"Great Heavens!" cried Mitsuhidé. "Is it you whom I have killed, mother?" He was so stupefied with amazement, that he could utter no other words. Hearing the sounds, Misao and Hatsugiku rushed out and clinging to the dying woman wept bitterly.
"Mother!" cried Misao. "What has brought you to this pitiful plight?"
"Your tears are useless," said the old woman opening her dim eyes. "It is natural that such a misfortune should befall a relative of Mitsuhidé. He has murdered his master, Lord Nobunaga, the Minister of the Right. By committing the horrible crime of treason, he has compromised our house which has, up to this time, been free from infamy. He is an undutiful son,—nay, more,—he is an unspeakable wretch. There are no words that can fully express his wickedness. Wealth and rank gained by unrighteous means are like floating clouds. He boasts of having slain his lord. He forgets that even if a man becomes Emperor or Shogun by such wicked means, he is far worse than the most miserable beggar. On the other hand, if a man has a mere pittance to live upon, it is worth more than the income of a great
