Harunaga had taught him better than Yodogima believed; there lay behind his spirit an abiding distaste for anything and everything smacking of unearned felicity; the getting of something by sufferance were a crime; profit at the expense of some other man’s effort betokened inanity; the trading of wares or of benefits lay beneath him; commercialism was robbery, and diplomacy worse; deception belonged to the devil, and God had always won, must always win.

The bribe, therefore, offered to him, by Ieyasu, the master fibber, the safe, sane, and sound merchant of goods and other things, had no effect upon the high-born, reenergized, and rightly tutored Hideyori. The sop thrown out by the one to the other, of accepting new territories in exchange for real manhood—as in the case of Ieyasu, of Hideyoshi, thence past—fell upon deaf ears; as had the attempt to seduce Yodogima, his mother, with privileges of building temples, casting bells, and otherwise demeaning herself according to the predetermined notions of the man who would use her for a plaything.

“I cannot express my love for you,” promised she, to her idol, upon his return and the departure of their two hostages, held as a guarantee; “you convince me that there is something better in man than the greed of instinct. Possession is the ultimate goal, but of the heart and not the belly—hence harakiri is a virtue and no man would despoil the fountain-head. But, my son, have you considered well the means?”

“Yes, mother—truth is invincible.”

“Yet it, like all nature, is subject to hindrances; the waters tumbling down their natural courses are oft-times retarded with log-jams, the banks break, and the producing land is flooded.”

“Only for the inevitable good of their enforced fertilization.”

“Are you sure that we, in our day, do not confront the immediate necessity of such replenishment? Are the rice-fields abundant, the dikes strong, and the waters free?”

“Let me answer with a question: if the fields are hungry, will denial, deception, or putting off, stay the hand of reckoning? Is it making history to shoulder posterity with the evil of to-day’s cowardice? Is it manly? Is it godlike? If so, then we, too, can makeshift honorably. If not, I would crush the hydra-headed monster in his den. Let him not, through our stupidity, carelessness, or cursedness, fasten his tentacles upon the unborn—most compelling of God’s previsioning—sons and daughters in whom alone we shall survive hell and attain heaven.”

Yodogima bowed in her son’s presence; she could not speak for the pride arising out of a greater sentiment; words would have voiced the colder side of life; attributes only of the soul moved her to make some recognition of this fancied, hoped-for, and willed higher reach. All the felicities of a life earnestly lived seemed answered in that one likened expression. Then why should he have burdened her with further obligation? What lacked she yet of the great circle that encompasses creation?

“Do not bow, my mother,” requested he, his voice modulated as if to penetrate deeper than heart; “it is I who should kneel; maternity is the keynote of existence, and when it has thought to command, and not obey, men shall have reached indeed the threshold of greatness. Arise, that I may do what in the future men shall learn of necessity.”