Large numbers of various classes, both of nobles and the samurai, were invited--Date among the rest; who, for some reason, known best to himself or to Hideyoshi, secretly came, humbly awaiting the host's still stricter pleasure. Geishas, musicians, players, and favorites were called in thousands; a one hundred days' feast planned; Ieyasu made an honorary host, and Yodogima brought from Azuchi to do him service. Other barons had been permitted to invite their wives and their sweethearts--Ieyasu among them; Saji served in a polite way, if not as a real love--but Hideyoshi, in his higher capacity, either defying custom or succoring freedom, wrote to Oyea granting her only the privilege of delegating Yodogima in her stead. "As next to you," commanded he, "Yodogima is my favorite: send her along. You shall have me at your side again when I return from the war." Yodogima came; it was her last chance, and she Oyea's only hope. Dancing and singing and feasting had waned, the stars shone bright overhead, and entering Hideyoshi and Yodogima led the way, seating themselves, he at the head with her at his right. Then came Ieyasu and Saji; who arranged at the motion of Hideyoshi, the former facing Yodogima and the latter himself. Others swarmed in, in like fashion, till the half-moon of gay and happy nobles reached round on either side the hill, properly ranked, beyond the sight or hearing of those honored with higher favors. Low, weird strains issued from the half-hidden platform in front where sat the players, grouped before rising ranks of dancers--then posed and eager, now swaying and relieved--banked against a background of green and shadow. The gods breathed sparingly. Ieyasu dared not raise his eyes from the floor. Yodogima calmly awaited some initiative on his part; etiquet bade her bide the pleasure of host or suitor alike. Neither guilt nor remorse weighed at all upon her conscience as it did heavily upon his. There, before him, within reach of his every faculty, as innocent and true, as sweet, as fair, and as appealing as upon the day when he had pledged himself to die for her--the bare thought of having tolerated another, then sitting at his side, deadened intellect and sickened the heart. "How can I meet her look, return her confidence, knowing as I do now that it is I and not she who is false?" asked he, of himself, till his heart seemed breaking and his mind a mirage. "Perhaps it is too much, the demand greater than a human can endure; I should not have come here," reasoned she, equally as reserved, if more unconcernedly.