At Ozaka, notwithstanding Yodogima's assurances, strange preparations were making for defence. No word had escaped her lips as to the taiko's reception, or purpose in leaving, or intentions about returning. An ugly silence cast its spell over them, yet Hidetsugu, the kwambaku, made his jealousy against the newborn the more apparent by finally withdrawing to reside permanently at Fushima, and Ishida not at all thereby deceived, began forthwith the organizing of a new force no less to protect the taiko than to enforce the rights of Yodogima and her recently-born claimant to his lordship's intended succession. "Did you think me long gone, Yodogima?" inquired Hideyoshi, approaching her, at ease, and alone, in the great chamber, just off her own boudoir. "I was delayed no more against luck than strangely; Harunaga is here, now, in the castle: in fact, came with me." His words were wasted, for Yodogima at once arose to greet him, and never before did she seem quite as graceful; her hair, loose and massive, hung in wavelets far below her slender neck; the eyes fairly burned as before, softened only with a compassion new and compelling; a complexion yet bearing the undercast of an ordeal intensifying the more its naturally olive-like hue, that long flowing gown of silken white which Hideyoshi had longed to see, and a voice modulated with the sweetness of motherhood--the taiko believed her in truth a goddess, thence prostrated himself at the purport of her answer: "You alone are welcome, Hideyoshi." "But the child, Yodogima?" "Shall I present it?" "Yes; it is mine; I name him Hideyori; let lanterns be hung everywhere, proclaiming Hideyoshi's successor; you are his rightful mother, and my sole support; believe me, Yodogima; I swear it." CHAPTER XX With due promulgation, Hideyori's advent occasioned upon the surface great rejoicing everywhere throughout the land. Especially were the tidings well received at Ozaka and thereabout: still more earnestly by the older of Hideyoshi's immediate supporters--those captains who had fought side by side with him from obscurity to mastery; none among them had so forgotten his duty as to think of independent action or listen to a suggestion in contravention of the taiko; he had been their guidance, and upon his regeneration depended their welfare; the father at once became a god, and the son his natural prognosticator. Quite different, however, with those forced or tolerated into submission. Ieyasu had not tried out his capabilities, and Ishida served only for a purpose. Neither had sown that others might reap: each had awaited the harvest as best suited his particular need or environment; and now, at last, dissension foreboded their several necessities. Both, therefore, sought without delay to strengthen either one his own conjectured position, in view of the taiko's possible retirement.