RUPERT OF HENTZAU by ANTHONY HOPE

Scanned and proofread by
Kirk N. Robinson <[email protected]>

Scan revision 7/94 by kirkr

Publication notes:

Published 1898 in London by
Henry Holt and Company

This text is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN, posted to Wiretap 8/94.



Transcription notes:

Italics thus _i_italics_i_
Bold thus _b_bold_b_
Underscore thus _u_underscore_u_
accent aigu thus Rene'
accent grave thus Se`vres
accent circonflex thus cha^teau
diaresis thus Ko"nigstrasse
cedilla thus Provenc�al

---


Rupert of Hentzau

From the Memoirs of Fritz von
Tarlenheim

By

ANTHONY HOPE

CONTENTS

Chapter

I. THE QUEEN'S GOOD-BY

II. A STATION WITHOUT A CAB

III. AGAIN TO ZENDA

IV. AN EDDY ON THE MOAT

V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING

VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S  SERVANTS

VII. THE MESSAGE OF SIMON THE HUNTSMAN

VIII. THE TEMPER OF BORIS THE HOUND

IX. THE KING IN THE HUNTING-LODGE

X. THE KING IN STRELSAU

XI. WHAT THE CHANCELLOR'S WIFE SAW

XII. BEFORE THEM ALL!

XIII. A KING UP HIS SLEEVE

XIV. THE NEWS COMES TO STRELSAU

XV. A PASTIME FOR COLONEL SAPT

XVI. A CROWD IN THE KO"NIGSTRASSE

XVII. YOUNG RUPERT AND THE PLAY-ACTOR

XVIII. THE TRIUMPH OF THE KING

XIX. FOR OUR LOVE AND HER HONOR

XX. THE DECISION OF HEAVEN

XXI. THE COMING OF THE DREAM

---

CHAPTER I--

THE QUEEN'S GOOD-BY

A man who has lived in the world,
marking how every act, although in itself
perhaps light and insignificant, may
become the source of consequences that
spread far and wide, and flow for years or
centuries, could scarcely feel secure in
reckoning that with the death of the Duke
of Strelsau and the restoration of King
Rudolf to liberty and his throne, there
would end, for good and all, the troubles
born of Black Michael's daring
conspiracy. The stakes had been high, the
struggle keen; the edge of passion had
been sharpened, and the seeds of enmity
sown. Yet Michael, having struck for the
crown, had paid for the blow with his life:
should there not then be an end? Michael
was dead, the Princess her cousin's wife,
the story in safe keeping, and Mr.
Rassendyll's face seen no more in
Ruritania. Should there not then be an
end? So said I to my friend the Constable
of Zenda, as we talked by the bedside of
Marshal Strakencz. The old man, already
nearing the death that soon after robbed
us of his aid and counsel, bowed his head
in assent: in the aged and ailing the love
of peace breeds hope of it. But Colonel
Sapt tugged at his gray moustache, and
twisted his black cigar in his mouth,
saying, "You're very sanguine, friend
Fritz. But is Rupert of Hentzau dead? I
had not heard it."

Well said, and like old Sapt! Yet the man
is little without the opportunity, and
Rupert by himself could hardly have
troubled our repose. Hampered by his
own guilt, he dared not set his foot in the
kingdom from which by rare good luck he
had escaped, but wandered to and fro over
Europe, making a living by his wits, and,
as some said, adding to his resources by
gallantries for which he did not refuse
substantial recompense. But he kept
himself constantly before our eyes, and
never ceased to contrive how he might
gain permission to return and enjoy the
estates to which his uncle's death had
entitled him. The chief agent through
whom he had the effrontery to approach
the king was his relative, the Count of
Luzau-Rischenheim, a young man of high
rank and great wealth who was devoted to
Rupert. The count fulfilled his mission
well: acknowledging Rupert's heavy
offences, he put forward in his behalf the
pleas of youth and of the predominant
influence which Duke Michael had
exercised over his adherent, and
promised, in words so significant as to
betray Rupert's own dictation, a future
fidelity no less discreet than hearty. "Give
me my price and I'll hold my tongue,"
seemed to come in Rupert's off-hand
accents through his cousin's deferential
lips. As may be supposed, however, the
king and those who advised him in the
matter, knowing too well the manner of
man the Count of Hentzau was, were not
inclined to give ear to his ambassador's
prayer. We kept firm hold on Master
Rupert's revenues, and as good watch as
we could on his movements; for we were
most firmly determined that he should
never return to Ruritania. Perhaps we
might have obtained his extradition and
hanged him on the score of his crimes; but
in these days every rogue who deserves
no better than to be strung up to the
nearest tree must have what they call a
fair trial; and we feared that, if Rupert
were handed over to our police and
arraigned before the courts at Strelsau, the
secret which we guarded so sedulously
would become the gossip of all the city,
ay, and of all Europe. So Rupert went
unpunished except by banishment and the
impounding of his rents.

Yet Sapt was in the right about him.
Helpless as he seemed, he did not for an
instant abandon the contest. He lived in
the faith that his chance would come, and
from day to day was ready for its coming.
He schemed against us as we schemed to
protect ourselves from him; if we watched
him, he kept his eye on us. His
ascendency over Luzau-Rischenheim
grew markedly greater after a visit which
his cousin paid to him in Paris. From this
time the young count began to supply him
with resources. Thus armed, he gathered
instruments round him and organized a
system of espionage that carried to his
ears all our actions and the whole position
of affairs at court. He knew, far more
accurately than anyone else outside the
royal circle, the measures taken for the
government of the kingdom and the
considerations that dictated the royal
policy. More than this, he possessed
himself of every detail concerning the
king's health, although the utmost
reticence was observed on this subject.
Had his discoveries stopped there, they
would have been vexatious and
disquieting, but perhaps of little serious
harm. They went further. Set on the track
by his acquaintance with what had passed
during Mr. Rassendyll's tenure of the
throne, he penetrated the secret which had
been kept successfully from the king
himself. In the knowledge of it he found
the opportunity for which he had waited;
in its bold use he discerned his chance. I
cannot say whether he were influenced
more strongly by his desire to reestablish
his position in the kingdom or by the
grudge he bore against Mr. Rassendyll.
He loved power and money; dearly he
loved revenge also. No doubt both
motives worked together, and he was
rejoiced to find that the weapon put into
his hand had a double edge; with one he
hoped to cut his own path clear; with the
other, to wound the man he hated through
the woman whom that man loved. In fine,
the Count of Hentzau, shrewdly
discerning the feeling that existed
between the queen and Rudolf
Rassendyll, set his spies to work, and was
rewarded by discovering the object of my
yearly meetings with Mr. Rassendyll. At
least he conjectured the nature of my
errand; this was enough for him. Head
and hand were soon busy in turning the
knowledge to account; scruples of the
heart never stood in Rupert's way.

The marriage which had set all Ruritania
on fire with joy and formed in the people's
eyes the visible triumph over Black
Michael and his fellow-conspirators was
now three years old. For three years the
Princess Flavia had been queen. I am
come by now to the age when a man
should look out on life with an eye
undimmed by the mists of passion. My
love-making days are over; yet there is
nothing for which I am more thankful to
Almighty God than the gift of my wife's
love. In storm it has been my anchor, and
in clear skies my star. But we common
folk are free to follow our hearts; am I an
old fool for saying that he is a fool who
follows anything else? Our liberty is not
for princes. We need wait for no future
world to balance the luck of men; even
here there is an equipoise. From the
highly placed a price is exacted for their
state, their wealth, and their honors, as
heavy as these are great; to the poor, what
is to us mean and of no sweetness may
appear decked in the robes of pleasure
and delight. Well, if it were not so, who
could sleep at nights? The burden laid on
Queen Flavia I knew, and know, so well
as a man can know it. I think it needs a
woman to know it fully; for even now my
wife's eyes fill with tears when we speak
of it. Yet she bore it, and if she failed in
anything, I wonder that it was in so little.
For it was not only that she had never
loved the king and had loved another with
all her heart. The king's health, shattered
by the horror and rigors of his
imprisonment in the castle of Zenda, soon
broke utterly. He lived, indeed; nay, he
shot and hunted, and kept in his hand
some measure, at least, of government.
But always from the day of his release he
was a fretful invalid, different utterly
from the gay and jovial prince whom
Michael's villains had caught in the
shooting lodge. There was worse than
this. As time went on, the first impulse of
gratitude and admiration that he had felt
towards Mr. Rassendyll died away. He
came to brood more and more on what
had passed while he was a prisoner; he
was possessed not only by a haunting
dread of Rupert of Hentzau, at whose
hands he had suffered so greatly, but also
by a morbid, half mad jealousy of Mr.
Rassendyll. Rudolf had played the hero
while he lay helpless. Rudolf's were the
exploits for which his own people cheered
him in his own capital. Rudolf's were the
laurels that crowned his impatient brow.
He had enough nobility to resent his
borrowed credit, without the fortitude to
endure it manfully. And the hateful
comparison struck him nearer home. Sapt
would tell him bluntly that Rudolf did this
or that, set this precedent or that, laid
down this or the other policy, and that the
king could do no better than follow in
Rudolf's steps. Mr. Rassendyll's name
seldom passed his wife's lips, but when
she spoke of him it was as one speaks of a
great man who is dead, belittling all the
living by the shadow of his name. I do not
believe that the king discerned that truth
which his wife spent her days in hiding
from him; yet he was uneasy if Rudolf's
name were mentioned by Sapt or myself,
and from the queen's mouth he could not
bear it. I have seen him fall into fits of
passion on the mere sound of it; for he
lost control of himself on what seemed
slight provocation.

Moved by this disquieting jealousy, he
sought continually to exact from the
queen proofs of love and care beyond
what most husbands can boast of, or, in
my humble judgment, make good their
right to, always asking of her what in his
heart he feared was not hers to give.
Much she did in pity and in duty; but in
some moments, being but human and
herself a woman of high temper, she
failed; then the slight rebuff or
involuntary coldness was magnified by a
sick man's fancy into great offence or
studied insult, and nothing that she could
do would atone for it. Thus they, who had
never in truth come together, drifted yet
further apart; he was alone in his sickness
and suspicion, she in her sorrows and her
memories. There was no child to bridge
the gulf between them, and although she
was his queen and his wife, she grew
almost a stranger to him. So he seemed to
will that it should be.

Thus, worse than widowed, she lived for
three years; and once only in each year
she sent three words to the man she loved,
and received from him three words in
answer. Then her strength failed her. A
pitiful scene had occurred in which the
king peevishly upbraided her in regard to
some trivial matter--the occasion escapes
my memory--speaking to her before
others words that even alone she could
not have listened to with dignity. I was
there, and Sapt; the colonel's small eyes
had gleamed in anger. "I should like to
shut his mouth for him, " I heard him
mutter, for the king's waywardness had
well-nigh worn out even his devotion.
The thing, of which I will say no more,
happened a day or two before I was to set
out to meet Mr. Rassendyll. I was to seek
him this time at Wintenberg, for I had
been recognized the year before at
Dresden; and Wintenberg, being a smaller
place and less in the way of chance
visitors, was deemed safer. I remember
well how she was when she called me into
her own room, a few hours after she had
left the king. She stood by the table; the
box was on it, and I knew well that the
red rose and the message were within. But
there was more to-day. Without preface
she broke into the subject of my errand.

"I must write to him," she said. "I can't
bear it, I must write. My dear friend Fritz,
you will carry it safely for me, won't you?
And he must write to me. And you'll bring
that safely, won't you? Ah, Fritz, I know
I'm wrong, but I'm starved, starved,
starved! And it's for the last time. For I
know now that if I send anything, I must
send more. So after this time I won't send
at all. But I must say good-by to him; I
must have his good-by to carry me
through my life. This once, then, Fritz, do
it for me."

The tears rolled down her cheeks, which
to-day were flushed out of their paleness
to a stormy red; her eyes defied me even
while they pleaded. I bent my head and
kissed her hand.

"With God's help I'll carry it safely and
bring his safely, my queen," said I.

"And tell me how he looks. Look at him
closely, Fritz. See if he is well and seems
strong. Oh, and make him merry and
happy! Bring that smile to his lips, Fritz,
and the merry twinkle to his eyes. When
you speak of me, see if he--if he looks as
if he still loved me." But then she broke
off, crying, "But don't tell him I said that.
He'd be grieved if I doubted his love. I
don't doubt it; I don't, indeed; but still tell
me how he looks when you speak of me,
won't you, Fritz? See, here's the letter."

Taking it from her bosom, she kissed it
before she gave it to me. Then she added
a thousand cautions, how I was to carry
her letter, how I was to go and how
return, and how I was to run no danger,
because my wife Helga loved me as well
as she would have loved her husband had
Heaven been kinder. "At least, almost as I
should, Fritz," she said, now between
smiles and tears. She would not believe
that any woman could love as she loved.

I left the queen and went to prepare for
my journey. I used to take only one
servant with me, and I had chosen a
different man each year. None of them
had known that I met Mr. Rassendyll, but
supposed that I was engaged on the
private business which I made my pretext
for obtaining leave of absence from the
king. This time I had determined to take
with me a Swiss youth who had entered
my service only a few weeks before. His
name was Bauer; he seemed a stolid,
somewhat stupid fellow, but as honest as
the day and very obliging.

He had come to me well recommended,
and I had not hesitated to engage him. I
chose him for my companion now, chiefly
because he was a foreigner and therefore
less likely to gossip with the other
servants when we returned. I do not
pretend to much cleverness, but I confess
that it vexes me to remember how that
stout, guileless-looking youth made a fool
of me. For Rupert knew that I had met
Mr. Rassendyll the year before at
Dresden; Rupert was keeping a watchful
eye on all that passed in Strelsau; Rupert
had procured the fellow his fine
testimonials and sent him to me, in the
hope that he would chance on something
of advantage to his employer. My resolve
to take him to Wintenberg may have been
hoped for, but could scarcely have been
counted on; it was the added luck that
waits so often on the plans of a clever
schemer.

Going to take leave of the king, I found
him huddled over the fire. The day was
not cold, but the damp chill of his
dungeon seemed to have penetrated to the
very core of his bones. He was annoyed at
my going, and questioned me peevishly
about the business that occasioned my
journey. I parried his curiosity as I best
could, but did not succeed in appeasing
his ill-humor. Half ashamed of his recent
outburst, half-anxious to justify it to
himself, he cried fretfully:

"Business! Yes, any business is a good
enough excuse for leaving me! By
Heaven, I wonder if a king was ever
served so badly as I am! Why did you
trouble to get me out of Zenda? Nobody
wants me, nobody cares whether I live or
die."

To reason with such a mood was
impossible. I could only assure him that I
would hasten my return by all possible
means.

"Yes, pray do," said he. "I want
somebody to look after me. Who knows
what that villain Rupert may attempt
against me? And I can't defend myself can
I? I'm not Rudolf Rassendyll, am I?"

Thus, with a mixture of plaintiveness and
malice, he scolded me. At last I stood
silent, waiting till he should be pleased to
dismiss me. At any rate I was thankful
that he entertained no suspicion as to my
errand. Had I spoken a word of Mr.
Rassendyll he would not have let me go.
He had fallen foul of me before on
learning that I was in communication with
Rudolf; so completely had jealousy
destroyed gratitude in his breast. If he had
known what I carried, I do not think that
he could have hated his preserver more.
Very likely some such feeling was natural
enough; it was none the less painful to
perceive.

On leaving the king's presence, I sought
out the Constable of Zenda. He knew my
errand; and, sitting down beside him, I
told him of the letter I carried, and
arranged how to apprise him of my
fortune surely and quickly. He was not in
a good humor that day: the king had
ruffled him also, and Colonel Sapt had no
great reserve of patience.

"If we haven't cut one another's throats
before then, we shall all be at Zenda by
the time you arrive at Wintenberg," he
said. "The court moves there to-morrow,
and I shall be there as long as the king is."

He paused, and then added: "Destroy the
letter if there's any danger."

I nodded my head.

"And destroy yourself with it, if there's
the only way," he went on with a surly
smile. "Heaven knows why she must send
such a silly message at all; but since she
must, she'd better have sent me with it."

I knew that Sapt was in the way of jeering
at all sentiment, and I took no notice of
the terms that he applied to the queen's
farewell. I contented myself with
answering the last part of what he said.

"No, it's better you should be here," I
urged. "For if I should lose the letter--
though there's little chance of it--you
could prevent it from coming to the king."

"I could try," he grinned. "But on my life,
to run the chance for a letter's sake! A
letter's a poor thing to risk the peace of a
kingdom for

"Unhappily," said I, "it's the only thing
that a messenger can well carry."

"Off with you, then," grumbled the
colonel. "Tell Rassendyll from me that he
did well. But tell him to do something
more. Let 'em say good-by and have done
with it. Good God, is he going to waste all
his life thinking of a woman he never
sees?" Sapt's air was full of indignation.

"What more is he to do?" I asked. "Isn't
his work here done?"

"Ay, it's done. Perhaps it's done," he
answered. "At least he has given us back
our good king."

