After parting with Yodogima at Kitanoshi, Ieyasu had made his way forthwith to castle Fuchu, his friend Maeda’s estate, in Echizen, near by, with the settled intention of forming some sort of alliance that might enable him to take and hold his love, Yodogima, no matter what the outcome between Shibata, her father, and Hideyoshi, the usurper.

Thus when Shibata, too, in his retreat, called there, to ask the loan of a fresh horse, the two were brought into direct contact most unexpectedly.

“You are a young man, Ieyasu; and, were I in your place, I should make peace with Hideyoshi. For me, it is impossible; I must save the honor of my house, as our fathers before us have done. Take heed, my friend.”

Both Ieyasu and Maeda proffered him assistance, or an escort, but he refused them. The former because it were too late—his mind had been made up—and as to the latter it might endanger them and disgrace him were they to be seen leading a suicide to his mat.

“My family awaits me; it is alone their due and my privilege, this honored rite. Good-bye.”

Ieyasu fell back, dazed with the intelligence; he knew that Maeda would keep his word, and that every member of the household should share his fate. No descendant of the Taira would be found wanting or unmindful of the bushido—Yodogima must be saved, if at all, by some agency without the pale of his doing or her understanding.

He might have overtaken Shibata and defeated him of his purpose, but that could do no more than add insult to well-meaning, make it still more incumbent upon the family, and Yodogima in particular, tempered as she was, to wipe out the stain accruing.

Thus puzzled and overcome, the conscious young lover made the necessary excuses and mounting his horse rode out into the woods, keeping to bypaths and unfrequented places, the better to contemplate some proper course as well his duty. He was disconsolate, and loitered slowly along, whipping at stray branches or humming words of recent cheer.

“Fain save your song, and guard better the stroke,” growled a hard-looking outcast, hit and staring behind the bush at one side.

Ordinarily Ieyasu should not have minded the thrust, but something in the voice, though more the manner of the occasion attracted him.