Ill prove it, my lady. In the meantime—oh, Ishida; what an ass to bandy opportunity! muttered he, bounding off, as convinced as pleased.
With a long drawn sigh, perhaps of satisfaction, Yodogima continued gazing into the distance. The approaching vessel had ceased to be a center of attraction, though still tossing and laboring with the elements. Subtler affairs now engrossed all the princesss attention, and clapping carelessly for a servant Junkei approached unreservedly:
Call Maeda, commanded she, dreamily.
Junkei bowing low departed on the run; long service with Hideyoshi had wrought of him a veritable machine, self-wound, but motionless till sprung. Not far to go, Maeda soon appeared and the princess greeted him with reverence; for he it was who had accommodated her father with a horse and service on his last flight from the enemy. Yodogima loved the old veteran, who by dint of prudence and much quivering had preserved his life and retained a domain through all those troublesome years of Hideyoshis enforced subduction.
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 Maedas 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.