To lay on the king the full blame for what
he was would have been rank injustice.
Sapt was not guilty of it, but his
disappointment was bitter that all our
efforts had secured no better ruler for
Ruritania. Sapt could serve, but he liked
his master to be a man.

"Ay, I'm afraid the lad's work here is
done," he said, as I shook him by the
hand. Then a sudden light came in his
eyes. "Perhaps not," he muttered. "Who
knows?"

A man need not, I hope, be deemed
uxorious for liking a quiet dinner alone
with his wife before he starts on a long
journey. Such, at least, was my fancy; and
I was annoyed to find that Helga's cousin,
Anton von Strofzin, had invited himself to
share our meal and our farewell. He
conversed with his usual airy emptiness
on all the topics that were supplying
Strelsau with gossip. There were rumors
that the king was ill; that the queen was
angry at being carried off to Zenda; that
the archbishop meant to preach against
low dresses; that the chancellor was to be
dismissed; that his daughter was to be
married; and so forth. I heard without
listening. But the last bit of his budget
caught my wandering attention.

"They were betting at the club," said
Anton, "that Rupert of Hentzau would be
recalled. Have you heard anything about
it, Fritz?"

If I had known anything, it is needless to
say that I should not have confided it to
Anton. But the suggested step was so
utterly at variance with the king's
intentions that I made no difficulty about
contradicting the report with an
authoritative air. Anton heard me with a
judicial wrinkle on his smooth brow.

"That's all very well," said he, "and I dare
say you're bound to say so. All I know is
that Rischenheim dropped a hint to
Colonel Markel a day or two ago."

"Rischenheim believes what he hopes,"
said I.

"And where's he gone?" cried Anton,
exultantly. "Why has he suddenly left
Strelsau? I tell you he's gone to meet
Rupert, and I'll bet you what you like he
carries some proposal. Ah, you don't
know everything, Fritz, my boy?"

It was indeed true that I did not know
everything. I made haste to admit as
much. "I didn't even know that the count
was gone, much less why he's gone," said
I.

"You see?" exclaimed Anton. And he
added, patronizingly, "You should keep
your ears open, my boy; then you might
be worth what the king pays you."

"No less, I trust," said I, "for he pays me
nothing." Indeed, at this time I held no
office save the honorary position of
chamberlain to Her Majesty. Any advice
the king needed from me was asked and
given unofficially.

Anton went off, persuaded that he had
scored a point against me. I could not see
where. It was possible that the Count of
Luzau-Rischenheim had gone to meet his
cousin, equally possible that no such
business claimed his care. At any rate, the
matter was not for me. I had a more
pressing affair in hand. Dismissing the
whole thing from my mind, I bade the
butler tell Bauer to go forward with my
luggage and to let my carriage be at the
door in good time. Helga had busied
herself, since our guest's departure, in
preparing small comforts for my journey;
now she came to me to say good-by.
Although she tried to hide all signs of it, I
detected an uneasiness in her manner. She
did not like these errands of mine,
imagining dangers and risks of which I
saw no likelihood. I would not give in to
her mood, and, as I kissed her, I bade her
expect me back in a few days' time. Not
even to her did I speak of the new and
more dangerous burden that I carried,
although I was aware that she enjoyed a
full measure of the queen's confidence.

"My love to King Rudolf, the real King
Rudolf," said she. "Though you carry
what will make him think little of my
love."

"I have no desire he should think too
much of it, sweet," said I. She caught me
by the hands, and looked up in my face.

"What a friend you are, aren't you, Fritz?"
said she. "You worship Mr. Rassendyll. I
know you think I should worship him too,
if he asked me. Well, I shouldn't. I am
foolish enough to have my own idol." All
my modesty did not let me doubt who her
idol might be. Suddenly she drew near to
me and whispered in my ear. I think that
our own happiness brought to her a
sudden keen sympathy with her mistress.

"Make him send her a loving message,
Fritz," she whispered. "Something that
will comfort her. Her idol can't be with
her as mine is with me."

"Yes, he'll send something to comfort
her," I answered. "And God keep you, my
dear."

For he would surely send an answer to the
letter that I carried, and that answer I was
sworn to bring safely to her. So I set out
in good heart, bearing in the pocket of my
coat the little box and the queen's good-
by. And, as Colonel Sapt said to me, both
I would destroy, if need were--ay, and
myself with them. A man did not serve
Queen Flavia with divided mind.

---

CHAPTER II--

A STATION WITHOUT A CAB

The arrangements for my meeting with
Mr. Rassendyll had been carefully made
by correspondence before he left England.
He was to be at the Golden Lion Hotel at
eleven o'clock on the night of the 15th of
October. I reckoned to arrive in the town
between eight and nine on the same
evening, to proceed to another hotel, and,
on pretence of taking a stroll, slip out and
call on him at the appointed hour. I should
then fulfil my commission, take his
answer, and enjoy the rare pleasure of a
long talk with him. Early the next
morning he would have left Wintenberg,
and I should be on my way back to
Strelsau. I knew that he would not fail to
keep his appointment, and I was perfectly
confident of being able to carry out the
programme punctually; I had, however,
taken the precaution of obtaining a week's
leave of absence, in case any unforeseen
accident should delay my return.
Conscious of having done all I could to
guard against misunderstanding or
mishap, I got into the train in a tolerably
peaceful frame of mind. The box was in
my inner pocket, the letter in a
portemonnaie. I could feel them both with
my hand. I was not in uniform, but I took
my revolver. Although I had no reason to
anticipate any difficulties, I did not forget
that what I carried must be protected at all
hazards and all costs.

The weary night journey wore itself away.
Bauer came to me in the morning,
performed his small services, repacked
my hand-bag, procured me some coffee,
and left me. It was then about eight
o'clock; we had arrived at a station of
some importance and were not to stop
again till mid-day. I saw Bauer enter the
second-class compartment in which he
was traveling, and settled down in my
own coupe'. I think it was at this moment
that the thought of Rischenheim came
again into my head, and I found myself
wondering why he clung to the hopeless
idea of compassing Rupert's return and
what business had taken him from
Strelsau. But I made little of the matter,
and, drowsy from a broken night's rest,
soon fell into a doze. I was alone in the
carriage and could sleep without fear or
danger. I was awakened by our noontide
halt. Here I saw Bauer again. After taking
a basin of soup, I went to the telegraph
bureau to send a message to my wife; the
receipt of it would not merely set her
mind at case, but would also ensure word
of my safe progress reaching the queen.
As I entered the bureau I met Bauer
coming out of it. He seemed rather
startled at our encounter, but told me
readily enough that he had been
telegraphing for rooms at Wintenberg, a
very needless precaution, since there was
no danger of the hotel being full. In fact I
was annoyed, as I especially wished to
avoid calling attention to my arrival.
However, the mischief was done, and to
rebuke my servant might have aggravated
it by setting his wits at work to find out
my motive for secrecy. So I said nothing,
but passed by him with a nod. When the
whole circumstances came to light, I had
reason to suppose that besides his
message to the inn-keeper, Bauer sent one
of a character and to a quarter
unsuspected by me.

We stopped once again before reaching
Wintenberg. I put my head out of the
window to look about me, and saw Bauer
standing near the luggage van. He ran to
me eagerly, asking whether I required
anything. I told him "nothing"; but instead
of going away, he began to talk to me.
Growing weary of him, I returned to my
seat and waited impatiently for the train to
go on. There was a further delay of five
minutes, and then we started.

"Thank goodness!" I exclaimed, leaning
back comfortably in my seat and taking a
cigar from my case.

But in a moment the cigar rolled
unheeded on to the floor, as I sprang
eagerly to my feet and darted to the
window. For just as we were clearing the
station, I saw being carried past the
carriage, on the shoulders of a porter, a
bag which looked very much like mine.
Bauer had been in charge of my bag, and
it had been put in the van under his
directions. It seemed unlikely that it
should be taken out now by any mistake.
Yet the bag I saw was very like the bag I
owned. But I was not sure, and could have
done nothing had I been sure. We were
not to stop again before Wintenberg, and,
with my luggage or without it, I myself
must be in the town that evening.

We arrived punctual to our appointed
time. I sat in the carriage a moment or
two, expecting Bauer to open the door and
relieve me of my small baggage. He did
not come, so I got out. It seemed that I
had few fellow-passengers, and these
were quickly disappearing on foot or in
carriages and carts that waited outside the
station. I stood looking for my servant and
my luggage. The evening was mild; I was
encumbered with my hand-bag and a
heavy fur coat. There were no signs either
of Bauer or of baggage. I stayed where I
was for five or six minutes. The guard of
the train had disappeared, but presently I
observed the station-master; he seemed to
be taking a last glance round the premises.
Going up to him I asked whether he had
seen my servant; he could give me no
news of him. I had no luggage ticket, for
mine had been in Bauer's hands; but I
prevailed on him to allow me to look at
the baggage which had arrived; my
property was not among it. The station-
master was inclined, I think, to be a little
skeptical as to the existence both of bag
and of servant. His only suggestion was
that the man must have been left behind
accidentally. I pointed out that in this case
he would not have had the bag with him,
but that it would have come on in the
train. The station-master admitted the
force of my argument; he shrugged his
shoulders and spread his hands out; he
was evidently at the end of his resources.

Now, for the first time and with sudden
force, a doubt of Bauer's fidelity thrust
itself into my mind. I remembered how
little I knew of the fellow and how great
my charge was. Three rapid movements
of my hand assured me that letter, box,
and revolver were in their respective
places. If Bauer had gone hunting in the
bag, he had drawn a blank. The station-
master noticed nothing; he was stating at
the dim gas lamp that hung from the roof.
I turned to him.

"Well, tell him when he comes--" I began.

"He won't come to-night, now,"
interrupted the stationmaster, none too
politely. "No other train arrives to-night."

"Tell him when he does come to follow
me at once to the Wintenbergerhof. I'm
going there immediately." For time was
short, and I did not wish to keep Mr.
Rassendyll waiting. Besides, in my new-
born nervousness, I was anxious to
accomplish my errand as soon as might
be. What had become of Bauer? The
thought returned, and now with it another,
that seemed to connect itself in some
subtle way with my present position: why
and whither had the Count of Luzau-
Rischenheim set out from Strelsau a day
before I started on my journey to
Wintenberg?

"If he comes I'll tell him," said the station-
master, and as he spoke he looked round
the yard.

There was not a cab to be seen! I knew
that the station lay on the extreme
outskirts of the town, for I had passed
through Wintenberg on my wedding
journey, nearly three years before. The
trouble involved in walking, and the
further waste of time, put the cap on my
irritation.

"Why don't you have enough cabs?" I
asked angrily.

"There are plenty generally, sir," he
answered more civilly, with an apologetic
air. "There would be to-night but for an
accident."

Another accident! This expedition of
mine seemed doomed to be the sport of
chance.

"Just before your train arrived," he
continued, "a local came in. As a rule,
hardly anybody comes by it, but to-night a
number of men--oh, twenty or five-and-
twenty, I should think--got out. I collected
their tickets myself, and they all came
from the first station on the line. Well,
that's not so strange, for there's a good
beer-garden there. But, curiously enough,
every one of them hired a separate cab
and drove off, laughing and shouting to
one another as they went. That's how it
happens that there were only one or two
cabs left when your train came in, and
they were snapped up at once."

Taken alone, this occurrence was nothing;
but I asked myself whether the conspiracy
that had robbed me of my servant had
deprived me of a vehicle also.

"What sort of men were they?" I asked.

"All sorts of men, sir," answered the
station-master, "but most of them were
shabby-looking fellows. I wondered
where some of them had got the money
for their ride."

The vague feeling of uneasiness which
had already attacked me grew stronger.
Although I fought against it, calling
myself an old woman and a coward, I
must confess to an impulse which almost
made me beg the station-master's
company on my walk; but, besides being
ashamed to exhibit a timidity apparently
groundless, I was reluctant to draw
attention to myself in any way. I would
not for the world have it supposed that I
carried anything of value.

"Well, there's no help for it," said I, and,
buttoning my heavy coat about me, I took
my hand-bag and stick in one hand, and
asked my way to the hotel. My
misfortunes had broken down the station-
master's indifference, and he directed me
in a sympathetic tone.

"Straight along the road, sir," said he,
"between the poplars, for hard on half a
mile; then the houses begin, and your
hotel is in the first square you come to, on
the right."

I thanked him curtly (for I had not quite
forgiven him his earlier incivility), and
started on my walk, weighed down by my
big coat and the handbag. When I left the
lighted station yard I realized that the
evening had fallen very dark, and the
shade of the tall lank trees intensified the
gloom. I could hardly see my way, and
went timidly, with frequent stumbles over
the uneven stones of the road. The lamps
were dim, few, and widely separated; so
far as company was concerned, I might
have been a thousand miles from an
inhabited house. In spite of myself, the
thought of danger persistently assailed my
mind. I began to review every
circumstance of my journey, twisting the
trivial into some ominous shape,
magnifying the significance of everything
which might justly seem suspicious,
studying in the light of my new
apprehensions every expression of Bauer's
face and every word that had fallen from
his lips. I could not persuade myself into
security. I carried the queen's letter, and--
well, I would have given much to have
old Sapt or Rudolf Rassendyll by my side.

Now, when a man suspects danger, let
him not spend his time in asking whether
there be really danger or in upbraiding
himself for timidity, but let him face his
cowardice, and act as though the danger
were real. If I had followed that rule and
kept my eyes about me, scanning the sides
of the road and the ground in front of my
feet, instead of losing myself in a maze of
reflection, I might have had time to avoid
the trap, or at least to get my hand to my
revolver and make a fight for it; or,
indeed, in the last resort, to destroy what I
carried before harm came to it. But my
mind was preoccupied, and the whole
thing seemed to happen in a minute. At
the very moment that I had declared to
myself the vanity of my fears and
determined to be resolute in banishing
them, I heard voices--a low, strained
whispering; I saw two or three figures in
the shadow of the poplars by the wayside.
An instant later, a dart was made at me.
While I could fly I would not fight; with a
sudden forward plunge I eluded the men
who rushed at me, and started at a run
towards the lights of the town and the
shapes of the houses, now distant about a
quarter of a mile. Perhaps I ran twenty
yards, perhaps fifty; I do not know. I
heard the steps behind me, quick as my
own. Then I fell headlong on the road--
tripped up! I understood. They had
stretched a rope across my path; as I fell a
man bounded up from either side, and I
found the rope slack under my body.
There I lay on my face; a man knelt on
me, others held either hand; my face was
pressed into the mud of the road, and I
was like to have been stifled; my hand-
bag had whizzed away from me. Then a
voice said:

"Turn him over."

I knew the voice; it was a confirmation of
the fears which I had lately been at such
pains to banish. It justified. the forecast of
Anton von Strofzin, and explained the
wager of the Count of Luzau-
Rischenheim--for it was Rischenheim's
voice.

They caught hold of me and began to turn
me on my back. Here I saw a chance, and
with a great heave of my body I flung
them from me. For a short instant I was
free; my impetuous attack seemed to have
startled the enemy; I gathered myself up
on my knees. But my advantage was not
to last long. Another man, whom I had not
seen, sprang suddenly on me like a bullet
from a catapult. His fierce onset
overthrew me; I was stretched on the
ground again, on my back now, and my
throat was clutched viciously in strong
fingers. At the same moment my arms
were again seized and pinned. The face of
the man on my chest bent down towards
mine, and through the darkness I
discerned the features of Rupert of
Hentzau. He was panting with the sudden
exertion and the intense force with which
he held me, but he was smiling also; and
when he saw by my eyes that I knew him,
he laughed softly in triumph. Then came
Rischenheim's voice again.

"Where's the bag he carried? It may be in
the bag."

"You fool, he'll have it about him," said
Rupert, scornfully. "Hold him fast while I
search."

On either side my hands were still pinned
fast. Rupert's left hand did not leave my
throat, but his free right hand began to
dart about me, feeling, probing, and
rummaging. I lay quite helpless and in the
bitterness of great consternation. Rupert
found my revolver, drew it out with a
gibe, and handed it to Rischenheim, who
was now standing beside him. Then he
felt the box, he drew it out, his eyes
sparkled. He set his knee hard on my
chest, so that I could scarcely breathe;
then he ventured to loose my throat, and
tore the box open eagerly.

"Bring a light here," he cried. Another
ruffian came with a dark-lantern, whose
glow he turned on the box. Rupert opened
it, and when he saw what was inside, he
laughed again, and stowed it away in his
pocket.

"Quick, quick!" urged Rischenheim.
"We've got what we wanted, and
somebody may come at any moment."

A brief hope comforted me. The loss of
the box was a calamity, but I would
pardon fortune if only the letter escaped
capture. Rupert might have suspected that
I carried some such token as the box, but
he could not know of the letter. Would he
listen to Rischenheim? No. The Count of
Hentzau did things thoroughly.

"We may as well overhaul him a bit
more," said he, and resumed his search.
My hope vanished, for now he was bound
to come upon the letter.

