"It is good to behold confidences as liberally bestowed," vowed Yodogima, to Jokoin, who came up to share, in her way, the picture unfolding, "albeit, the responsibility; Hideyori can well acquit himself, but these Christians--so wrought in faith, hopeful, and charitable: withal unknowing, helpless, and confiding. I must not lose this contest; they are no match for the colder ethics of Orientalism: yet were not placed here to go down martyrs, or to eke out materialistically--their religion is not at fault so much, as it is inadequate, undeveloped, short of finality. The circle is incomplete." "Nor shall we fail, though defeated," chimed in the good sister; there are more ways than one, to skin a cat, and we'll dodge, as sure as whipped. You can bet on Christ, every time; he's a winner, and the world has just got to kowtow." "What makes you talk that way, Jokoin? One would think the Old Nick himself had the better hold--and I am sure you were not as you are till something made you so: was it Christianity?" "How do I know? I just feel that way, and what's the use of bothering? Why ask? Just go in, to win; that's the game, to lose--well, I won't say what it's like, but the name spells horrors!" "And if I should fail?" "You can't--not as long as I am left; I'd eat fire, for you; that is my religion." "Thank you, sister; but--well, I was going to say, that that sounds more like the Taira. I wonder if the Coming could have had any connection--do you see those plains, Jokoin? There is a hill, near the center: is there a Cross there; I cannot quite make out: your Vision may be stronger than mine?" "I couldn't see half so far; besides, I'd miss the fun of going, if I did; there's somebody there, now; it's Hideyori; I'm off; so long." Yodogima, however serious or busied, could not resist the infection, and with Jokoin's bounding down the slope for the time being lost control, as it were, of herself. "What buoyancy," mused she; "if the world could imbibe the half of hers, there wouldn't be anything but mock--yes, make-believe--fighting done. And then--oh; it is too absurd; man is not a laughing stock. Nero may have grimaced his way into Rome, but its hills shall drench still yet with the tears he shed." And back at Fushima, far removed from Ozaka, and its elemental forces, at work upon plans and defences, as indefatigable as laudable, a more conscienceless, less movable coterie of individuals, the shapening parts to a masterful piece of mechanism, their features wan and purses opened, the whip-lash laid or tackles baited--these, barons by profession and soldiers of compulsion, haters in fact, yet supporters for safety--they, under extremes, busied their bodies with replenishing the commissary and recruiting the ranks of an army as different in character as it were essential to habit.