Jokoin ran away, without giving her sister a chance to answer had she possessed the courage or the patience to do so; Yodogima loved too deeply, held life, that she knew, as against death, its natural consequence, too seriously revealed in the underlying humanities of an established conduct, to bandy truth for the sake of bolstering courage or lightening the burdens of an ordered continuity. Oyea proved a better counsellor, more a comforter, and together they reconciled their returning, though weary it was, toward the castle whence they had departed so shortly, more hopeful, if less doubtful. CHAPTER XI The homegoing over, both Yodogima and Oyea settled down to a kind of preconceived expectancy. Their place continued as before, under the domination of a single master, the husband of the one and admirer of the other, assuming the attitude more of respecter than lover to either. Neither outranked the other, as yet; nor did their proposed spheres, from Hideyoshi's way of thinking, in any manner conflict; nor were they at all inconsistent, as determined by custom or tradition from time immemorial, with good citizenship and right living: each cognizant of her duty, and mindful of the respect due to the head of the household as established and designed; no one jealous or hateful or inconsiderate of another, but thence possessed of the utmost confidence and respect for each other; they both set their hearts and energies to the accomplishment of one and the same end. "Do you love Ieyasu, Yodogima?" queried Oyea, one soft, suggestive evening, as they two sat in the opened-up room, meditating, together, more than contemplating, the possible outcome of that conflict--then renewed and waging between the one's lover, who had vowed to live only for her, and the other's husband, whom she loved and hoped for quite as much. "I do," answered Yodogima, with brightening eyes and confident voice. Oyea pondered now. She, too, felt the agony with which Yodogima--whom she had come to love--must receive the news: news that to her seemed otherwise impossible of coming. And Oyea had taken great pride in her husband's achievements; next to her love for him, it had been her greatest concern. Then she thought of her own position and Yodogima's chance should Ieyasu fall; Hideyoshi spared not an enemy, and halted nowhere in the resolving of his plans: if not by force, then by subtler means--still harder to bear. Suddenly her expression strangely changed, and turning to Yodogima, she said, reassuringly: "Then I trust he shall not lose." Yodogima's eyes softened; and bowing low, out of respect, but struggling hard against scruple, the more finely wrought princess thanked her benefactress, saying: "How can I ever requite such generosity."