Another instant brought him to it. He
snatched the pocketbook, and, motioning
impatiently to the man to hold the lantern
nearer, he began to examine the contents.
I remember well the look of his face as
the fierce white light threw it up against
the darkness in its clear pallor and high-
bred comeliness, with its curling lips and
scornful eyes. He had the letter now, and
a gleam of joy danced in his eyes as he
tore it open. A hasty glance showed him
what his prize was; then, coolly and
deliberately he settled himself to read,
regarding neither Rischenheim's nervous
hurry nor my desperate, angry glance that
glared up at him. He read leisurely, as
though he had been in an armchair in his
own house; the lips smiled and curled as
he read the last words that the queen had
written to her lover. He had indeed come
on more than he thought.

Rischenheim laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Quick, Rupert, quick," he urged again, in
a voice full of agitation.

"Let me alone, man. I haven't read
anything so amusing for a long while,"
answered Rupert. Then he burst into a
laugh, crying, "Look, look!" and pointing
to the foot of the last page of the letter. I
was mad with anger; my fury gave me
new strength. In his enjoyment of what he
read Rupert had grown careless; his knee
pressed more lightly on me, and as he
showed Rischenheim the passage in the
letter that caused him so much amusement
he turned his head away for an instant.
My chance had come. With a sudden
movement I displaced him, and with a
desperate wrench I freed my right hand.
Darting it out, I snatched at the letter.
Rupert, alarmed for his treasure, sprang
back and off me. I also sprang up on my
feet, hurling away the fellow who had
gripped my other hand. For a moment I
stood facing Rupert; then I darted on him.
He was too quick for me; he dodged
behind the man with the lantern and.
hurled the fellow forward against me. The
lantern fell on the ground.

"Give me your stick!" I heard Rupert say.
"Where is it? That's right!"

Then came Rischenheim's voice again,
imploring and timid:

"Rupert, you promised not to kill him."

The only answer was a short, fierce laugh.
I hurled away the man who had been
thrust into my arms and sprang forward. I
saw Rupert of Hentzau; his hand was
raised above his head and held a stout
club. I do not know what followed; there
came--all in a confused blur of instant
sequence--an oath from Rupert, a rush
from me, a scuffle, as though some one
sought to hold him back; then he was on
me; I felt a great thud on my forehead,
and I felt nothing more. Again I was on
my back, with a terrible pain in my head,
and a dull, dreamy consciousness of a
knot of men standing over me, talking
eagerly to one another.

I could not hear what they were saying; I
had no great desire to hear. I fancied,
somehow, that they were talking about
me; they looked at me and moved their
hands towards me now and again. I heard
Rupert's laugh, and saw his club poised
over me; then Rischenheim caught him by
the wrist. I know now that Rischenheim
was reminding his cousin that he had
promised not to kill me, that Rupert's oath
did not weigh a straw in the scales, but
that he was held back only by a doubt
whether I alive or my dead body would be
more inconvenient to dispose of. Yet then
I did not understand, but lay there listless.
And presently the talking forms seemed to
cease their talking; they grew blurred and
dim, running into one another, and all
mingling together to form one great
shapeless creature that seemed to murmur
and gibber over me, some such monster as
a man sees in his dreams. I hated to see it,
and closed my eyes; its murmurings and
gibberings haunted my ears for awhile,
making me restless and unhappy; then
they died away. Their going made me
happy; I sighed in contentment; and
everything became as though it were not.

Yet I had one more vision, breaking
suddenly across my unconsciousness. A
bold, rich voice rang out, "By God, I
will!"

"No, no," cried another. Then, "What's
that?" There was a rush of feet, the cries
of men who met in anger or excitement,
the crack of a shot and of another quickly
following, oaths, and scuffling. Then
came the sound of feet flying. I could not
make it out; I grew weary with the puzzle
of it. Would they not be quiet? Quiet was
what I wanted. At last they grew quiet; I
closed my eyes again. The pain was less
now; they were quiet; I could sleep.

When a man looks back on the past,
reviewing in his mind the chances Fortune
has given and the calls she has made, he
always torments himself by thinking that
he could have done other and better than
in fact he did. Even now I lie awake at
night sometimes, making clever plans by
which I could have thwarted Rupert's
schemes. In these musings I am very
acute; Anton von Strofzin's idle talk
furnishes me with many a clue, and I
draw inferences sure and swift as a
detective in the story books. Bauer is my
tool, I am not his. I lay Rischenheim by
the heels, send Rupert howling off with a
ball in his arm, and carry my precious
burden in triumph to Mr. Rassendyll. By
the time I have played the whole game I
am indeed proud of myself. Yet in truth--
in daylight truth--I fear that, unless
Heaven sent me a fresh set of brains, I
should be caught in much the same way
again. Though not by that fellow Bauer, I
swear! Well, there it was. They had made
a fool of me. I lay on the road with a
bloody head, and Rupert of Hentzau had
the queen's letter.

---

CHAPTER III--

AGAIN TO ZENDA

By Heaven's care, or--since a man may be
over-apt to arrogate to himself great share
of such attention--by good luck, I had not
to trust for my life to the slender thread of
an oath sworn by Rupert of Hentzau. The
visions of my dazed brain were
transmutations of reality; the scuffle, the
rush, the retreat were not all dream.

There is an honest fellow now living in
Wintenberg comfortably and at his ease
by reason that his wagon chanced to come
lumbering along with three or four stout
lads in it at the moment when Rupert was
meditating a second and murderous blow.
Seeing the group of us, the good carrier
and his lads leapt down and rushed on my
assailants. One of the thieves, they said,
was for fighting it out--l could guess who
that was--and called on the rest to stand;
but they, more prudent, laid hands on him,
and, in spite of his oaths, hustled him off
along the road towards the station. Open
country lay there and the promise of
safety. My new friends set off in pursuit;
but a couple of revolver shots, heard by
me, but not understood, awoke their
caution. Good Samaritans, but not men of
war, they returned to where I lay senseless
on the ground, congratulating themselves
and me that an enemy so well armed
should run and not stand his ground. They
forced a drink of rough wine down my
throat, and in a minute or two I opened
my eyes. They were for carrying me to a
hospital; I would have none of it. As soon
as things grew clear to me again and I
knew where I was, I did nothing but
repeat in urgent tones, "The Golden Lion,
The Golden Lion! Twenty crowns to carry
me to the Golden Lion."

Perceiving that I knew my own business
and where I wished to go, one picked up
my hand-bag and the rest hoisted me into
their wagon and set out for the hotel
where Rudolf Rassendyll was. The one
thought my broken head held was to get
to him as soon as might be and tell him
how I had been fool enough to let myself
be robbed of the queen's letter.

He was there. He stood on the threshold
of the inn, waiting for me, as it seemed,
although it was not yet the hour of my
appointment. As they drew me up to the
door, I saw his tall, straight figure and his
red hair by the light of the hall lamps. By
Heaven, I felt as a lost child must on sight
of his mother! I stretched out my hand to
him, over the side of the wagon,
murmuring, "I've lost it."

He started at the words, and sprang
forward to me. Then he turned quickly to
the carrier.

"This gentleman is my friend," he said.
"Give him to me. I'll speak to you later."
He waited while I was lifted down from
the wagon into the arms that he held ready
for me, and himself carried me across the
threshold. I was quite clear in the head by
now and understood all that passed. There
were one or two people in the hall, but
Mr. Rassendyll took no heed of them. He
bore me quickly upstairs and into his
sitting-room. There he set me down in an
arm-chair, and stood opposite to me. He
was smiling, but anxiety was awake in his
eyes.

"I've lost it," I said again, looking up at
him pitifully enough.

"That's all right," said he, nodding. "Will
you wait, or can you tell me?"

"Yes, but give me some brandy," said I.

Rudolf gave me a little brandy mixed in a
great deal of water, and then I made shift
to tell him. Though faint, I was not
confused, and I gave my story in brief,
hurried, yet sufficient words. He made no
sign till I mentioned the letter. Then his
face changed.

"A letter, too?" he exclaimed, in a strange
mixture of increased apprehension and
unlooked-for joy.

"Yes, a letter, too; she wrote a letter, and I
carried that as well as the box. I've lost
them both, Rudolf. God help me, I've lost
them both! Rupert has the letter too!" I
think I must have been weak and
unmanned from the blow I had received,
for my composure broke down here.
Rudolf stepped up to me and wrung me
by the hand. I mastered myself again and
looked in his face as he stood in thought,
his hand caressing the strong curve of his
clean-shaven chin. Now that I was with
him again it seemed as though I had never
lost him; as though we were still together
in Strelsau or at Tarlenheim, planning
how to hoodwink Black Michael, send
Rupert of Hentzau to his own place, and
bring the king back to his throne. For Mr.
Rassendyll, as he stood before me now,
was changed in nothing since our last
meeting, nor indeed since he reigned in
Strelsau, save that a few flecks of gray
spotted his hair.

My battered head ached most
consumedly. Mr. Rassendyll rang the bell
twice, and a short, thickset man of middle
age appeared; he wore a suit of tweed,
and had the air of smartness and
respectability which marks English
servants.

"James," said Rudolf, "this gentleman has
hurt his head. Look after it."

James went out. In a few minutes he was
back, with water, basin, towels, and
bandages. Bending over me, he began to
wash and tend my wound very deftly.
Rudolf was walking up and down.

"Done the head, James?" he asked, after a
few moments.

"Yes, sir," answered the servant,
gathering together his appliances.

"Telegraph forms, then."

James went out, and was back with the
forms in an instant.

"Be ready when I ring," said Rudolf. And
he added, turning to me, "Any easier,
Fritz?"

"I can listen to you now," I said.

"I see their game," said he. "One or other
of them, Rupert or this Rischenheim, will
try to get to the king with the letter."

I sprang to my feet.

"They mustn't," I cried, and I reeled back
into my chair, with a feeling as if a red-
hot poker were being run through my
head.

"Much you can do to stop 'em, old
fellow," smiled Rudolf, pausing to press
my hand as he went by. "They won't trust
the post, you know. One will go. Now
which?" He stood facing me with a
thoughtful frown on his face.

I did not know, but I thought that
Rischenheim would go. It was a great risk
for Rupert to trust himself in the kingdom,
and he knew that the king would not
easily be persuaded to receive him,
however startling might be the business
he professed as his errand. On the other
hand, nothing was known against
Rischenheim, while his rank would
secure, and indeed entitle, him to an early
audience. Therefore I concluded that
Rischenheim would go with the letter, or,
if Rupert would not let that out of his
possession, with the news of the letter.

"Or a copy," suggested Rassendyll. "Well,
Rischenheim or Rupert will be on his way
by to-morrow morning, or is on his way
to-night."

Again I tried to rise, for I was on fire to
prevent the fatal consequences of my
stupidity. Rudolf thrust me back in my
chair, saying, "No, no." Then he sat down
at the table and took up the telegraph
forms.

"You and Sapt arranged a cipher, I
suppose?" he asked.

"Yes. You write the message, and I'll put
it into the cipher."

"This is what I've written: 'Document lost.
Let nobody see him if possible. Wire who
asks.' I don't like to make it plainer: most
ciphers can be read, you know."

"Not ours," said I.

"Well, but will that do?" asked Rudolf,
with an unconvinced smile.

"Yes, I think he'll understand it." And I
wrote it again in the cipher; it was as
much as I could do to hold the pen.

The bell was rung again, and James
appeared in an instant.

"Send this," said Rudolf.

"The offices will be shut, sir."

"James, James!"

"Very good, sir; but it may take an hour to
get one open."

"I'll give you half an hour. Have you
money?"

"Yes, sir."

"And now," added Rudolf, turning to me,
"you'd better go to bed."

I do not recollect what I answered, for my
faintness came upon me again, and I
remember only that Rudolf himself
helped me into his own bed. I slept, but I
do not think he so much as lay down on
the sofa; chancing to awake once or twice,
I heard him pacing about. But towards
morning I slept heavily, and I did not
know what he was doing then. At eight
o'clock James entered and roused me. He
said that a doctor was to be at the hotel in
half an hour, but that Mr. Rassendyll
would like to see me for a few minutes if I
felt equal to business. I begged James to
summon his master at once. Whether I
were equal or unequal, the business had to
be done.

Rudolf came, calm and serene. Danger
and the need for exertion acted on him
like a draught of good wine on a seasoned
drinker. He was not only himself, but
more than himself: his excellences
enhanced, the indolence that marred him
in quiet hours sloughed off. But to-day
there was something more; I can only
describe it as a kind of radiance. I have
seen it on the faces of young sparks when
the lady they love comes through the ball-
room door, and I have seen it glow more
softly in a girl's eyes when some fellow
who seemed to me nothing out of the
ordinary asked her for a dance. That
strange gleam was on Rudolf's face as he
stood by my bedside. I dare say it used to
be on mine when I went courting.

"Fritz, old friend," said he, "there's an
answer from Sapt. I'll lay the telegraph
offices were stirred in Zenda as well as
James stirred them here in Wintenberg!
And what do you think? Rischenheim
asked for an audience before he left
Strelsau."

I raised myself on my elbow in the bed.

"You understand?" he went on. "He left
on Monday. To-day's Wednesday. The
king has granted him an audience at four
on Friday. Well, then--"

"They counted on success," I cried, "and
Rischenheim takes the letter!"

"A copy, if I know Rupert of Hentzau.
Yes, it was well laid. I like the men taking
all the cabs! How much ahead had they,
now."

I did not know that, though I had no more
doubt than he that Rupert's hand was in
the business.

"Well," he continued, "I am going to wire
to Sapt to put Rischenheim off for twelve
hours if he can; failing that, to get the
king away from Zenda."

"But Rischenheim must have his audience
sooner or later," I objected.

"Sooner or later--there's the world's
difference between them!" cried Rudolf
Rassendyll. He sat down on the bed by
me, and went on in quick, decisive words:
"You can't move for a day or two. Send
my message to Sapt. Tell him to keep you
informed of what happens. As soon as
you can travel, go to Strelsau, and let Sapt
know directly you arrive. We shall want
your help."

"And what are you going to do?" I cried,
staring at him.

He looked at me for a moment, and his
face was crossed by conflicting feelings. I
saw resolve there, obstinacy, and the
scorn of danger; fun, too, and merriment;
and, lastly, the same radiance I spoke of.
He had been smoking a cigarette; now he
threw the end of it into the grate and rose
from the bed where he had been sitting.

"I'm going to Zenda," said he.

"To Zenda!" I cried, amazed.

"Yes," said Rudolf. "I'm going again to
Zenda, Fritz, old fellow. By heaven, I
knew it would come, and now it has
come!"

"But to do what?"

"I shall overtake Rischenheim or be hot
on his heels. If he gets there first, Sapt
will keep him waiting till I come; and if I
come, he shall never see the king. Yes, if I
come in time--" He broke into a sudden
laugh. "What!" he cried, "have I lost my
likeness? Can't I still play the king? Yes,
if I come in time, Rischenheim shall have
his audience of the king of Zenda, and the
king will be very gracious to him, and the
king will take his copy of the letter from
him! Oh, Rischenheim shall have an
audience of King Rudolf in the castle of
Zenda, never fear!"

He stood, looking to see how I received
his plan; but amazed at the boldness of it,
I could only lie back and gasp.

Rudolf's excitement left him as suddenly
as it had come; he was again the cool,
shrewd, nonchalant Englishman, as,
lighting another cigarette, he proceeded:

"You see, there are two of them, Rupert
and Rischenheim. Now you can't move
for a day or two, that's certain. But there
must be two of us there in Ruritania.
Rischenheim is to try first; but if he fails,
Rupert will risk everything and break
through to the king's presence. Give him
five minutes with the king, and the
mischief's done! Very well, then; Sapt
must keep Rupert at bay while I tackle
Rischenheim. As soon as you can move,
go to Strelsau, and let Sapt know where
you are."

"But if you're seen, if you're found out?"

"Better I than the queen's letter," said he.
Then he laid his hand on my arm and said,
quite quietly, "If the letter gets to the
king, I and I only can do what must be
done."

I did not know what he meant; perhaps it
was that he would carry off the queen
sooner than leave her alone after her letter
was known; but there was another
possible meaning that I, a loyal subject,
dared not inquire into. Yet I made no
answer, for I was above all and first of all
the queen's servant. Still I cannot believe
that he meant harm to the king.

"Come, Fritz," he cried, "don't look so
glum. This is not so great an affair as the
other, and we brought that through safe." I
suppose I still looked doubtful, for he
added, with a sort of impatience, "Well,
I'm going, anyhow. Heavens, man, am I to
sit here while that letter is carried to the
king?"

I understood his feeling, and knew that he
held life a light thing compared with the
recovery of Queen Flavia's letter. I ceased
to urge him. When I assented to his
wishes, every shadow vanished from his
face, and he began to discuss the details
of the plan with business-like brevity.

"I shall leave James with you," said
Rudolf. "He'll be very useful, and you can
rely on him absolutely. Any message that
you dare trust to no other conveyance,
give to him; he'll carry it. He can shoot,
too." He rose as he spoke. "I'll look in
before I start," he added, "and hear what
the doctor says about you."

