No-Kami looked around, his eyes bloodshot like the dead. Humiliation on humiliation. So intense was the depth of his impotent wrath, that his hands trembled, and his nerves were wrung with agony. What? He? Hojo No-Kami--tyrant of broad Japan, master of the Emperor himself--before whom all daimios and kugés and hatamotos were wont to bow, was to be bearded--openly insulted--by a low peasant fellow within the precincts of his castle, before his assembled vassals! The wretch was dead, worse luck, out of reach of further torment, bleeding from many spear-wounds; but ere he died he had covered his lord with ridicule. How different was the result of the pageant from that which had been proposed. The superstitious people clearly believed that the body hanging by its ropes was that of a martyred saint, who had spoken the words of Buddha; not of an insolent varlet who had perished with deserved ignominy. They believed the absurd threat about the river, and looked with awe for the accomplishment of the prophecy. The only dignified way out of the dilemma was by treating it with light contempt, turning it off as a sorry jest, with a peal of disdainful merriment. The attitude of Sampei was worthy of his stock. Involved with his brother in the curse, he had raised his brows in angry scorn, while his fingers moved towards his dirk. Then of a sudden, his manner had lamentably changed. With a sibillation of dismay, he had knelt over the swooning chatelaine, striving to call her to herself with gentle words of comfort. O'Tei! Ah, there was the worst point of all! By fainting thus inopportunely, she had accentuated the falseness of the position. That she (the chatelaine of Tsu) should cower under the anathema of a peasant. How different would have been the conduct of the bellicose Tomoyé. To swoon thus in public, was to betray unfitness for her rank,--to allow the scum to perceive that she believed in the curse, and its justice,--that she disapproved the fiat of my lord,--regretted his well-timed severity. Sampei was right when he pleaded for the too weak O'Tei. So scalding was the shame of the Daimio, that, but for the intervening figure of his brother, he would then and there have struck the craven chatelaine. And yet not so. His loathing and hatred for his unworthy partner was so intense, that contact even with her robe-hem would at this juncture have been most distasteful. Glancing about for consolation, his eyes met those of O'Kikú, and there shot into his heart a glow of solace which to its emptiness had been long unknown.