Ieyasu turned away, toward the mountains: looked into space, limitless and conjectural. Words had been worse than a crime, then. Oyea read the answer, searched his innermost depths; she had failed the taiko; should Ieyasu take her on trust? True her hair was streaked, but underneath that, down deep in her heart, there held and beat a warmth as fervid, an ardor as prone, and the purpose as strong as of the days when Hideyoshi had abused a confidence no less compellingly bestowed.
Thunder rumblings in the distance, lightning flashes bolting the heavens, ominous clouds overcasting the earth—these drove home the dragons fearful promise: Oyea only drew closer round her the simple kimono she so gratefully wore.
Arising, Ishida approached, and respreading his rug sat nearer. Yodogima gazed the more intently at the tiny speck upon the angering waters in front.
How like a human, mused she, as the struggling bark raised and lowered, bantered or plowed its way toward the beacon that fond anticipation shall never cease of hailing.
It lacks originality, ventured he, in some vainly attempted response.
As I do, you may think, retorted the princess, bowing with just a blush, which no man could resist.
You grant me undeserved merit, your ladyship.
Why not Yodogima, though not guilty of as much as a thought?
May I dare?
I should be mean to deny a worthy man, responded she, with a look more convincing than words could have been.