I lay there, thinking, as men sick and
weary in body will, of the dangers and the
desperate nature of the risk, rather than of
the hope which its boldness would have
inspired in a healthy, active brain. I
distrusted the rapid inference that Rudolf
had drawn from Sapt's telegram, telling
myself that it was based on too slender a
foundation. Well, there I was wrong, and I
am glad now to pay that tribute to his
discernment. The first steps of Rupert's
scheme were laid as Rudolf had
conjectured: Rischenheim had started,
even while I lay there, for Zenda, carrying
on his person a copy of the queen's
farewell letter and armed for his
enterprise by his right of audience with
the king. So far we were right, then; for
the rest we were in darkness, not knowing
or being able even to guess where Rupert
would choose to await the result of the
first cast, or what precautions he had
taken against the failure of his envoy. But
although in total obscurity as to his future
plans, I traced his past actions, and
subsequent knowledge has shown that I
was right. Bauer was the tool; a couple of
florins apiece had hired the fellows who,
conceiving that they were playing a part
in some practical joke, had taken all the
cabs at the station. Rupert had reckoned
that I should linger looking for my servant
and luggage, and thus miss my last chance
of a vehicle. If, however, I had obtained
one, the attack would still have been
made, although, of course, under much
greater difficulties. Finally--and of this at
the time I knew nothing--had I evaded
them and got safe to port with my cargo,
the plot would have been changed.
Rupert's attention would then have been
diverted from me to Rudolf; counting on
love overcoming prudence, he reckoned
that Mr. Rassendyll would not at once
destroy what the queen sent, and had
arranged to track his steps from
Wintenberg till an opportunity offered of
robbing him of his treasure. The scheme,
as I know it, was full of audacious
cunning, and required large resources--the
former Rupert himself supplied; for the
second he was indebted to his cousin and
slave, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim.

My meditations were interrupted by the
arrival of the doctor. He hummed and ha'd
over me, but to my surprise asked me no
questions as to the cause of my
misfortune, and did not, as I had feared,
suggest that his efforts should be
seconded by those of the police. On the
contrary, he appeared, from an
unobtrusive hint or two, to be anxious that
I should know that his discretion could be
trusted.

"You must not think of moving for a
couple of days," he said; "but then, I think
we can get you away without danger and
quite quietly."

I thanked him; he promised to look in
again; I murmured something about his
fee.

"Oh, thank you, that is all settled," he
said. "Your friend Herr Schmidt has seen
to it, and, my dear sir, most liberally."

He was hardly gone when 'my friend Herr
Schmidt'--alias Rudolf Rassendyll--was
back. He laughed a little when I told him
how discreet the doctor had been.

"You see," he explained, "he thinks
you've been very indiscreet. I was
obliged, my dear Fritz, to take some
liberties with your character. However,
it's odds against the matter coming to your
wife's ears."

"But couldn't we have laid the others by
the heels?"

"With the letter on Rupert? My dear
fellow, you're very ill."

I laughed at myself, and forgave Rudolf
his trick, though I think that he might
have made my fictitious __inamorata__
something more than a baker's wife. It
would have cost no more to make her a
countess, and the doctor would have
looked with more respect on me.
However, Rudolf had said that the baker
broke my head with his rolling-pin, and
thus the story rests in the doctor's mind to
this day.

"Well, I'm off," said Rudolf.

"But where?"

"Why, to that same little station where
two good friends parted from me once
before. Fritz, where's Rupert gone?"

"I wish we knew."

"I lay he won't be far off."

"Are you armed?"

"The six-shooter. Well, yes, since you
press me, a knife, too; but only if he uses
one. You'll let Sapt know when you
come?"

"Yes; and I come the moment I can
stand?"

"As if you need tell me that, old fellow!"

"Where do you go from the station?"

"To Zenda, through the forest," he
answered. "I shall reach the station about
nine to-morrow night, Thursday. Unless
Rischenheim has got the audience sooner
than was arranged, I shall be in time."

"How will you get hold of Sapt?"

"We must leave something to the minute."

"God bless you, Rudolf."

"The king sha'n't have the letter, Fritz."

There was a moment's silence as we
shook hands. Then that soft yet bright
look came in his eyes again. He looked
down at me, and caught me regarding him
with a smile that I know was not unkind.

"I never thought I should see her again,"
he said. "I think I shall now, Fritz. To
have a turn with that boy and to see her
again--it's worth something."

"How will you see her?"

Rudolf laughed, and I laughed too. He
caught my hand again. I think that he was
anxious to infect me with his gayety and
confidence. But I could not answer to the
appeal of his eyes. There was a motive in
him that found no place in me--a great
longing, the prospect or hope of whose
sudden fulfilment dwarfed danger and
banished despair. He saw that I detected
its presence in him and perceived how it
filled his mind.

"But the letter comes before all," said he.
"I expected to die without seeing her; I
will die without seeing her, if I must, to
save the letter."

"I know you will," said I.

He pressed my hand again. As he turned
away, James came with his noiseless,
quick step into the room.

"The carriage is at the door, sir," said he.

"Look after the count, James," said
Rudolf. "Don't leave him till he sends you
away."

"Very well, sir."

I raised myself in bed.

"Here's luck," I cried, catching up the
lemonade James had brought me, and
taking a gulp of it.

"Please God," said Rudolf, with a shrug.

And he was gone to his work and his
reward--to save the queen's letter and to
see the queen's face. Thus he went a
second time to Zenda.

---

CHAPTER IV--

AN EDDY ON THE MOAT

On the evening of Thursday, the sixteenth
of October, the Constable of Zenda was
very much out of humor; he has since
confessed as much. To risk the peace of a
palace for the sake of a lover's greeting
had never been wisdom to his mind, and
he had been sorely impatient with "that
fool Fritz's" yearly pilgrimage. The letter
of farewell had been an added folly,
pregnant with chances of disaster. Now
disaster, or the danger of it, had come.
The curt, mysterious telegram from
Wintenberg, which told him so little, at
least told him that. It ordered him--and he
did not know even whose the order was--
to delay Rischenheim's audience, or, if he
could not, to get the king away from
Zenda: why he was to act thus was not
disclosed to him. But he knew as well as I
that Rischenheim was completely in
Rupert's hands, and he could not fail to
guess that something had gone wrong at
Wintenberg, and that Rischenheim came
to tell the king some news that the king
must not hear. His task sounded simple,
but it was not easy; for he did not know
where Rischenheim was, and so could not
prevent his coming; besides, the king had
been very pleased to learn of the count's
approaching visit, since he desired to talk
with him on the subject of a certain breed
of dogs, which the count bred with great,
his Majesty with only indifferent success;
therefore he had declared that nothing
should interfere with his reception of
Rischenheim. In vain Sapt told him that a
large boar had been seen in the forest, and
that a fine day's sport might be expected if
he would hunt next day. "I shouldn't be
back in time to see Rischenheim," said the
king.

"Your Majesty would be back by
nightfall," suggested Sapt.

"I should be too tired to talk to him, and
I've a great deal to discuss."

"You could sleep at the hunting-lodge,
sire, and ride back to receive the count
next morning."

"I'm anxious to see him as soon as may
be." Then he looked up at Sapt with a sick
man's quick suspicion. "Why shouldn't I
see him?" he asked.

"It's a pity to miss the boar, sire," was all
Sapt's plea. The king made light of it.

"Curse the boar!" said he. "I want to know
how he gets the dogs' coats so fine."

As the king spoke a servant entered,
carrying a telegram for Sapt. The colonel
took it and put it in his pocket.

"Read it," said the king. He had dined and
was about to go to bed, it being nearly ten
o'clock.

"It will keep, sire," answered Sapt, who
did not know but that it might be from
Wintenberg.

"Read it," insisted the king testily. "It may
be from Rischenheim. Perhaps he can get
here sooner. I should like to know about
those dogs. Read it, I beg."

Sapt could do nothing but read it. He had
taken to spectacles lately, and he spent a
long while adjusting them and thinking
what he should do if the message were not
fit for the king's ear. "Be quick, man, be
quick!" urged the irritable king.

Sapt had got the envelope open at last,
and relief, mingled with perplexity,
showed in his face.

"Your Majesty guessed wonderfully well.
Rischenheim can be here at eight to-
morrow morning," he said, looking up.

"Capital!" cried the king. "He shall
breakfast with me at nine, and I'll have a
ride after the boar when we've done our
business. Now are you satisfied?"

"Perfectly, sire," said Sapt, biting his
moustache.

The king rose with a yawn, and bade the
colonel good-night. "He must have some
trick I don't know with those dogs," he
remarked, as he went out. And "Damn the
dogs!" cried Colonel Sapt the moment
that the door was shut behind his Majesty.

But the colonel was not a man to accept
defeat easily. The audience that he had
been instructed to postpone was
advanced; the king, whom he had been
told to get away from Zenda, would not
go till he had seen Rischenheim. Still
there are many ways of preventing a
meeting. Some are by fraud; these it is no
injustice to Sapt to say that he had tried;
some are by force, and the colonel was
being driven to the conclusion that one of
these must be his resort.

"Though the king," he mused, with a grin,
"will be furious if anything happens to
Rischenheim before he's told him about
the dogs."

Yet he fell to racking his brains to find a
means by which the count might be
rendered incapable of performing the
service so desired by the king and of
carrying out his own purpose in seeking
an audience. Nothing save assassination
suggested itself to the constable; a quarrel
and a duel offered no security; and Sapt
was not Black Michael, and had no band
of ruffians to join him in an apparently
unprovoked kidnapping of a distinguished
nobleman.

"I can think of nothing," muttered Sapt,
rising from his chair and moving across
towards the window in search of the fresh
air that a man so often thinks will give
him a fresh idea. He was in his own
quarters, that room of the new
__cha^teau__ which opens on to the moat
immediately to the right of the drawbridge
as you face the old castle; it was the room
which Duke Michael had occupied, and
almost opposite to the spot where the
great pipe had connected the window of
the king's dungeon with the waters of the
moat. The bridge was down now, for
peaceful days had come to Zenda; the
pipe was gone, and the dungeon's
window, though still barred, was
uncovered. The night was clear and fine,
and the still water gleamed fitfully as the
moon, half-full, escaped from or was
hidden by passing clouds. Sapt stood
staring out gloomily, beating his knuckles
on the stone sill. The fresh air was there,
but the fresh idea tarried.

Suddenly the constable bent forward,
craning his head out and down, far as he
could stretch it, towards the water. What
he had seen, or seemed dimly to see, is a
sight common enough on the surface of
water--large circular eddies, widening
from a centre; a stone thrown in makes
them, or a fish on the rise. But Sapt had
thrown no stone, and the fish in the moat
were few and not rising then. The light
was behind Sapt, and threw his figure into
bold relief. The royal apartments looked
out the other way; there were no lights in
the windows this side the bridge, although
beyond it the guards' lodgings and the
servants' offices still showed a light here
and there. Sapt waited till the eddies
ceased. Then he heard the faintest sound,
as of a large body let very gently into the
water; a moment later, from the moat
right below him, a man's head emerged.

"Sapt!" said a voice, low but distinct.

The old colonel started, and, resting both
hands on the sill, bent further out, till he
seemed in danger of overbalancing.

"Quick--to the ledge on the other side.
You know," said the voice, and the head
turned; with quick, quiet strokes the man
crossed the moat till he was hidden in the
triangle of deep shade formed by the
meeting of the drawbridge and the old
castle wall. Sapt watched him go, almost
stupefied by the sudden wonder of
hearing that voice come to him out of the
stillness of the night. For the king was
abed; and who spoke in that voice save
the king and one other?

Then, with a curse at himself for his
delay, he turned and walked quickly
across the room. Opening the door, he
found himself in the passage. But here he
ran right into the arms of young
Bernenstein, the officer of the guard, who
was going his rounds. Sapt knew and
trusted him, for he had been with us all
through the siege of Zenda, when Michael
kept the king a prisoner, and he bore
marks given him by Rupert of Hentzau's
ruffians. He now held a commission as
lieutenant in the cuirassiers of the King's
Guard.

He noticed Sapt's bearing, for he cried out
in a low voice, "Anything wrong, sir?"

"Bernenstein, my boy, the castle's all right
about here. Go round to the front, and,
hang you, stay there," said Sapt.

The officer stared, as well he might. Sapt
caught him by the arm.

"No, stay here. See, stand by the door
there that leads to the royal apartments.
Stand there, and let nobody pass. You
understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"And whatever you hear, don't look
round."

Bernenstein's bewilderment grew greater;
but Sapt was constable, and on Sapt's
shoulders lay the responsibility for the
safety of Zenda and all in it.

"Very well, sir," he said, with a
submissive shrug, and he drew his sword
and stood by the door; he could obey,
although he could not understand.

Sapt ran on. Opening the gate that led to
the bridge, he sped across. Then, stepping
on one side and turning his face to the
wall, he descended the steps that gave
foothold down to the ledge running six or
eight inches above the water. He also was
now in the triangle of deep darkness, yet
he knew that a man was there, who stood
straight and tall, rising above his own
height. And he felt his hand caught in a
sudden grip. Rudolf Rassendyll was there,
in his wet drawers and socks.

"Is it you?" he whispered.

"Yes," answered Rudolf; "I swam round
from the other side and got here. Then I
threw in a bit of mortar, but I wasn't sure
I'd roused you, and I didn't dare shout, so
I followed it myself. Lay hold of me a
minute while I get on my breeches: I
didn't want to get wet, so I carried my
clothes in a bundle. Hold me tight, it's
slippery."

"In God's name what brings you here?"
whispered Sapt, catching Rudolf by the
arm as he was directed.

"The queen's service. When does
Rischenheim come?"

"To-morrow at eight."

"The deuce! That's earlier than I thought.
And the king?"

"Is here and determined to see him. It's
impossible to move him from it."

There was a moment's silence; Rudolf
drew his shirt over his head and tucked it
into his trousers. "Give me the jacket and
waistcoat," he said. "I feel deuced damp
underneath, though."

"You'll soon get dry," grinned Sapt.
"You'll be kept moving, you see."

"I've lost my hat."

"Seems to me you've lost your head too."

"You'll find me both, eh, Sapt?"

"As good as your own, anyhow," growled
the constable.

"Now the boots, and I'm ready." Then he
asked quickly, "Has the king seen or
heard from Rischenheim?"

"Neither, except through me."

"Then why is he so set on seeing him?"

"To find out what gives dogs smooth
coats."

"You're serious? Hang you, I can't see
your face."

"Absolutely."

"All's well, then. Has he got a beard
now?"

"Yes."

"Confound him! Can't you take me
anywhere to talk?"

"What the deuce are you here at all for?"

"To meet Rischenheim."

"To meet--?"

"Yes. Sapt, he's got a copy of the queen's
letter."

Sapt twirled his moustache.

"I've always said as much," he remarked
in tones of satisfaction. He need not have
said it; he would have been more than
human not to think it.

"Where can you take me to?" asked
Rudolf impatiently.

"Any room with a door and a lock to it,"
answered old Sapt. "I command here, and
when I say 'Stay out'--well, they don't
come in."

"Not the king?"

"The king is in bed. Come along," and the
constable set his toe on the lowest step.

"Is there nobody about?" asked Rudolf,
catching his arm.

"Bernenstein; but he will keep his back
toward us."

"Your discipline is still good, then,
Colonel?"

"Pretty well for these days, your
Majesty," grunted Sapt, as he reached the
level of the bridge.

Having crossed, they entered the chateau.
The passage was empty, save for
Bernenstein, whose broad back barred the
way from the royal apartments.

"In here," whispered Sapt, laying his hand
on the door of the room whence he had
come.

"All right," answered Rudolf.
Bernenstein's hand twitched, but he did
not look round. There was discipline in
the castle of Zenda.

But as Sapt was half-way through the
door and Rudolf about to follow him, the
other door, that which Bernenstein
guarded, was softly yet swiftly opened.
Bernenstein's sword was in rest in an
instant. A muttered oath from Sapt and
Rudolf's quick snatch at his breath greeted
the interruption. Bernenstein did not look
round, but his sword fell to his side. In the
doorway stood Queen Flavia, all in white;
and now her face turned white as her
dress. For her eyes had fallen on Rudolf
Rassendyll. For a moment the four stood
thus; then Rudolf passed Sapt, thrust
Bernenstein's brawny shoulders (the
young man had not looked round) out of
the way, and, falling on his knee before
the queen, seized her hand and kissed it.
Bernenstein could see now without
looking round, and if astonishment could
kill, he would have been a dead man that
instant. He fairly reeled and leant against
the wall, his mouth hanging open. For the
king was in bed, and had a beard; yet
there was the king, fully dressed and clean
shaven, and he was kissing the queen's
hand, while she gazed down on him in a
struggle between amazement, fright, and
joy. A soldier should be prepared for
anything, but I cannot be hard on young
Bernenstein's bewilderment.

