Ieyasu groaned under the weight of their defeat; no one knew better than he the futility of matching defiance against gun-powder, and Jokoin had forewarned him, inadvertently let the secret out, yet the would-be builder of an intended autocracy dared not delay at all the execution of his plans. One that had of necessity materialized doggedly, now found him inconveniently approaching the end of any real assured activity, then awaiting better, as he knew only too well, the internal weakening of a democracy engrafted firmly, if insecurely, by Hideyoshi, in the face of him.

His own forces, the Tokugawas, upon whom he could rely, were inadequate to batter down the defenses round Ozaka, and Yodogima, with the Christians and their devices safely driven into her camp, required only the opportunity to win over a dissenting element; who had already begun to smart, if not waver, under his very questionably assumed domination. These he had placed as well as he could in the teeth of danger, not only to save his own meager samurai, and Hidetada’s raw recruits, together constituting the heart and the flower of the Tokugawa, but to weaken no less, if possible, the besieged. To do this, a midnight attack proffered an only hope—he must not disclose the fact, yet knew of his own knowledge that a daylight engagement meant disaster. Could Harunaga have been inveigled into wasting his ammunition upon darkness, whatever the outcome of Maeda, and the daimyos, those scarred samurai of his, following up the fiery youth under Hidetada’s command, had made quick work of all that should be left at the castle.

All these plans, so carefully laid, if inadvertently executed, had missed the outcome expected; the chagrinned and defeated master at last lay exhausted and hopeless; he had threatened harakiri as a last resort; the bushido should not be violated; Hidetada alone consoled him; the fragments of his beaten youths were returning in handfuls; word came in, also, of Hideyori’s marshaling his untouched reserves and that the reorganized and fired-up hosts of democracy might be expected to swoop down upon them at any moment.

“Prepare yourself, Hidetada; there is but one honor left us.”

Withdrawing tearfully, the obedient son, an enforced husband and dearly-bought shogun, staggered to his own deserted quarters; only one remained to comfort him.

“What now, my lord?” inquired Esyo, gallantly, if concerned.

“Make ready, Esyo; all is done for, save—”

“What?”

“Harakiri.”

“Not for me, my good husband.”

“Do you deny me, also this consideration?”

“Yes.”

“Buddha! May there be one left, then, to avenge my good name.”

“There shall be—Sakuma, unhand this husband of mine, albeit he would dishonor not me; I shall have need for him here, in better grace, if not of reason.”

“Sakuma! Does the grave yield its own?” whispered Hidetada.

“You see him—perhaps a little aged, but in the flesh and blood. Keep a good watch, Sakuma, lest the shogun’s honor fail me his boots.”

Hidetada may not have liked the idea of being disarmed, or disillusioned, but the reasoning of his wife baffled him. Abstruse and as headstrong she had raised him from a secondary place in the family to that of shogun: the very consciousness of that advancement induced some consideration for if not confidence in her abilities, though the methods yet seemed as incomprehensible as the motive hitherto had been elusive. The shogun therefore suffered the disgrace; there was no denying Esyo, whether shamefaced or pleased.

Nor did she trust alone to promising; once his sword had been removed, the guard was doubled and instructed to let none pass—there might have been a true samurai among them, though everybody left appeared to be bent wholly upon saving his own neck.

Esyo hurriedly disguised herself, for no woman might safely attend unguarded the battlefield. She must see Ieyasu, alone, and that quickly. His own division steadfastly maintained its rigid formation, expecting as well to be called forthwith into action—Honda had intercepted Ieyasu’s threat at its threshold—but Hidetada’s routed command continued bolting headlong in, bearing tales as disconcerting as untimely.

“Honda?” whispered she, approaching and beckoning from the outside.

“Yes, my lady,” replied he, as nervously as anxiously.

“Is he still alive?”

“Y-e-s—but desperate.”

“Then let me in, and see that none else approaches.”

“I’ll do it,” swore he, in confidence.

Ieyasu sat with his face buried close in his hands. Why none had come to strike the stroke that should save his grace seemed more than he could solve.

“Honda,” muttered he, at Esyo’s approach. “Is there none here, meaner than Honda, to serve me, in this my last right? Shame upon them, ungrateful beggars!”

“Shame upon you, my lord,” hissed Esyo, her blood fairly boiling, as she ran directly there. “What do you mean, by acting in this way?”

Ieyasu looked up, amazed if relieved. He had mistaken her for Honda.

“Oh, it is you, is it? I thought you safe in Ozaka, no doubt before this.”

“Well I might be, and you, too, were you not quite bent upon insulting others.”

“I, insult anyone? And who might it be, pray.”

“Among others, Yodogima, my sister.”

“Yodogima!”

“Yes, Yodogima.”

“Why so?”

“She just now sends a message, inquiring about your welfare.”

“By whom?”

“Kyogoku.”

“She loves me still, and I would kill myself? No, no; I must see her. Esyo; can you arrange it; I would first meet Yodogima?”

“Promise me this: you will keep the engagement.”

“I swear it.”

“Then lend me your sword; I shall have had need for it before I am returned.”

Over at Ozaka, men bound and eager, to follow up a significant rout, were massing and ordering and devising the last and only onslaught that had been necessary to end a feudalism, throttle an aristocracy, and implant for good the democracy that Hideyoshi had all but consolidated.

Yodogima looked out and over the dazzling troopers, as they marched and countermarched to orders flowing from lips she adored as only a mother can. Hideyori, her son, had come into his own; should follow up that defeated army, and make doubly sure glories which were of right only his; would send his name down to all posterity, as the builder of a commonwealth founded upon an equality of opportunity and with favoritism to none. Men and women should thenceforth develop the ideal that God infixes, share the real in due proportion, and worship according to the dictates each of his own untrammelled conscience.

“God bless you, my son; and may He give you strength to win,” said she, with no other thought encouraging, as their preparations progressed apace.

Then, as if fate intervened, she looked toward the South. The mother instinct had strangely given way, to that other force, man’s larger comprehension. Love itself had beamed inconsequently through those rays illuminating and searching had not a lesser respondent turned heavenward with glad countenance long before race or creed echoed the part and powers of an abiding God.

“Kyogoku?” commanded she. “Carry this, a message, to Ieyasu. Then await, at yonder gate, his answer.”