seemed to dawn upon him in the light of truth. It had been his rueful thought that he could have lived on with Tsuya as man and wife, but for his murderous crimes. Yet, should the gossip in case be true, he could not have wedded her all the same, though he should have kept himself stainless. As he tried to reason out these things with himself, it seemed to make it easier for him to abide by his decision.—Turning over such a train of thoughts in mind as coming from his aggrieved mind, he followed the path down the bank of Mukojima.
The officer’s country villa at Terashima-mura was easily found. He was not exactly unprepared, when he heard the place styled as the country villa of an officer of the Shogun’s guards. Nevertheless, he viewed with surprise what was possible to be seen of the estate which appeared imposing in the darkness of night, the premises
