When night had fairly come, a man advanced to the foot of Yoka hill and asked to speak with General Sanada-Sayemon-Yoke-Moura, having a message from Hieyas. He was conducted to the warrior's tent, and Yoke-Moura recognized one of his former companions-in-arms. "You come from Hieyas? You!" exclaimed the General, in a tone of reproach. "Yes, friend, I believe in the powerful genius of that man; I know how much his triumph will benefit the nation. And yet, now that I stand before you, I scarcely dare mention the offer which I am directed to make you." "Then it is a disgraceful one." "Judge for yourself. Hieyas feels the highest respect for your valor, and he thinks that to vanquish you would be a defeat for him; because your death would rob the country of its noblest soldier. He proposes that you should join his standard; your terms shall be his." "If Hieyas really feels a particle of respect for me," replied Yoke-Moura, "why does he feign to think me capable of selling myself? You can tell him that were he to give me half Japan, I would not even consider his offer; and that it is my glory to remain loyal to the master whom I have always served, and for whom I would gladly die." "I was prepared for your answer; and if I accepted the mission offered to me, it was only from a desire to see my old comrade once more." "You did not fear the just reproaches I might lavish upon you?" "No; for I did not feel myself guilty. Now a strange remorse torments me at the sight of your calm, brave loyalty. I see that my deeds, dictated by wisdom, are not worth the folly of your blind fidelity." "Well! it is not too late to repent; stay with us." "I will do so, friend. If I fail to return, Hieyas will understand that the man who came to buy you with bribes has given you his soul." The same proposal was made to General Signenari. "Hieyas offers to gratify my every desire!" exclaimed the youthful General. "Very well; then let him send me his head!" Next day considerable forces were gathered before Signenari's camp. The young warrior knew that the battle in which he was about to engage must be his last. He went the rounds of the camp, exhorting his men before the fight. Grave, gentle, and handsome as any woman, he passed along the ranks, tolling his attentive men how slight a value should be attached to life; not hiding the fact that the result of the day must be either death or dishonor. He added that a glorious death was enviable, and the life of a coward not worth that of a dog.