“Tell your master, or father, or whatever he is,” said he to Jokoin, in answer to Hideyoshi’s repeated attempts, “that our contention is purely personal, and that neither he nor I have any right to compromise a matter of heart, or to sacrifice the lives of others and the welfare of a community to settle that kind of difference. Let us then invoke a juster means.”

“But we cannot do that except it be the will of the one for whom we fight; Hideyoshi shall not stop short of death,” replied he, without reserve.

It was agreed that they should abide the decision of Yodogima; but how obtain an impartial declaration from her? Ieyasu insisted upon her presence: Hideyoshi declared himself indifferent.

“If you want her to come here it will be necessary for you to fetch her: if you wish to right the matter there, why, then, go; until settled Hideyoshi shall employ such means as lie within his power to invoke.”

In possession, Hideyoshi’s position seemed tenable; now, no one knew better than Ieyasu the tactics with which his adversary would gain an advantage, though prone to make no promise or engagement that he should not keep. Nor did Ieyasu let himself be deceived as to his own resources or ability. True he had won a great victory over Hideyoshi, had taught him to know that willing and doing are two very different terms, and that gods ready-made or self-devised are alike amenable to the unflinching laws of inevitableness, but would not budge his ground, Hideyoshi’s resources or Yodogima’s failure to the contrary notwithstanding.

Yet he must do something, either push forward or lose the vantage gained. What was it that stirred within and would not let him dismiss an only alternating thought:

“Compromise?”

“No, no; Ieyasu could not do that; but—confidence! now I have it; I’ll trust somebody—Esyo! she shall hear Yodogima speak the word, will tell me the truth; confidence and not compromise, therefore, is the final arbiter of our destiny. Then why doubt, why have I doubted Yodogima? No; it is my short-sightedness and not her faithlessness that has caused me all these bitter misunderstandings; she will approve me right, and I shall prove her mine.”

Slow with inception but quick to apprehend, Ieyasu’s energies once kindled burned with a vigor and a glow as refreshing and as inspiring as waiting had been portentous. He would have it settled once and for all that his love had not been misplaced, and that he himself were the rightful suitor: Hideyoshi, but a mongrel pretender, an empty claimant.

“Go to Yodogima, and get her answer, if this monkey-faced deceiver would yet know that she is a princess, worthy a prince’s love,” commanded he, of Esyo—as she, and Jokoin, departed upon their mission, as arranged, under a truce, of sufficient length—no doubt whatsoever in his mind as to what that word should be.