"Because he has graven the characters composing my name on the bronze bell which he consecrated to the temple of Buddha, and they are beaten morning and night." "What do you mean?" cried Kiomassa. "Fide-Yori had these words inscribed upon the bell: 'Henceforth my house shall be at peace.'" "I tell you that all the characters in my name are used to make up that sentence; and it is upon my name the priest strikes with his bronze mallet, accompanying the blow with curses on my head." "I will inform the Shogun that this coincidence offends you," said Kiomassa, without losing one whit of his composure. He returned to Osaka, and told how he was received by Hieyas. The mocking insolence and the idle quarrel picked by the aged Regent were a sufficient indication of his hostile purpose, which he did not even try to disguise. "His conduct is equivalent to a declaration of war," said Fide-Yori; "we should consider it as such. However, we will make no attack. Let Hieyas stand forth; he will not do so immediately; we shall, undoubtedly, have time to re-dig the moats around the castle. Let the work be begun at once." Some time after this, Fide-Yori repudiated his wife, the granddaughter of Hieyas, and sent her back to her grandfather. He at the same time announced his speedy marriage with Omiti, to whom he had given the title of Princess of Yamato. The two lovers forgot the rest of the world; their happiness blinded them; they had no room for thought of the dangers which threatened them. Besides, to them the only misfortune possible was to be parted; and they were sure, if any disaster occurred, that they could at least die together. They had revisited the lemon grove. Delicate buds began to stud the branches, for spring comes quickly in that climate. The last snow has scarcely melted when the trees grow green. They wandered down the misty garden-paths, hand in hand, enjoying the bliss of being together, of seeing one another otherwise than in imagination or in a dream; for they adored each other, but did not know each other. They had met for an instant only, and the mental image which each had preserved of the other was incomplete and rather different from reality. Every moment brought them some fresh surprise. "I thought you were shorter," said Fide-Yori. "Your eyes seemed to me proud and scornful," said Omiti; "but they are full of infinite tenderness." "How sweet your voice is, my beloved!" resumed the King; "my memory perverted its divine music."