Yet there was in truth nothing strange in
the queen seeking to see old Sapt that
night, nor in her guessing where he would
most probably be found. For she had
asked him three times whether news had
come from Wintenberg and each time he
had put her off with excuses. Quick to
forbode evil, and conscious of the pledge
to fortune that she had given in her letter,
she had determined to know from him
whether there were really cause for alarm,
and had stolen, undetected, from her
apartments to seek him. What filled her at
once with unbearable apprehension and
incredulous joy was to find Rudolf
present in actual flesh and blood, no
longer in sad longing dreams or visions,
and to feel his live lips on her hand.

Lovers count neither time nor danger; but
Sapt counted both, and no more than a
moment had passed before, with eager
imperative gestures, he beckoned them to
enter the room. The queen obeyed, and
Rudolf followed her.

"Let nobody in, and don't say a word to
anybody," whispered Sapt, as he entered,
leaving Bernenstein outside. The young
man was half-dazed still, but he had sense
to read the expression in the constable's
eyes and to learn from it that he must give
his life sooner than let the door be
opened. So with drawn sword he stood on
guard.

It was eleven o'clock when the queen
came, and midnight had struck from the
great clock of the castle before the door
opened again and Sapt came out. His
sword was not drawn, but he had his
revolver in his hand. He shut the door
silently after him and began at once to
talk in low, earnest, quick tones to
Bernenstein. Bernenstein listened intently
and without interrupting. Sapt's story ran
on for eight or nine minutes. Then he
paused, before asking:

"You understand now?"

"Yes, it is wonderful," said the young
man, drawing in his breath.

"Pooh!" said Sapt. "Nothing is wonderful:
some things are unusual."

Bernenstein was not convinced, and
shrugged his shoulders in protest.

"Well?" said the constable, with a quick
glance at him.

"I would die for the queen, sir," he
answered, clicking his heels together as
though on parade.

"Good," said Sapt. "Then listen," and he
began again to talk. Bernenstein nodded
from time to time. "You'll meet him at the
gate," said the constable, "and bring him
straight here. He's not to go anywhere
else, you understand me?"

"Perfectly, Colonel," smiled young
Bernenstein.

"The king will be in this room--the king.
You know who is the king?"

"Perfectly, Colonel."

"And when the interview is ended, and we
go to breakfast--"

"I know who will be the king then. Yes,
Colonel."

"Good. But we do him no harm unless--"

"It is necessary."

"Precisely."

Sapt turned away with a little sigh.
Bernenstein was an apt pupil, but the
colonel was exhausted by so much
explanation. He knocked softly at the
door of the room. The queen's voice bade
him enter, and he passed in. Bernenstein
was left alone again in the passage,
pondering over what he had heard and
rehearsing the part that it now fell to him
to play. As he thought he may well have
raised his head proudly. The service
seemed so great and the honor so high,
that he almost wished he could die in the
performing of his role. It would be a finer
death than his soldier's dreams had dared
to picture.

At one o'clock Colonel Sapt came out.
"Go to bed till six," said he to
Bernenstein.

"I'm not sleepy."

"No, but you will be at eight if you don't
sleep now."

"Is the queen coming out, Colonel?"

"In a minute, Lieutenant."

"I should like to kiss her hand."

"Well, if you think it worth waiting a
quarter of an hour for!" said Sapt, with a
slight smile.

"You said a minute, sir."

"So did she," answered the constable.

Nevertheless it was a quarter of an hour
before Rudolf Rassendyll opened the door
and the queen appeared on the threshold.
She was very pale, and she had been
crying, but her eyes were happy and her
air firm. The moment he saw her, young
Bernenstein fell on his knee and raised
her hand to his lips.

"To the death, madame," said he, in a
trembling voice.

"I knew it, sir," she answered graciously.
Then she looked round on the three of
them. "Gentlemen," said she, "my
servants and dear friends, with you, and
with Fritz who lies wounded in
Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life;
for I will not live if the letter reaches the
king."

"The king shall not have it, madame,"
said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his
and patted it with a clumsy gentleness;
smiling, she extended it again to young
Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They
two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf
walked with her to the end of the passage.
There for a moment she and he stood
together; the others turned their eyes away
and thus did not see her suddenly stoop
and cover his hand with her kisses. He
tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit
that she should kiss his hand, but she
seemed as though she could not let it go.
Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she
passed backwards through the door, and
he shut it after her.

"Now to business," said Colonel Sapt
dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little.

Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to
the king's apartments, and asked the
physician whether his Majesty were
sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news
of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the
quarters of the king's body-servant,
knocked up the sleepy wretch, and
ordered breakfast for the king and the
Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine
o'clock precisely, in the morning-room
that looked out over the avenue leading to
the entrance to the new __cha^teau__.
This done, he returned to the room where
Rudolf was, carried a chair into the
passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat
down, revolver in hand, and himself went
to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed
just now, taken faint, and the constable
himself was acting as his substitute; that
was to be the story, if a story were
needed. Thus the hours from two to six
passed that morning in the castle of
Zenda.

At six the constable awoke and knocked
at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it.

"Slept well?" asked Sapt.

"Not a wink," answered Rudolf
cheerfully.

"I thought you had more nerve."

"It wasn't want of nerve that kept me
awake," said Mr. Rassendyll.

Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round.
The curtains of the window were half-
drawn. The table was moved near to the
wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in
shadow, being quite close to the curtains.

"There's plenty of room for you behind,"
said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is
seated in his chair opposite to mine, you
can put your barrel against his head by
just stretching out your hand. And of
course I can do the same."

"Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt,
with an approving nod. "What about the
beard?"

"Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved
this morning."

"Will he believe that?"

"Why not? For his own sake he'd better
believe everything."

"And if we have to kill him?"

"We must run for it. The king would be
furious."

"He's fond of him?"

"You forget. He wants to know about the
dogs."

"True. You'll be in your place in time?"

"Of course."

Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and
down the room. It was easy to see that the
events of the night had disturbed him.
Sapt's thoughts were running in a different
channel.

"When we've done with this fellow, we
must find Rupert," said he.

Rudolf started.

"Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of
course we must," said he confusedly.

Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his
companion's mind had been occupied
with the queen. But his remarks--if he had
meditated any--were interrupted by the
clock striking seven.

"He'll be here in an hour," said he.

"We're ready for him," answered Rudolf
Rassendyll. With the thought of action his
eyes grew bright and his brow smooth
again. He and old Sapt looked at one
another, and they both smiled.

"Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?"

"Aye, sire, like the reign of good King
Rudolf."

Thus they made ready for the Count of
Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed
wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg.
It is still a sorrow to me that I know what
passed that morning only by report, and
had not the honor of bearing a part in it.
Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but
remembered that I would have taken my
share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I
would most eagerly.

---

CHAPTER V--

AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING

Having come thus far in the story that I
set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay
down my pen, and leave untold how from
the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came
again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to
catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us
whither we would not, and ever driving us
onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing
into us a recklessness that stood at no
obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and
to the man she loved that swept away all
other feeling. The ancients held there to
be a fate which would have its fill, though
women wept and men died, and none
could tell whose was the guilt nor who
fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong
God's providence. Yet, save that we are
taught to believe that all is ruled, we are
as blind as they, and are still left
wondering why all that is true and
generous and love's own fruit must turn so
often to woe and shame, exacting tears
and blood. For myself I would leave the
thing untold, lest a word of it should seem
to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own
command I write, that all may one day, in
time's fullness, be truly known, and those
condemn who are without sin, while they
pity whose own hearts have fought the
equal fight. So much for her and him; for
us less needs be said. It was not ours to
weigh her actions; we served her; him we
had served. She was our queen; we bore
Heaven a grudge that he was not our king.
The worst of what befell was not of our
own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It
came a thunderbolt from the hand of
Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse
and a laugh;its coming entangled us more
tightly in the net of circumstances. Then
there arose in us that strange and
overpowering desire of which I must tell
later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish
our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll
himself into the way we chose. Led by
this star, we pressed on through the
darkness, until at length the deeper
darkness fell that stayed our steps. We
also stand for judgment, even as she and
he. So I will write; but I will write plainly
and briefly, setting down what I must, and
no more, yet seeking to give truly the
picture of that time, and to preserve as
long as may be the portrait of the man
whose like I have not known. Yet the fear
is always upon me that, failing to show
him as he was, I may fail also in gaining
an understanding of how he wrought on
us, one and all, till his cause became in all
things the right, and to seat him where he
should be our highest duty and our nearest
wish. For he said little, and that straight to
the purpose; no high-flown words of his
live in my memory. And he asked nothing
for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes
went straight to men's hearts and
women's, so that they held their lives in
an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I
rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt
was foremost in the business.

At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young
Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly
accoutred, took his stand outside the main
entrance of the castle. He wore a
confident air that became almost a
swagger as he strolled to and fro past the
motionless sentries. He had not long to
wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman,
well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode
up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying
"Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him.
Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his
hand to the young officer.

"My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they
were acquainted with one another.

"You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim,
and it's lucky, for the king awaits you
most impatiently."

"I didn't expect to find him up so soon,"
remarked Rischenheim.

"Up! He's been up these two hours.
Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it.
Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's
in one of his troublesome humors. For
example--but I mustn't keep you waiting.
Pray follow me."

"No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might
say something unfortunate."

"Well, he woke at six; and when the
barber came to trim his beard there were--
imagine it, Count!--no less than seven
gray hairs." The king fell into a passion.
"Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't
have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what
would you? A man is free to be shaved if
he chooses, so much more a king. So it's
taken off."

"His beard!"

"His beard, my dear Count. Then, after
thanking Heaven it was gone, and
declaring he looked ten years younger, he
cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim
breakfasts with me to-day: what is there
for breakfast?" And he had the __chef__
out his of bed and--But, by heavens, I
shall get into trouble if I stop here
chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for
you. Come along." And Bernenstein,
passing his arm through the count's,
walked him rapidly into the castle.

The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a
young man; he was no more versed in
affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and
it cannot be said that he showed so much
aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale
this morning; his manner was uneasy, and
his hands trembled. He did not lack
courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness;
and the importance--or perhaps the
shame--of his mission upset the balance
of his nerves. Hardly noting where he
went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him
quickly and directly towards the room
where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not
doubting that he was being conducted to
the king's presence.

"Breakfast is ordered for nine," said
Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you
before. He has something important to
say; and you perhaps have the same?"

"I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a
private nature."

"Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any
questions, my dear Count."

"Shall I find the king alone?" asked
Rischenheim nervously.

"I don't think you'll find anybody with
him; no, nobody, I think," answered
Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring
air.

They arrived now at the door. Here
Bernenstein paused.

"I am ordered to wait outside till his
Majesty summons me," he said in a low
voice, as though he feared that the
irritable king would hear him. "I'll open
the door and announce you. Pray keep
him in a good temper, for all our sakes."
And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire,
the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the
honor to wait on your Majesty." With this
he shut the door promptly, and stood
against it. Nor did he move, save once,
and then only to take out his revolver and
carefully inspect it.

The count advanced, bowing low, and
striving to conceal a visible agitation. He
saw the king in his arm-chair; the king
wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the
better for being crushed into a bundle the
night before); his face was in deep
shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that
the beard was indeed gone. The king held
out his hand to Rischenheim, and
motioned him to sit in a chair just
opposite to him and within a foot of the
window-curtains.

"I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said
the king.

Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice
had once been so like the king's that no
man could tell the difference, but in the
last year or two the king's had grown
weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be
struck by the vigor of the tones in which
he was addressed. As he looked up, there
was a slight movement in the curtains by
him; it died away when the count gave no
further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had
noticed his surprise: the voice, when it
next spoke, was subdued.

"Most delighted," pursued Mr.
Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond
endurance about those dogs. I can't get the
coats right, I've tried everything, but they
won't come as I wish. Now, yours are
magnificent."

"You are very good, sire. But I ventured
to ask an audience in order to--"

"Positively you must tell me about the
dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want
nobody to hear but myself."

"Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?"

"In about twenty minutes," said the king,
with a glance at the clock on the
mantelpiece.

At this Rischenheim became all on fire to
get his errand done before Sapt appeared.

"The coats of your dogs," pursued the
king, "grow so beautifully--"

"A thousand pardons, sire, but--"

"Long and silky, that I despair of--"

"I have a most urgent and important
matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony.

Rudolf threw himself back in his chair
with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you
must. What is this great affair, Count? Let
us have it over, and then you can tell me
about the dogs."

Rischenheim looked round the room.
There was nobody; the curtains were still;
the king's left hand caressed his beardless
chin; the right was hidden from his visitor
by the small table that stood between
them.

"Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau,
has entrusted me with a message."

Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air.

"I can hold no communication, directly or
indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau,"
said he.

"Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document
has come into the count's hands which is
of vital importance to your Majesty."

"The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has
incurred my heaviest displeasure."

"Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his
offences that he has sent me here to-day.
There is a conspiracy against your
Majesty's honor."

"By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in
cold and doubting tones.

"By those who are very near your
Majesty's person and very high in your
Majesty's love."

"Name them."

"Sire, I dare not. You would not believe
me. But your Majesty will believe written
evidence."

"Show it me, and quickly. We may be
interrupted."

"Sire, I have a copy--"

"Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf.

"My cousin has the original, and will
forward it at your Majesty's command. A
copy. of a letter of her Majesty's--"

"Of the queen's?"

"Yes, sire. It is addressed to--"
Rischenheim paused.

"Well, my lord, to whom?"

"To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll."

Now Rudolf played his part well. He did
not feign indifference, but allowed his
voice to tremble with emotion as he
stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse
whisper, "Give it me, give it me."

Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had
told: the king's attention was his; the coats
of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had
stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the
king.

"My cousin," he continued, "conceives it
his duty to lay the letter before your
Majesty. He obtained it--"

"A curse on how he got it! Give it me!"

Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his
waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed
in a belt round his waist. He undid the
flap of a pocket in the lining of his
waistcoat, and he began to draw out a
sheet of paper.

But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-
control were, was but human. When he
saw the paper, he leant forward, half
rising from his chair. As a result, his face
came beyond the shadow of the curtain,
and the full morning light beat on it. As
Rischenheim took the paper out, he
looked up. He saw the face that glared so
eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's:
a sudden suspicion seized him, for the
face, though the king's face in every
feature, bore a stern resolution and
witnessed a vigor that were not the king's.
In that instant the truth, or a hint of it,
flashed across his mind. He gave a half-
articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up
the paper, the other flew to his revolver.
But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand
encircled his hand and the paper in an iron
grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple;
and an arm was stretched out from behind
the curtain, holding another barrel full
before his eyes, while a dry voice said,
"You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt
stepped out.

Rischenheim had no words to meet the
sudden transformation of the interview.
He seemed to be able to do nothing but
stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted
no time. He snatched the count's revolver
and stowed it in his own pocket.

"Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf,
and his barrel held Rischenheim
motionless while Rudolf wrenched the
precious document from his fingers.
"Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it
through; just look. Is it right? That's good.
Now put your revolver to his head again.
I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir."

They compelled the count to stand up, and
Sapt subjected him to a search that made
the concealment of another copy, or of
any other document, impossible. Then
they let him sit down again. His eyes
seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll.

"Yet you've seen me before, I think,"
smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you
as a boy in Strelsau when I was there.
Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this
cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find
out from Rischenheim where Rupert was,
and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon
as they had disposed of Rischenheim.

But even as Rudolf spoke there was a
violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang
to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their
places. Bernenstein was on the threshold,
open-mouthed.

"The king's servant has just gone by. He's
looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has
been walking in the drive, and learnt from
a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told
the man that you had taken the count for a
stroll round the castle, and I did not know
where you were. He says that the king
may come himself at any moment."

Sapt considered for one short instant; then
he was back by the prisoner's side.

"We must talk again later on," he said, in
low quick tones. "Now you're going to
breakfast with the king. I shall be there,
and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word
of your errand, not a word of this
gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a
gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a
bullet through your head, and a thousand
kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind
the curtain. If there's an alarm you must
jump through the window into the moat
and swim for it."

"All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can
read my letter there."

"Burn it, you fool."

"When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like,
but not before."

Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick,
quick! The man will be back," he
whispered.

"Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to
the count?"

"Yes, I heard."

"Then you know your part. Now,
gentlemen, to the king."

"Well," said an angry voice outside, "I
wondered how long I was to be kept
waiting."

Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the
curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a
handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with
arms dangling by his side and his
waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young
Bernenstein was bowing low on the
threshold, and protesting that the king's
servant had but just gone, and that they
were on the point of waiting on his
Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale
and full-bearded.

"Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see
you. If they had told me you were here,
you shouldn't have waited a minute.
You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't
you draw back the curtains?" and the king
moved towards the curtain behind which
Rudolf was.

"Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past
him and laying a hand on the curtain.

A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into
Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire,"
continued the constable, his hand on the
curtain, "we were so interested in what
the count was saying about his dogs--"

"By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king.
"Yes, yes, the dogs Now tell me, Count--"

"Your pardon, sire," put in young
Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits."

"Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them
together--breakfast and the dogs. Come
along, Count." The king passed his arm
through Rischenheim's, adding to
Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant;
and you, Colonel, come with us."

