"Let us now listen to Saji; it may prove to be not only her fair due, but our most agreeable opportunity," commanded Hideyoshi, in great liberality, as it appeared to others, yet with a hidden earnestness that neither Yodogima nor Ieyasu mistook. Saji did as bid; it seemed quite immaterial to her: all the heart that God had really given her had long ago been drilled or tooled away, for Hideyoshi believed in duty--ruled or reasoned to preach and practice down or up as convenience less necessity required. Ieyasu turned red. A growing, pitiless consciousness began to take hold on Yodogima's hitherto buoyant, confiding trust. The very mat on which the princess sat seemed sinking or rising as the moments flew or lingered. Alternating flashes left her undetermined. Heaven or worse had been a relief: Hideyoshi angered for once, and for the first time looked his rival straight in the face. Ieyasu's eyes fell to the significant fright across the table. Yodogima's look then had strengthened him, but he dare not meet her gaze. "Saji, Saji," mumbled he, half conscious, half appealingly. She only smiled, but the dead lips of Hojo moved him: "My wife, gentlemen, my wife!" Yodogima had been spared the sight of Hideyoshi's gruesome lesson: likewise she had been denied its consolation; yet she could believe Ieyasu's vain resolution no less than final, if not voluntary. And it may have been so. Like examples had been flaunted in the face of others less capable or worthy, had been used time and again by men more considerate, if as determined, but never before might the charge of cruelty be laid at the door of Hideyoshi; who had suffered Shibata the right of honorable demise, spared Shimadzu the loss of his ancestral name, and let Ieyasu more than once slip any fate that he might have chosen, still Hojo's head must adorn a sorrowful plight. And why? The princess did not stop to inquire; she knew only that she had suffered perhaps at their expense or for their betterment, and the very heavens above seemed bereft--earth had done its worst, the humanities failed, all their Gods and Buddhas and Christs promised relief only in death--save a certain star, that seemed the brighter in its loneliness: ideality proffered life. Thereafter Hideyoshi summoned Ieyasu to the top of a certain hill overlooking the fortress, the city, and the country around. "You perceive," suggested the former, "that the Kwanto is mine." "Y-e-s," stuttered Ieyasu, his mind far distant. "You know that I am master, hereabouts, I take it?" "Yes." "Then I shall give you these provinces, in consideration of--your services." "What luck!" "Where will you live?" inquired Hideyoshi, still more suggestively.