After some hesitation the troops returned to the city. This tale of treachery was completely false: it was an act of perfidy planned by Hieyas, who, although he was strong, did not disdain to employ a ruse. But the people refused to accept the plea; the retreat of the soldiers produced a fatal effect. "They don't know how to behave!" was the cry. "They are lost; all is ended!"-- "After all, it's no concern of ours." Half the citizens began to desire the accession of Hieyas. The Shogun had no sooner returned to his castle, than the hostile army attacked the outskirts of the city. The inhabitants shut themselves up in their houses. A terrible conflict ensued; the ground was defended inch by inch, and yet the enemy advanced. They fought in the narrow streets, on the brink of the canals, upon whose waves, red with blood, dead bodies rocked to and fro; every bridge was carried after a desperate struggle. Little by little, Fide-Yori's troops were driven back towards the fortress. Inside the castle the confusion was great. No one thought of defending the outer wall; the bastions no longer existed; the moat had not been re-dug to a depth of more than two feet. All withdrew into the second enclosure; but there they were too remote to offer any aid to those who fought. The latter, after three hours of struggle, were repulsed to the walls of the castle; they invaded the first courtyard, and shouted to those within to open the second, otherwise they must be crushed against the walls. Yodogimi cried to the men to open the gates. All the doors were thrown wide at once, and the soldiers rushed in. But the enemy were at their heels; when they had passed, the doors could not be closed, and the followers of Hieyas came in behind them. Fide-Yori, with a thousand men, had taken refuge in the third courtyard of the castle, which contained the great goldfish tower, the residence of the Shogun, and a few palaces of the most noble princes. He did not hope to to defend himself, but merely that he and his family might not be captured alive. In a hall of his palace, drawn sword in hand, between his mother and his betrothed, he gazed through the open window, and with bowed head listened to the awful clash of arms behind the second wall. Many of his troops surrendered. The man whose duty it was to guard the gilded gourds of Taiko-Sama, whose name was Tsou-Gawa, burned them outside the palace, before the eyes of Fide-Yori. "All is over!" murmured the Shogun. "O you who are dearest in all the world to me, you must die for me and with me! I must take your life to save you from falling into the hands of the victors alive." He looked at his naked blade; then raised his eyes to his mother and sweet Omiti with a bewildered air. "Is there no way to save them?" he cried; "to let them live? What does it matter to the victor, so I but die!" "Live without you!" said Omiti, in a tone of reproach. Both women were pale, but calm.