They bowed low, and Ieyasu, strengthened, as only a wholesome appreciation can strengthen, took his leave, fully determined to remove every obstacle to the consummation of a love that had grown and ripened from childhood associations, that germinated with an earliest contact and sent its roots deep down into the fertile soil of a consciously overpowering affinity. Yodogima stood still at first, fairly puzzled at the daring of Ieyasu's conception. All that time or task had taught her seemed crushed underneath a possible truth. Were man but a stretch between something and nothingness, then generation must be a curse and love only a consequence. And if it were not true and marriage were a thing in which a parent, the state, or society at large rightly had an interest, then her answer had been a crime; she had transgressed, and therein must lie the sin. Then she remembered that the sages had sung in all lands and at all times of man's strength and woman's worse than weakness. "I will trust him and he shall prove the truth." Yodogima ran out of the bowery and into the open: Ieyasu turned, the sun reflected its rays, and in that parting look, only a tender glance, a message from thence, she beheld her God. Ieyasu hurried on, toward his mission; the noise at the armory, Shibata's high purpose, and his own inner determination bade him act quickly and knowingly were he to save Yodogima--he did not apprehend Sakuma; Ieyasu was only human; other exigencies than his there were in more directions than one. Now that her lover had gone, removed himself beyond the fetch or force of feeling, Yodogima, too, at once realized with all the ableness of intellect at her command--strengthened and driven by a will as heartless as it was unremitting--a duty that till then had lain dormant under the influence of a controlling if perhaps inexcusable situation. Not that she pondered the course that he would pursue, no more the virtue of their undertaking; it were for him to determine successfulness: God alone might judge them true or false--but her father, the one who had given her place and opportunity, who had conceived differently, was at that very moment embarking upon enterprises and assuming responsibilities wholly dependent upon her. And one false step, a single controverted thought, must necessarily lead to his uncertain downfall--his death had been a small thing, her own a welcome sacrifice, but the bushido! Hell itself were a blessing as compared with everlasting disgrace. The blood fairly froze in her veins, thought refused obeisance, fain spirit paled at the consequence, and only duty urged her now; she must speak, she would save him, she should uphold tradition, even at the cost of self. "Father," begged she, accosting him at the threshold of his abandoned chamber, his friend, Takigawa, supporting him vainly, close at one side. "Yes, daughter." "Please return into the house; I should like to speak with you."