“Inside the castle grounds, and not so very far distant, either, your ladyship.”

“Not ‘your ladyship’, Harunaga; I said it should be ‘Yodogima’—I do believe the world itself shall sooner or later grow into a veritable machine.”

“Yodogima!”

“That is more to my liking. Why everybody or anybody so impersonal? But Ieyasu: I shall go to him, he refusing to come to me: perhaps Kitagira may thus retain his head, and I my lover. What think you, Harunaga?”

“I am at your service.”

“And I can trust you; results are the best sort of proof.”

The fires had by this time considerably abated, and out of the glowing embers there burned a warmth as steady and as sure as the reactional beating back upon a passionate ordainedly evolves within life’s exultant strand. Ieyasu sulked, and Yodogima took heart; his brow darkened, and her intention waxed the brighter; had his will been permitted, her lot need not have been resolved, for he would have her shorn of every influence but his; he believed her pure, and out of his blamelessness and its correlative demands had come reflection: making it possible for Yodogima to decide upon revealing the exact light in which she responded—the only meed of a living affinity.

“I hope I find you comfortable, and—”

“In a good humor,” responded he, to her half spoken address; barely turning to recognize her, as she approached, considerately; bowing as became her and the niceties of the situation prompted.

“Yes,” replied she, unabashed; “I am, and why should Ieyasu not be in as fair mood?”