They went out. Sapt stopped and locked
the door behind him. "Why do you lock
the door, Colonel?" asked the king.

"There are some papers in my drawer
there, sire."

"But why not lock the drawer?,

"I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I
am," said the colonel.

The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not
make a very good breakfast. He sat
opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed
himself at the back of the king's chair, and
Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver
resting on the top of the chair just behind
his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood
in soldierly rigidity by the door;
Rischenheim looked round at him once
and met a most significant gaze.

"You're eating nothing," said the king. "I
hope you're not indisposed?"

"I am a little upset, sire," stammered
Rischenheim, and truly enough.

"Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat,
for I'm hungry."

Rischenheim began to disclose his secret.
His statement was decidedly wanting in
clearness. The king grew impatient.

"I don't understand," said he testily, and
he pushed his chair back so quickly that
Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver
behind his back.

"Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A
cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein
interrupted him.

"Tell it me all over again," said the king.
Rischenheim did as he was bid.

"Ah, I understand a little better now. Do
you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head
round towards the constable. Sapt had just
time to whisk the revolver away. The
count lent forward towards the king.
Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The
count sank back again.

"Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I
understand all the count wishes to convey
to your Majesty."

"Well, I understand about half," said the
king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be
enough."

"I think quite enough, sire," answered
Sapt with a smile. The important matter of
the dogs being thus disposed of, the king
recollected that the count had asked for an
audience on a matter of business.

"Now, what did you wish to say to me?"
he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had
been more interesting.

Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver
was in its place; Bernenstein coughed
again. Yet he saw a chance.

"Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are
not alone."

The king lifted his eyebrows.

"Is the business so private?" he asked.

"I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty
alone," pleaded the count.

Now Sapt was resolved not to leave
Rischenheim alone with the king, for,
although the count, being robbed of his
evidence could do little harm concerning
the letter, he would doubtless tell the king
that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle.
He leant now over the king's shoulder,
and said with a sneer:

"Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are
too exalted matters for my poor ears, it
seems."

The king flushed red.

"Is that your business, my lord?" he asked
Rischenheim sternly.

"Your Majesty does not know what my
cousin--"

"It is the old plea?" interrupted the king.
"He wants to come back? Is that all, or is
there anything else?"

A moment's silence followed the king's
words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim,
and smiled as he slightly raised his right
hand and showed the revolver.
Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim
sat twisting his fingers. He understood
that, cost what it might, they would not let
him declare his errand to the king or
betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He
cleared his throat and opened his mouth
as if to speak, but still he remained silent.

"Well, my lord, is it the old story or
something new" asked the king
impatiently.

Again Rischenheim sat silent.

"Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king
most impatiently.

"It--it is only what you call the old story,
sire."

"Then let me say that you have treated me
very badly in obtaining an audience of me
for any such purpose," said the king.
"You knew my decision, and your cousin
knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose;
Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but
Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his
sword and stood at the salute; he also
coughed.

"My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king
more kindly, "I can allow for your natural
affection. But, believe me, in this case it
misleads you. Do me the favor not to
open this subject again to me."

Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could
do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of
the king's rebuke.

"Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well
entertained. My horse should be at the
door by now. Farewell, Count.
Bernenstein, give me your arm."

Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the
constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly.
Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave
his arm to the king. They passed through
the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a
backward push of his hand. But at this
moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and
desperate at the trick played on him--
seeing, moreover, that he had now only
one man to deal with--made a sudden rush
at the door. He reached it, and his hand
was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon
him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear.

In the passage the king stopped.

"What are they doing in there?" he asked,
hearing the noise of the quick movements.

"I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and
he took a step forward.

"No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're
pulling me along!"

"A thousand pardons, sire."

"I hear nothing more now." And there was
nothing to hear, for the two now stood
dead silent inside the door.

"Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?"
And Bernenstein took another step.

"You're determined I shall," said the king
with a laugh, and he let the young officer
lead him away.

Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with
his back against the door. He was panting
for breath, and his face was flushed and
working with excitement. Opposite to him
stood Sapt, revolver in hand.

"Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the
constable, "you'll never be nearer to it
than you were in that moment. If you had
opened the door, I'd have shot you
through the head."

As he spoke there came a knock at the
door.

"Open it," he said brusquely to
Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the
count obeyed him. A servant stood
outside with a telegram on a salver.

"Take it," whispered Sapt, and
Rischenheim put out his hand.

"Your pardon, my lord, but this has
arrived for you," said the man
respectfully.

"Take it," whispered Sapt again.

"Give it me," muttered Rischenheim
confusedly; and he took the envelope.

The servant bowed and shut the door.

"Open it," commanded Sapt.

"God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim
in a voice that choked with passion.

"Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so
good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick
and open it."

The count began to open it.

"If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot
you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you
can trust my word. Now read it."

"By God, I won't read it."

"Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers."

The muzzle was within a foot of his head.
He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked
at Sapt. "Read," said the constable.

"I don't understand what it means,"
grumbled Rischenheim.

"Possibly I may be able to help you."

"It's nothing but--"

"Read, my lord, read!"

Then he read, and this was the telegram:
"Holf, 19 Ko"nigstrasse."

"A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the
place it's despatched from?"

"Strelsau."

"Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't
doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah,
thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled
what it means, Count?"

"I don't know at all what it means!"

"How strange! Because I can guess so
well."

"You are very acute, sir."

"It seems to me a simple thing to guess,
my lord."

"And pray," said Rischenheim,
endeavoring to assume an easy and
sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell
you that the message means?"

"I think, my lord, that the message is an
address."

"An address! I never thought of that. But I
know no Holf."

"I don't think it's Holf's address."

"Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim,
biting his nail, and looking furtively at the
constable.

"Why," said Sapt, "the present address of
Count Rupert of Hentzau."

As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes
of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp
laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket
and bowed to the count.

"In truth, you are very convenient, my
dear Count," said he.

---

CHAPTER VI--

THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S
SERVANTS

THE doctor who attended me at
Wintenberg was not only discreet, but
also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense
to see that little benefit would come to a
sick man from fretting in helplessness on
his back, when he was on fire to be afoot.
I fear he thought the baker's rolling-pin
was in my mind, but at any rate I extorted
a consent from him, and was on my way
home from Wintenberg not much more
than twelve hours after Rudolf Rassendyll
left me. Thus I arrived at my own house
in Strelsau on the same Friday morning
that witnessed the Count of Luzau-
Rischenheim's two-fold interview with the
king at the Castle of Zenda. The moment I
had arrived, I sent James, whose
assistance had been, and continued to be,
in all respects most valuable, to despatch
a message to the constable, acquainting
him with my whereabouts, and putting
myself entirely at his disposal. Sapt
received this message while a council of
war was being held, and the information it
gave aided not a little in the arrangements
that the constable and Rudolf Rassendyll
made. What these were I must now relate,
although, I fear, at the risk of some
tediousness.

Yet that council of war in Zenda was held
under no common circumstances. Cowed
as Rischenheim appeared, they dared not
let him out of their sight. Rudolf could not
leave the room into which Sapt had
locked him; the king's absence was to be
short, and before he came again Rudolf
must be gone, Rischenheim safely
disposed of, and measures taken against
the original letter reaching the hands for
which the intercepted copy had been
destined. The room was a large one. In the
corner farthest from the door sat
Rischenheim, disarmed, dispirited, to all
seeming ready to throw up his dangerous
game and acquiesce in any terms
presented to him. Just inside the door,
guarding it, if need should be, with their
lives, were the other three, Bernenstein
merry and triumphant, Sapt blunt and
cool, Rudolf calm and clear-headed. The
queen awaited the result of their
deliberations in her apartments, ready to
act as they directed, but determined to see
Rudolf before he left the castle. They
conversed together in low tones. Presently
Sapt took paper and wrote. This first
message was to me, and it bade me come
to Zenda that afternoon; another head and
another pair of hands were sadly needed.
Then followed more deliberation; Rudolf
took up the talking now, for his was the
bold plan on which they consulted. Sapt
twirled his moustache, smiling doubtfully.

"Yes, yes," murmured young Bernenstein,
his eyes alight with excitement.

"It's dangerous, but the best thing," said
Rudolf, carefully sinking his voice yet
lower, lest the prisoner should catch the
lightest word of what he said. "It involves
my staying here till the evening. Is that
possible?"

"No; but you can leave here and hide in
the forest till I join you," said Sapt.

"Till we join you," corrected Bernenstein
eagerly.

"No," said the constable, "you must look
after our friend here. Come, Lieutenant,
it's all in the queen's service."

"Besides," added Rudolf with a smile,
"neither the colonel nor I would let you
have a chance at Rupert. He's our game,
isn't he, Sapt?"

The colonel nodded. Rudolf in his turn
took paper, and here is the message that
he wrote:

"Holf, 19, Ko"nigstrasse, Strelsau.--All
well. He has what I had, but wishes to see
what you have. He and I will be at the
hunting-lodge at ten this evening. Bring it
and meet us. The business is
unsuspected.--R."

Rudolf threw the paper across to Sapt;
Bernenstein leant over the constable's
shoulder and read it eagerly.

"I doubt if it would bring me," grinned
old Sapt, throwing the paper down.

"It'll bring Rupert to Hentzau. Why not?
He'll know that the king will wish to meet
him unknown to the queen, and also
unknown to you, Sapt, since you were my
friend: what place. more likely for the
king to choose than his hunting-lodge,
where he is accustomed to go when he
wishes to be alone? The message will
bring him, depend on it. Why, man,
Rupert would come even if he suspected;
and why should he suspect?"

"They may have a cipher, he and
Rischenheim," objected Sapt.

"No, or Rupert would have sent the
address in it," retorted Rudolf quickly.

"Then--when he comes?" asked
Bernenstein.

"He finds such a king as Rischenheim
found, and Sapt, here, at his elbow."

"But he'll know you," objected
Bernenstein.

"Ay, I think he'll know me," said Rudolf
with a smile. "Meanwhile we send for
Fritz to come here and look after the
king."

"And Rischenheim?"

"That's your share, Lieutenant. Sapt, is
any one at Tarlenheim?"

"No. Count Stanislas has put it at Fritz's
disposal."

"Good; then Fritz's two friends, the Count
of Luzau-Rischenheim and Lieutenant
von Bernenstein, will ride over there to-
day. The constable of Zenda will give the
lieutenant twenty-four hours' leave of
absence, and the two gentlemen will pass
the day and sleep at the _i_ cha^teau _i_.
They will pass the day side by side,
Bernenstein, not losing sight of one
another for an instant, and they will pass
the night in the same room. And one of
them will not close his eyes nor take his
hand off the butt of his revolver."

"Very good, sir," said young Bernenstein.

"If he tries to escape or give any alarm,
shoot him through the head, ride to the
frontier, get to safe hiding, and, if you
can, let us know."

"Yes," said Bernenstein simply. Sapt had
chosen well, and the young officer made
nothing of the peril and ruin that her
Majesty's service might ask of him.

A restless movement and a weary sigh
from Rischenheim attracted their
attention. He had strained his ears to listen
till his head ached, but the talkers had
been careful, and he had heard nothing
that threw light on their deliberations. He
had now given up his vain attempt, and
sat in listless inattention, sunk in an
apathy.

"I don't think he'll give you much
trouble," whispered Sapt to Bernenstein,
with a jerk of his thumb towards the
captive.

"Act as if he were likely to give you
much," urged Rudolf, laying his hand on
the lieutenant's arm.

"Yes, that's a wise man's advice," nodded
the constable approvingly. "We were well
governed, Lieutenant, when this Rudolf
was king."

"Wasn't I also his loyal subject?" asked
young Bernenstein.

"Yes, wounded in my service," added
Rudolf; for he remembered how the boy--
he was little more then--had been fired
upon in the park of Tarlenheim, being
taken for Mr. Rassendyll himself.

Thus their plans were laid. If they could
defeat Rupert, they would have
Rischenheim at their mercy. If they could
keep Rischenheim out of the way while
they used his name in their trick, they had
a strong chance of deluding and killing
Rupert. Yes, of killing him; for that and
nothing less was their purpose, as the
constable of Zenda himself has told me.

"We would have stood on no ceremony,"
he said. "The queen's honor was at stake,
and the fellow himself an assassin."

Bernenstein rose and went out. He was
gone about half an hour, being employed
in despatching the telegrams to Strelsau.
Rudolf and Sapt used the interval to
explain to Rischenheim what they
proposed to do with him. They asked no
pledge, and he offered none. He heard
what they said with a dulled uninterested
air. When asked if he would go without
resistance, he laughed a bitter laugh.
"How can I resist?" he asked. "I should
have a bullet through my head."

"Why, without doubt," said Colonel Sapt.
"My lord, you are very sensible."

"Let me advise you, my lord," said
Rudolf, looking down on him kindly
enough, "if you come safe through this
affair, to add honor to your prudence, and
chivalry to your honor. There is still time
for you to become a gentleman."

He turned away, followed by a glance of
anger from the count and a grating
chuckle from old Sapt.

A few moments later Bernenstein
returned. His errand was done, and horses
for himself and Rischenheim were at the
gate of the castle. After a few final words
and clasp of the hand from Rudolf, the
lieutenant motioned to his prisoner to
accompany him, and they two walked out
together, being to all appearance willing
companions and in perfect friendliness
with one another. The queen herself
watched them go from the windows of her
apartment, and noticed that Bernenstein
rode half a pace behind, and that his free
hand rested on the revolver by his side.

It was now well on in the morning, and
the risk of Rudolf's sojourn in the castle
grew greater with every moment. Yet he
was resolved to see the queen before he
went. This interview presented no great
difficulties, since her Majesty was in the
habit of coming to the constable's room to
take his advice or to consult with him.
The hardest task was to contrive
afterwards a free and unnoticed escape for
Mr. Rassendyll. To meet this necessity,
the constable issued orders that the
company of guards which garrisoned the
castle should parade at one o'clock in the
park, and that the servants should all, after
their dinner, be granted permission to
watch the manoeuvres. By this means he
counted on drawing off any curious eyes
and allowing Rudolf to reach the forest
unobserved. They appointed a rendezvous
in a handy and sheltered spot; the one
thing which they were compelled to trust
to fortune was Rudolf's success in evading
chance encounters while he waited. Mr.
Rassendyll himself was confident of his
ability to conceal his presence, or, if need
were, so to hide his face that no strange
tale of the king being seen wandering,
alone and beardless, should reach the ears
of the castle or the town.

While Sapt was making his arrangements,
Queen Flavia came to the room where
Rudolf Rassendyll was. It was then
nearing twelve, and young Bernenstein
had been gone half an hour. Sapt attended
her to the door, set a sentry at the end of
the passage with orders that her Majesty
should on no pretence be disturbed,
promised her very audibly to return as
soon as he possibly could, and
respectfully closed the door after she had
entered. The constable was well aware of
the value in a secret business of doing
openly all that can safely be done with
openness.

All of what passed at that interview I do
not know, but a part Queen Flavia herself
told to me, or rather to Helga, my wife;
for although it was meant to reach my ear,
yet to me, a man, she would not disclose
it directly. First she learnt from Mr.
Rassendyll the plans that had been made,
and, although she trembled at the danger
that he must run in meeting Rupert of
Hentzau, she had such love of him and
such a trust in his powers that she seemed
to doubt little of his success. But she
began to reproach herself for having
brought him into this peril by writing her
letter. At this he took from his pocket the
copy that Rischenheim had carried. He
had found time to read it, and now before
her eyes he kissed it.

"Had I as many lives as there are words,
my queen," he said softly, "for each word
I would gladly give a life."

"Ah, Rudolf, but you've only one life, and
that more mine than yours. Did you think
we should ever meet again?"

"I didn't know," said he; and now they
were standing opposite one another.

"But I knew," she said, her eyes shining
brightly; "I knew always that we should
meet once more. Not how, nor where, but
just that we should. So I lived, Rudolf."

"God bless you!" he said.

"Yes, I lived through it all."

He pressed her hand, knowing what that
phrase meant and must mean for her.

"Will it last forever?" she asked, suddenly
gripping his hand tightly. But a moment
later she went on: "No, no, I mustn't make
you unhappy, Rudolf. I'm half glad I
wrote the letter, and half glad they stole it.
It's so sweet to have you fighting for me,
for me only this time, Rudolf--not for the
king, for me!"

"Sweet indeed, my dearest lady. Don't be
afraid: we shall win."

"You will win, yes. And then you'll go?"
And, dropping his hand, she covered her
face with hers.

"I mustn't kiss your face," said he, "but
your hands I may kiss," and he kissed her
hands as they were pressed against her
face.

"You wear my ring," she murmured
through her fingers, "always?"

"Why, yes," he said, with a little laugh of
wonder at her question.

"And there is--no one else?"

"My queen!" said he, laughing again.

