presents, but we will let you into the secret, good reader) one hundred
dollars, and had been made in Sagami from the finest native steel.
Kiku's mother was presented with a rich robe, which she recognized at
once as being woven of the famous Derva silk. The ceremonious reception
of these presents by the parents signified that the betrothal was
solemnly ratified, and that the engagement could not be broken.
Nakayama, the intended father-in-law, afterward sent to Taro a present
of a jar of the finest tea from his own plantation in Shimosa, a pair of
swords, and a piece of satin, such as that of which the _hakama_ or
trousers which indicate the rank of the samurai are made.

The betrothal was now published in both families, and in both houses
there were festivities, rejoicing and congratulation. The marriage-day,
a fortunate or good-omened one, was fixed upon as the twenty-seventh
from the day of betrothal.

Was Kiku happy? Nay, you should ask, Can that word express her feelings?
She had obeyed her parents: she could do nothing higher or more fraught
with happiness. She was to be a wife--woman's highest honor and a
Japanese woman's only aim. She was to marry a noble by name, nature and
achievement, with health, family, wealth and honor. Kiku lived in a new
world of anticipation and of vision, the gate of which the Japanese call
_iro_, and we _love_. At times, as she tried on for the twentieth time
her white silk robe and costly girdle, she fell into a reverie, half sad
and half joyful. She thought of leaving her mother alone with no
daughter, and then Kiku's bright eyes dimmed and her bosom heaved. Then
she thought of living in a new home, in a new house, with new faces.
What if her mother-in-law should be severe or jealous? Kiku's cheek
paled. What if Taro should achieve some great exploit, and she share his
joy as did the honorable women of old? What if his former position of