None save Ieyasu--of those near the capital, and only two others, widely separated, at the two extremes of the empire--could boast or master a larger income or force: not a daimyo of them all bore the respect generally that this giant of a bygone day enjoyed among them. Hence Hideyoshi, himself, before death, had singled him out as the best fitted or suited to exercise public guardianship over the infant Kwambaku, Hideyori, during his minority, a thankless undertaking at best, refused by Ieyasu--perhaps at the request of Yodogima, for she trusted in Maeda's honesty: believed herself competent and rightly entitled, if not best intended, to direct. Maeda, therefore, was legal guardian, and no two held forth in stricter confidence than he and Yodogima. "Sit down, Maeda," commanded she--he, too, bore toward her the respect due a superior. "I beg to be at your service, my lady," responded he, seating himself near at hand. "You are a friend to Ieyasu, Maeda?" "Yes, my lady," unconcernedly. "You are a friend to Ishida?" "Yes, my lady," with growing interest. "Then I would warn you: beware of Ishida." The old man trembled perceptibly; to question the integrity of a friend was more than he could do, and to listen to a proposal like that had fairly unnerved him--yet he knew this daughter of an older champion, had studied her every mood from childhood up: no uncertain thing could prompt her to make such a declaration. "I thank you, Yodogima--pardon the allusion; I was thinking of your father," replied he, presently the moments passed. "Thank you, my lord," responded she, no less spontaneously. A greater respect could not have been paid him, or an honor more highly appreciated; the old diplomat thenceforth knew no higher duty, cherished not a thought other than to uphold the child whose mother he believed divinely cast, no matter what his opinion or other men's contentions might be--about a father. Maeda had pledged himself irredeemably, and Yodogima believed the fortress impregnable against the arms alike their cunning of any man or combination that might dare or choose to go against it. Night came on, and they parted; the ship she had fancied vanished, with the light that lowered real. CHAPTER XXIII Ishida and Masuda lingered longer than usual at the cups, on a dark night soon after, while their conversation, heated and close, kept rhythm to the customary "whack, whack," their metal pipes ringing and the hours lessening. "Then it is true that Jokoin really bore a son, this Hachisuka, to whom Ieyasu has just now married his granddaughter, Ogasa," queried Masuda. "I wonder how long it will be till he, himself, has taken Yodogima for wife? He seems to have ignored the taiko's enjoinder, altogether: perhaps he may have convenient some other granddaughter or such like for Hideyori: what chance shall there be for the rest of us then? I really believe he aims at succeeding Hideyoshi in authority."