"No, I knew really, Rudolf, I knew
really," and now her hands flew out
towards him, imploring his pardon. Then
she began to speak quickly: "Rudolf, last
night I had a dream about you, a strange
dream. I seemed to be in Strelsau, and all
the people were talking about the king. It
was you they meant; you were the king.
At last you were the king, and I was your
queen. But I could see you only very
dimly; you were somewhere, but I could
not make out where; just sometimes your
face came. Then I tried to tell you that
you were king--yes, and Colonel Sapt and
Fritz tried to tell you; the people, too,
called out that you were king. What did it
mean? But your face, when I saw it, was
unmoved, and very pale, and you seemed
not to hear what we said, not even what I
said. It almost seemed as if you were
dead, and yet king. Ah, you mustn't die,
even to be king," and she laid a hand on
his shoulder.

"Sweetheart," said he gently, "in dreams
desires and fears blend in strange visions,
so I seemed to you to be both a king and a
dead man; but I'm not a king, and I am a
very healthy fellow. Yet a thousand
thanks to my dearest queen for dreaming
of me."

"No, but what could it mean?" she asked
again.

"What does it mean when I dream always
of you, except that I always love you?"

"Was it only that?" she said, still
unconvinced.

What more passed between them I do not
know. I think that the queen told my wife
more, but women will sometimes keep
women's secrets even from their
husbands; though they love us, yet we are
always in some sort the common enemy,
against whom they join hands. Well, I
would not look too far into such secrets,
for to know must be, I suppose, to blame,
and who is himself so blameless that in
such a case he would be free with his
censures?

Yet much cannot have passed, for almost
close on their talk about the dream came
Colonel Sapt, saying that the guards were
in line, and all the women streamed out to
watch them, while the men followed, lest
the gay uniforms should make them
forgotten. Certainly a quiet fell over the
old castle, that only the constable's curt
tones broke, as he bade Rudolf come by
the back way to the stables and mount his
horse.

"There's no time to lose," said Sapt, and
his eye seemed to grudge the queen even
one more word with the man she loved.

But Rudolf was not to be hurried into
leaving her in such a fashion. He clapped
the constable on the shoulder, laughing,
and bidding him think of what he would
for a moment; then he went again to the
queen and would have knelt before her,
but that she would not suffer, and they
stood with hands locked. Then suddenly
she drew him to her and kissed his
forehead, saying: "God go with you,
Rudolf my knight."

Thus she turned away, letting him go. He
walked towards the door; but a sound
arrested his steps, and he waited in the
middle of the room, his eyes on the door.
Old Sapt flew to the threshold, his sword
half-way out of its sheath. There was a
step coming down the passage, and the
feet stopped outside the door.

"Is it the king?" whispered Rudolf.

"I don't know," said Sapt.

"No, it's not the king," came in
unhesitating certainty from Queen Flavia.

They waited: a low knock sounded on the
door. Still for a moment they waited. The
knock was repeated urgently.

"We must open," said Sapt. "Behind the
curtain with you, Rudolf."

The queen sat down, and Sapt piled a
heap of papers before her, that it might
seem as though he and she transacted
business. But his precautions were
interrupted by a hoarse, eager, low cry
from outside, "Quick! in God's name,
quick!"

They knew the voice for Bernenstein's.
The queen sprang up, Rudolf came out,
Sapt turned the key. The lieutenant
entered, hurried, breathless, pale.

"Well?" asked Sapt.

"He has got away?" cried Rudolf,
guessing in a moment the misfortune that
had brought Bernenstein back.

"Yes, he's got away. Just as we left the
town and reached the open road towards
Tarlenheim, he said, 'Are we going to
walk all the way? I was not loath to go
quicker, and we broke into a trot. But I--
ah, what a pestilent fool I am!"

"Never mind that--go on."

"Why, I was thinking of him and my task,
and having a bullet ready for him, and.--"

"Of everything except your horse?"
guessed Sapt, with a grim smile.

"Yes; and the horse pecked and stumbled,
and I fell forward on his neck. I put out
my arm to recover myself, and--I jerked
my revolver on to the ground."

"And he saw?"

"He saw, curse him. For a second he
waited; then he smiled, and turned, and
dug his spurs in and was off, straight
across country towards Strelsau. Well, I
was off my horse in a moment, and I fired
three times after him."

"You hit?" asked Rudolf.

"I think so. He shifted the reins from one
hand to the other and wrung his arm. I
mounted and made after him, but his
horse was better than mine and he gained
ground. We began to meet people, too,
and I didn't dare to fire again. So I left
him and rode here to tell you. Never
employ me again, Constable, so long as
you live," and the young man's face was
twisted with misery and shame, as,
forgetting the queen's presence, he sank
despondently into a chair.

Sapt took no notice of his self-reproaches.
But Rudolf went and laid a hand on his
shoulder.

"It was an accident," he said. "No blame
to you."

The queen rose and walked towards him;
Bernenstein sprang to his feet.

"Sir," said she, "it is not success but effort
that should gain thanks," and she held out
her hand.

Well, he was young; I do not laugh at the
sob that escaped his lips as he turned his
head.

"Let me try something else!" he implored.

"Mr. Rassendyll," said the queen, "you'll
do my pleasure by employing this
gentleman in my further service. I am
already deep in his debt, and would be
deeper." There was a moment's silence.

"Well, but what's to be done?" asked
Colonel Sapt. "He's gone to Strelsau."

"He'll stop Rupert" mused Mr.
Rassendyll. "He may or he mayn't."

"It's odds that he will."

"We must provide for both."

Sapt and Rudolf looked at one another.

"You must be here!" asked Rudolf of the
constable. "Well, I'll go to Strelsau." His
smile broke out. "That is, if Bernenstein'll
lend me a hat."

The queen made no sound; but she came
and laid her hand on his arm. He looked at
her, smiling still.

"Yes, I'll go to Strelsau," said he, "and I'll
find Rupert, ay, and Rischenheim too, if
they're in the city."

"Take me with you," cried Bernenstein
eagerly.

Rudolf glanced at Sapt. The constable
shook his head. Bernenstein's face fell.

"It's not that, boy," said old Sapt, half in
kindness, half in impatience. "We want
you here. Suppose Rupert comes here
with Rischenheim!"

The idea was new, but the event was by
no means unlikely.

"But you'll be here, Constable," urged
Bernenstein, "and Fritz von Tarlenheim
will arrive in an hour."

"Ay, young man," said Sapt, nodding his
head; "but when I fight Rupert of
Hentzau, I like to have a man to spare,
and he grinned broadly, being no whit
afraid of what Bernenstein might think of
his courage. "Now go and get him a hat,"
he added, and the lieutenant ran off on the
errand.

But the queen cried:

"Are you sending Rudolf alone, then--
alone against two.

"Yes, madam, if I may command the
campaign," said Sapt. "I take it he should
be equal to the task."

He could not know the feelings of the
queen's heart. She dashed her hand across
her eyes, and turned in mute entreaty to
Rudolf Rassendyll.

"I must go," he said softly. "We can't
spare Bernenstein, and I mustn't stay
here."

She said no more. Rudolf walked across
to Sapt.

"Take me to the stables. Is the horse
good? I daren't take the train. Ah, here's
the lieutenant and the hat."

"The horse 'll get you there to-night," said
Sapt. "Come along. Bernenstein, stay with
the queen."

At the threshold Rudolf paused, and,
turning his head, glanced once at Queen
Flavia, who stood still as a statue,
watching him go. Then he followed the
constable, who brought him where the
horse was. Sapt's devices for securing
freedom from observation had served
well, and Rudolf mounted unmolested.

"The hat doesn't fit very well," said
Rudolf.

"Like a crown better, eh?" suggested the
colonel.

Rudolf laughed as he asked, "Well, what
are my orders?"

"Ride round by the moat to the road at the
back; then through the forest to Hofbau;
you know your way after that. You
mustn't reach Strelsau till it's dark. Then,
if you want a shelter--"

"To Fritz von Tarlenheim's, yes! From
there I shall go straight to the address."

"Ay. And--Rudolf!"

"Yes?"

"Make an end of him this time."

"Please God. But if he goes to the lodge?
He will, unless Rischenheim stops him."

"I'll be there in case--but I think
Rischenheim will stop him."

"If he comes here?"

"Young Bernenstein will die before he
suffers him to reach the king."

"Sapt!"

"Ay?"

"Be kind to her."

"Bless the man, yes!"

"Good -by."

"And good luck."

At a swift canter Rudolf darted round the
drive that led from the stables, by the
moat, to the old forest road behind; five
minutes brought him within the shelter of
the trees, and he rode on confidently,
meeting nobody, save here and there a
yokel, who, seeing a man ride hard with
his head averted, took no more notice of
him than to wish that he himself could
ride abroad instead of being bound to
work. Thus Rudolf Rassendyll set out
again for the walls of Strelsau, through
the forest of Zenda. And ahead of him,
with an hour's start, galloped the Count of
Luzau-Rischenheim, again a man, and a
man with resolution, resentment, and
revenge in his heart.

The game was afoot now; who could tell
the issue of it?

---

CHAPTER VII--

THE MESSAGE OF SIMON THE
HUNTSMAN

I RECEIVED the telegram sent to me by
the Constable of Zenda at my own house
in Strelsau about one o'clock. It is
needless to say that I made immediate
preparations to obey his summons. My
wife indeed protested--and I must admit
with some show of reason--that I was
unfit to endure further fatigues, and that
my bed was the only proper place for me.
I could not listen; and James, Mr.
Rassendyll's servant, being informed of
the summons, was at my elbow with a
card of the trains from Strelsau to Zenda,
without waiting for any order from me. I
had talked to this man in the course of our
journey, and discovered that he had been
in the service of Lord Topham, formerly
British Ambassador to the Court of
Ruritania. How far he was acquainted
with the secrets of his present master, I
did not know, but his familiarity with the
city and the country made him of great
use to me. We discovered, to our
annoyance, that no train left till four
o'clock, and then only a slow one; the
result was that we could not arrive at the
castle till past six o'clock. This hour was
not absolutely too late, but I was of course
eager to be on the scene of action as early
as possible.

"You'd better see if you can get a special,
my lord," James suggested; "I'll run on to
the station and arrange about it."

I agreed. Since I was known to be often
employed in the king's service, I could
take a special train without exciting
remark. James set out, and about a quarter
of an hour later I got into my carriage to
drive to the station. Just as the horses
were about to start, however, the butler
approached me.

"I beg your pardon, my lord," said he,
"but Bauer didn't return with your
lordship. Is he coming back?"

"No," said I. "Bauer was grossly
impertinent on the journey, and I
dismissed him."

"Those foreign men are never to be
trusted, my lord. And your lordship's
bag?"

"What, hasn't it come?" I cried. "I told
him to send it."

"It's not arrived, my lord."

"Can the rogue have stolen it?" I
exclaimed indignantly.

"If your lordship wishes it, I will mention
the matter to the police."

I appeared to consider this proposal.

"Wait till I come back," I ended by
saying. "The bag may come, and I have
no reason to doubt the fellow's honesty."

This, I thought, would be the end of my
connection with Master Bauer. He had
served Rupert's turn, and would now
disappear from the scene. Indeed it may
be that Rupert would have liked to
dispense with further aid from him; but he
had few whom he could trust, and was
compelled to employ those few more than
once. At any rate he had not done with
Bauer, and I very soon received proof of
the fact. My house is a couple of miles
from the station, and we have to pass
through a considerable part of the old
town, where the streets are narrow and
tortuous and progress necessarily slow.
We had just entered the Ko"nigstrasse
(and it must be remembered that I had at
that time no reason for attaching any
special significance to this locality), and
were waiting impatiently for a heavy dray
to move out of our path, when my
coachman, who had overheard the butler's
conversation with me, leant down from
his box with an air of lively excitement.

"My lord," he cried, "there's Bauer--there,
passing the butcher's shop!"

I sprang up in the carriage; the man's back
was towards me, and he was threading his
way through the people with a quick,
stealthy tread. I believe he must have seen
me, and was slinking away as fast as he
could. I was not sure of him, but the
coachman banished my doubt by saying,
"It's Bauer--it's certainly Bauer, my lord."

I hardly stayed to form a resolution. If I
could catch this fellow or even see where
he went, a most important clue as to
Rupert's doings and whereabouts might be
put into my hand. I leapt out of the
carriage, bidding the man wait, and at
once started in pursuit of my former
servant. I heard the coachman laugh: he
thought, no doubt, that anxiety for the
missing bag inspired such eager haste.

The numbers of the houses in the
Ko"nigstrasse begin, as anybody familiar
with Strelsau will remember, at the end
adjoining the station. The street being a
long one, intersecting almost the entire
length of the old town, I was, when I set
out after Bauer, opposite number 300 or
thereabouts, and distant nearly three-
quarters of a mile from that important
number nineteen, towards which Bauer
was hurrying like a rabbit to its burrow. I
knew nothing and thought nothing of
where he was going; to me nineteen was
no more than eighteen or twenty; my only
desire was to overtake him. I had no clear
idea of what I meant to do when I caught
him, but I had some hazy notion of
intimidating him into giving up his secret
by the threat of an accusation of theft. In
fact, he had stolen my bag. After him I
went; and he knew that I was after him. I
saw him turn his face over his shoulder,
and then bustle on faster. Neither of us,
pursued or pursuer, dared quite to run; as
it was, our eager strides and our
carelessness of collisions created more
than enough attention. But I had one
advantage. Most folk in Strelsau knew
me, and many got out of my way who
were by no means inclined to pay a like
civility to Bauer. Thus I began to gain on
him, in spite of his haste; I had started
fifty yards behind, but as we neared the
end of the street and saw the station ahead
of us, not more than twenty separated me
from him. Then an annoying thing
happened. I ran full into a stout old
gentleman; Bauer had run into him
before, and he was standing, as people
will, staring in resentful astonishment at
his first assailant's retreating figure. The
second collision immensely increased his
vexation; for me it had yet worse
consequences; for when I disentangled
myself, Bauer was gone! There was not a
sign of him; I looked up: the number of
the house above me was twenty-three; but
the door was shut. I walked on a few
paces, past twenty-two, past twenty-one--
and up to nineteen. Nineteen was an old
house, with a dirty, dilapidated front and
an air almost dissipated. It was a shop
where provisions of the cheaper sort were
on view in the window, things that one
has never eaten but has heard of people
eating. The shop-door stood open, but
there was nothing to connect Bauer with
the house. Muttering an oath in my
exasperation, I was about to pass on,
when an old woman put her head out of
the door and looked round. I was full in
front of her. I am sure that the old woman
started slightly, and I think that I did. For
I knew her and she knew me. She was old
Mother Holf, one of whose sons, Johann,
had betrayed to us the secret of the
dungeon at Zenda, while the other had
died by Mr. Rassendyll's hand by the side
of the great pipe that masked the king's
window. Her presence might mean
nothing, yet it seemed at once to connect
the house with the secret of the past and
the crisis of the present.

She recovered herself in a moment, and
curtseyed to me.

"Ah, Mother Holf," said I, "how long is it
since you set up shop in Strelsau?"

"About six months, my lord," she
answered, with a composed air and arms
akimbo.

"I have not come across you before," said
I, looking keenly at her.

"Such a poor little shop as mine would
not be likely to secure your lordship's
patronage," she answered, in a humility
that seemed only half genuine.

I looked up at the windows. They were all
closed and had their wooden lattices shut.
The house was devoid of any signs of life.

"You've a good house here, mother,
though it wants a splash of paint," said I.
"Do you live all alone in it with your
daughter?" For Max was dead and Johann
abroad, and the old woman had, as far as I
knew, no other children.

"Sometimes; sometimes not," said she. "I
let lodgings to single men when I can."

"Full now?"

"Not a soul, worse luck, my lord." Then I
shot an arrow at a venture.

"The man who came in just now, then,
was he only a customer?"

"I wish a customer had come in, but there
has been nobody," she replied in surprised
tones.

I looked full in her eyes; she met mine
with a blinking imperturbability. There is
no face so inscrutable as a clever old
woman's when she is on her guard. And
her fat body barred the entrance; I could
not so much as see inside, while the
window, choked full with pigs' trotters
and such-like dainties, helped me very
little. If the fox were there, he had got to
earth and I could not dig him out.

At this moment I saw James approaching
hurriedly. He was looking up the street,
no doubt seeking my carriage and chafing
at its delay. An instant later he saw me.

"My lord," he said, "your train will be
ready in five minutes; if it doesn't start
then, the line must be closed for another
half-hour."

I perceived a faint smile on the old
woman's face. I was sure then that I was
on the track of Bauer, and probably of
more than Bauer. But my first duty was to
obey orders and get to Zenda. Besides, I
could not force my way in, there in open
daylight, without a scandal that would
have set all the long ears in Strelsau
aprick. I turned away reluctantly. I did not
even know for certain that Bauer was
within, and thus had no information of
value to carry with me.

"If your lordship would kindly
recommend me--" said the old hag.

"Yes, I'll recommend you," said I. "I'll
recommend you to be careful whom you
take for lodgers. There are queer fish
about, mother."

"I take the money beforehand," she
retorted with a grin; and I was as sure that
she was in the plot as of my own
existence.

