A blaze, and the crack of musketry dulled against the heavy atmosphere. The line fell to their knees and began reloading. The rear had risen, and stood ready to repeat. The smoke rose, and a woman was seen running toward them. She had gained the centre of the field, yet without heed of her presence or time to observe an order a second volley poured its deadly shot into the foreground. Shibusawa had seen her and cried: "Cease your firing!" But the warning had come too late, and turning to his troops he said: "Would you so little respect the helpless, and that a woman? I thought better of my command. Hold you here with compassion, and let me advance." Nor had he checked their progress unknowingly; for before the smoke again shut out the view he had levelled his glasses at the approaching form, and to his horror discovered that it was Kinsan who with the white cloth in hand had reeled and fallen before the wicked report had time to die away. Shibusawa at the head of his staff sprang forward, and before the smoke had again fairly cleared away came well-nigh upon the fallen woman who lay in a swoon, though breathing lightly and not mortally wounded. But not he alone had gone to her rescue, for Tetsutaisho also had observed her danger, and from the opposite side ran to save her. At the beginning of the engagement Kinsan and others had been carefully sheltered at the rear, from which situation she overheard a heated discussion between Tetsutaisho and Daikomitsu, resulting in the latter's withdrawal at the last moment of the major portion of the samurai, leaving scarcely more than Tetsutaisho's bodyguard with which to defend himself and the palace. Fearing his fate, Kinsan had without bidding or warning evaded them all, seeking to stay her master's destruction by throwing herself in front. She knew that Tetsutaisho, reduced to a handful of patriots, could not withstand the terrible onslaught of a mighty army, and offered to sacrifice herself in the hope of saving him in some way from ruthless destruction, if not ignominious defeat. Her heart had gone out to him and to the few others who had remained steadfast to principle, and her life seemed to her of slight importance as compared with theirs, or in prolonging, even momentarily, the institution which had given them place. Tetsutaisho, too, had run out in advance of his guard, and coming up felt relieved to know that Kinsan had not been fatally shot. Halting near by, as did Shibusawa, the two met face to face, measuring the inevitable. Shibusawa, the conqueror, spoke first; it became not him to humble the vanquished. Speaking kindly yet firmly, he said: "What would you, Tetsutaisho?" "I am a samurai, Shibusawa." "You have answered well, Tetsutaisho, and Shibusawa is none the less a man."