There was nothing to be done;James's
face urged me towards the station. I
turned away. But at this instant a loud,
merry laugh sounded from inside the
house. I started, and this time violently.
The old woman's brow contracted in a
frown, and her lips twitched for a
moment; then her face regained its
composure; but I knew the laugh, and she
must have guessed that I knew it.
Instantly I tried to appear as though I had
noticed nothing. I nodded to her
carelessly, and bidding James follow me,
set out for the station. But as we reached
the platform, I laid my hand on his
shoulder, saying:

"The Count of Hentzau is in that house,
James."

He looked at me without surprise; he was
as hard to stir to wonder as old Sapt
himself.

"Indeed, sir. Shall I stay and watch?"

"No, come with me," I answered. To tell
the truth, I thought that to leave him alone
in Strelsau to watch that house was in all
likelihood to sign his death warrant, and I
shrank from imposing the duty on him.
Rudolf might send him if he would; I
dared not. So we got into our train, and I
suppose that my coachman, when he had
looked long enough for me, went home. I
forgot to ask him afterwards. Very likely
he thought it a fine joke to see his master
hunting a truant servant and a truant bag
through the streets in broad daylight. Had
he known the truth, he would have been
as interested, though, maybe, less amused.

I arrived at the town of Zenda at half-past
three, and was in the castle before four. I
may pass over the most kind and gracious
words with which the queen received me.
Every sight of her face and every sound of
her voice bound a man closer to her
service, and now she made me feel that I
was a poor fellow to have lost her letter
and yet to be alive. But she would hear
nothing of such talk, choosing rather to
praise the little I had done than to blame
the great thing in which I had failed.
Dismissed from her presence, I flew
open-mouthed to Sapt. I found him in his
room with Bernenstein, and had the
satisfaction of learning that my news of
Rupert's whereabouts was confirmed by
his information. I was also made
acquainted with all that had been done,
even as I have already related it, from the
first successful trick played on
Rischenheim to the moment of his
unfortunate escape. But my face grew
long and apprehensive when I heard that
Rudolf Rassendyll had gone alone to
Strelsau to put his head in that lion's
mouth in the Ko"nigstrasse.

"There will be three of them there--
Rupert, Rischenheim, and my rascal
Bauer," said I.

"As to Rupert, we don't know," Sapt
reminded me. "He'll be there if
Rischenheim arrives in time to tell him
the truth. But we have also to be ready for
him here, and at the hunting lodge. Well,
we're ready for him wherever he is:
Rudolf will be in Strelsau, you and I will
ride to the lodge, and Bernenstein will be
here with the queen."

"Only one here?" I asked.

"Ay, but a good one," said the constable,
clapping Bernenstein on the shoulder.
"We sha'n't be gone above four hours, and
those while the king is safe in his bed.
Bernenstein has only to refuse access to
him, and stand to that with his life till we
come back. You're equal to that, eh,
Lieutenant?"

I am, by nature, a cautious man, and
prone to look. at the dark side of every
prospect and the risks of every enterprise;
but I could not see what better
dispositions were possible against the
attack that threatened us. Yet I was sorely
uneasy concerning Mr. Rassendyll.

Now, after all our stir and runnings to and
fro, came an hour or two of peace. We
employed the time in having a good meal,
and it was past five when, our repast
finished, we sat back in our chairs
enjoying cigars. James had waited on us,
quietly usurping the office of the
constable's own servant, and thus we had
been able to talk freely. The man's calm
confidence in his master and his master's
fortune also went far to comfort me.

"The king should be back soon," said Sapt
at last, with a glance at his big, old-
fashioned silver watch. "Thank God, he'll
be too tired to sit up long. We shall be
free by nine o'clock, Fritz. I wish young
Rupert would come to the lodge!" And
the colonel's face expressed a lively
pleasure at the idea.

Six o'clock struck, and the king did not
appear. A few moments later, a message
came from the queen, requesting our
presence on the terrace in front of the
cha^teau. The place commanded a view
of the road by which the king would ride
back, and we found the queen walking
restlessly up and down, considerably
disquieted by the lateness of his return. In
such a position as ours, every unusual or
unforeseen incident magnifies its possible
meaning, and invests itself with a sinister
importance which would at ordinary times
seem absurd. We three shared the queen's
feelings, and forgetting the many chances
of the chase, any one of which would
amply account for the king's delay, fell to
speculating on remote possibilities of
disaster. He might have met Rischenheim-
-though they had ridden in opposite
directions; Rupert might have intercepted
him--though no means could have
brought Rupert to the forest so early. Our
fears defeated common sense, and our
conjectures outran possibility. Sapt was
the first to recover from this foolish
mood, and he rated us soundly, not
sparing even the queen herself. With a
laugh we regained some of our
equanimity, and felt rather ashamed of
our weakness.

"Still it's strange that he doesn't come,"
murmured the queen, shading her eyes
with her hand, and looking along the road
to where the dark masses of the forest
trees bounded our view. It was already
dusk, but not so dark but that we could
have seen the king's party as soon as it
came into the open.

If the king's delay seemed strange at six, it
was stranger at seven, and by eight most
strange. We had long since ceased to talk
lightly; by now we had lapsed into
silence. Sapt's scoldings had died away.
The queen, wrapped in her furs (for it was
very cold), sat sometimes on a seat, but
oftener paced restlessly to and fro.
Evening had fallen. We did not know
what to do, nor even whether we ought to
do anything. Sapt would not own to
sharing our worst apprehensions, but his
gloomy silence in face of our surmises
witnessed that he was in his heart as
disturbed as we were. For my part I had
come to the end of my endurance, and I
cried, "For God's sake, let's act! Shall I go
and seek him?"

"A needle in a bundle of hay," said Sapt
with a shrug.

But at this instant my ear caught the
sound of horses cantering on the road
from the forest; at the same moment
Bernenstein cried, "Here they come!" The
queen paused, and we gathered round her.
The horse-hoofs came nearer. Now we
made out the figures of three men: they
were the king's huntsmen, and they rode
along merrily, singing a hunting chorus.
The sound of it brought relief to us; so far
at least there was no disaster. But why
was not the king with them?

"The king is probably tired, and is
following more slowly, madam,"
suggested Bernenstein.

This explanation seemed very probable,
and the lieutenant and I, as ready to be
hopeful on slight grounds as fearful on
small provocation, joyfully accepted it.
Sapt, less easily turned to either mood,
said, "Ay, but let us hear," and raising his
voice, called to the huntsmen, who had
now arrived in the avenue. One of them,
the king's chief huntsman Simon,
gorgeous in his uniform of green and
gold, came swaggering along, and bowed
low to the queen.

"Well, Simon, where is the king?" she
asked, trying to smile.

"The king, madam, has sent a message by
me to your majesty."

"Pray, deliver it to me, Simon."

"I will, madam. The king has enjoyed fine
sport; and, indeed, madam, if I may say so
for myself, a better run.--"

"You may say, friend Simon," interrupted
the constable, tapping him on the
shoulder, "anything you like for yourself,
but, as a matter of etiquette, the king's
message should come first."

"Oh, ay, Constable," said Simon. "You're
always so down on a man, aren't you?
Well, then, madam, the king has enjoyed
fine sport. For we started a boar at eleven,
and--"

"Is this the king's message, Simon?"
asked the queen, smiling in genuine
amusement, but impatiently.

"Why, no, madam, not precisely his
majesty's message."

"Then get to it, man, in Heaven's name,"
growled Sapt testily. For here were we
four (the queen, too, one of us!) on
tenterhooks, while the fool boasted about
the sport that he had shown the king. For
every boar in the forest Simon took as
much credit as though he, and not
Almighty God, had made the animal. It is
the way with such fellows.

Simon became a little confused under the
combined influence of his own seductive
memories and Sapt's brusque
exhortations.

"As I was saying, madam," he resumed,
"the boar led us a long way, but at last the
hounds pulled him down, and his majesty
himself gave the coup de grace. Well,
then it was very late "

"It's no earlier now," grumbled the
constable.

"And the king, although indeed, madam,
his majesty was so gracious as to say that
no huntsman whom his majesty had ever
had, had given his majesty--"

"God help us!" groaned the constable.

Simon shot an apprehensive apologetic
glance at Colonel Sapt. The constable was
frowning ferociously. In spite of the
serious matters in hand I could not forbear
a smile, while young Bernenstein broke
into an audible laugh, which he tried to
smother with his hand.

"Yes, the king was very tired, Simon?"
said the queen, at once encouraging him
and bringing him back to the point with a
woman's skill.

"Yes, madam, the king was very tired;
and as we chanced to kill near the
hunting-lodge--"

I do not know whether Simon noticed any
change in the manner of his audience. But
the queen looked up with parted lips, and
I believe that we three all drew a step
nearer him. Sapt did not interrupt this
time.

"Yes, madam, the king was very tired,
and as we chanced to kill near the
hunting-lodge, the king bade us carry our
quarry there, and come back to dress it to-
morrow; so we obeyed, and here we are--
that is, except Herbert, my brother, who
stayed with the king by his majesty's
orders. Because, madam, Herbert is a
handy fellow, and my good mother taught
him to cook a steak and--"

"Stayed where with the king?" roared
Sapt.

"Why, at the hunting-lodge, Constable.
The king stays there to-night, and will
ride back tomorrow morning with
Herbert. That, madam, is the king's
message."

We had come to it at last, and it was
something to come to. Simon gazed from
face to face. I saw him, and I understood
at once that our feelings must be speaking
too plainly. So I took on myself to dismiss
him, saying:

"Thanks, Simon, thanks: we understand."

He bowed to the queen; she roused
herself, and added her thanks to mine.
Simon withdrew, looking still a little
puzzled.

After we were left alone, there was a
moment's silence. Then I said:

"Suppose Rupert--"

The Constable of Zenda broke in with a
short laugh.

"On my life," said he, "how things fall
out! We say he will go to the hunting-
lodge, and--he goes!"

"If Rupert goes--if Rischenheim doesn't
stop him!" I urged again.

The queen rose from her seat and
stretched out her hands towards us.

"Gentlemen, my letter!" said she.

Sapt wasted no time.

"Bernenstein," said he, "you stay here as
we arranged. Nothing is altered. Horses
for Fritz and myself in five minutes."

Bernenstein turned and shot like an arrow
along the terrace towards the stables.

"Nothing is altered, madam," said Sapt,
"except that we must be there before
Count Rupert."

I looked at my watch. It was twenty
minutes past nine. Simon's cursed chatter
had lost a quarter of an hour. I opened my
lips to speak. A glance from Sapt's eyes
told me that he discerned what I was
about to say. I was silent.

"You'll be in time?" asked the queen, with
clasped hands and frightened eyes.

"Assuredly, madam," returned Sapt with a
bow.

"You won't let him reach the king?"

"Why, no, madam," said Sapt with a
smile.

"From my heart, gentlemen," she said in a
trembling voice, "from my heart--"

"Here are the horses," cried Sapt. He
snatched her hand, brushed it with his
grizzly moustache, and--well, I am not
sure I heard, and I can hardly believe
what I think I heard. But I will set it down
for what it is worth. I think he said, "Bless
your sweet face, we'll do it." At any rate
she drew back with a little cry of surprise,
and I saw the tears standing in her eyes. I
kissed her hand also; then we mounted,
and we started, and we rode, as if the
devil were behind us, for the hunting-
lodge.

But I turned once to watch her standing
on the terrace, with young Bernenstein's
tall figure beside her.

"Can we be in time?" said I. It was what I
had meant to say before.

"I think not, but, by God, we'll try," said
Colonel Sapt. And I knew why he had not
let me speak.

Suddenly there was a sound behind us of
a horse at the gallop. Our heads flew
round in the ready apprehension of men
on a perilous errand. The hoofs drew near,
for the unknown rode with reckless haste.

"We had best see what it is," said the
constable, pulling up.

A second more, and the horseman was
beside us. Sapt swore an oath, half in
amusement, half in vexation.

"Why, is it you, James?" I cried.

"Yes, sir," answered Rudolf Rassendyll's
servant.

"What the devil do you want?" asked
Sapt.

"I came to attend on the Count von
Tarlenheim, sir."

"I did not give you any orders, James."

"No, sir. But Mr. Rassendyll told me not
to leave you, unless you sent me away. So
I made haste to follow you."

Then Sapt cried: "Deuce take it, what
horse is that?"

"The best in the stables, so far as I could
see, sir. I was afraid of not overtaking
you."

Sapt tugged his moustaches, scowled, but
finally laughed.

"Much obliged for your compliment,"
said he. "The horse is mine."

"Indeed, sir?" said James with respectful
interest.

For a moment we were all silent. Then
Sapt laughed again.

"Forward!" said he, and the three of us
dashed into the forest.

---

CHAPTER VIII--

THE TEMPER OF BORIS THE HOUND

Looking back now, in the light of the
information I have gathered, I am able to
trace very clearly, and almost hour by
hour, the events of this day, and to
understand how chance, laying hold of
our cunning plan and mocking our
wiliness, twisted and turned our device to
a predetermined but undreamt-of issue, of
which we were most guiltless in thought
or intent. Had the king not gone to the
hunting-lodge, our design would have
found the fulfilment we looked for; had
Rischenheim succeeded in warning
Rupert of Hentzau, we should have stood
where we were. Fate or fortune would
have it otherwise. The king, being weary,
went to the lodge, and Rischenheim failed
in warning his cousin. It was a narrow
failure, for Rupert, as his laugh told me,
was in the house in the Ko"nigstrasse
when I set out from Strelsau, and
Rischenheim arrived there at half past
four. He had taken the train at a roadside
station, and thus easily outstripped Mr.
Rassendyll, who, not daring to show his
face, was forced to ride all the way and
enter the city under cover of night. But
Rischenheim had not dared to send a
warning, for he knew that we were in
possession of the address and did not
know what steps we might have taken to
intercept messages. Therefore he was
obliged to carry the news himself; when
he came his man was gone. Indeed Rupert
must have left the house almost
immediately after I was safe away from
the city. He was determined to be in good
time for his appointment; his only
enemies were not in Strelsau; there was
no warrant on which he could be
apprehended; and, although his
connection with Black Michael was a
matter of popular gossip, he felt himself
safe from arrest by virtue of the secret that
protected him. Accordingly he walked out
of the house, went to the station, took his
ticket to Hofbau, and, traveling by the
four o'clock train, reached his destination
about half-past five. He must have passed
the train in which Rischenheim traveled;
the first news the latter had of his
departure was from a porter at the station,
who, having recognized the Count of
Hentzau, ventured to congratulate
Rischenheim on his cousin's return.
Rischenheim made no answer, but hurried
in great agitation to the house in the
Ko"nigstrasse, where the old woman Holf
confirmed the tidings. Then he passed
through a period of great irresolution.
Loyalty to Rupert urged that he should
follow him and share the perils into which
his cousin was hastening. But caution
whispered that he was not irrevocably
committed, that nothing overt yet
connected him with Rupert's schemes, and
that we who knew the truth should be well
content to purchase his silence as to the
trick we had played by granting him
immunity. His fears won the day, and,
like the irresolute man he was, he
determined to wait in Strelsau till he
heard the issue of the meeting at the
lodge. If Rupert were disposed of there,
he had something to offer us in return for
peace; if his cousin escaped, he would be
in the Ko"nigstrasse, prepared to second
the further plans of the desperate
adventurer. In any event his skin was safe,
and I presume to think that this weighed a
little with him; for excuse he had the
wound which Bernenstein had given him,
and which rendered his right arm entirely
useless; had he gone then, he would have
been a most inefficient ally.

Of all this we, as we rode through the
forest, knew nothing. We might guess,
conjecture, hope, or fear; but our certain
knowledge stopped with Rischenheim's
start for the capital and Rupert's presence
there at three o'clock. The pair might have
met or might have missed. We had to act
as though they had missed and Rupert
were gone to meet the king. But we were
late. The consciousness of that pressed
upon us, although we evaded further
mention of it; it made us spur and drive
our horses as quickly, ay, and a little more
quickly, than safety allowed. Once
James's horse stumbled in the darkness
and its rider was thrown; more than once
a low bough hanging over the path nearly
swept me, dead or stunned, from my seat.
Sapt paid no attention to these mishaps or
threatened mishaps. He had taken the
lead, and, sitting well down in his saddle,
rode ahead, turning neither to right nor
left, never slackening his pace, sparing
neither himself nor his beast. James and I
were side by side behind him. We rode in
silence, finding nothing to say to one
another. My mind was full of a picture--
the picture of Rupert with his easy smile
handing to the king the queen's letter. For
the hour of the rendezvous was past. If
that image had been translated into
reality, what must we do? To kill Rupert
would satisfy revenge, but of what other
avail would it be when the king had read
the letter? I am ashamed to say that I
found myself girding at Mr. Rassendyll
for happening on a plan which the course
of events had turned into a trap for
ourselves and not for Rupert of Hentzau.

Suddenly Sapt, turning his head for the
first time, pointed in front of him. The
lodge was before us; we saw it looming
dimly a quarter of a mile off. Sapt reined
in his horse, and we followed his
example. All dismounted, we tied our
horses to trees and went forward at a
quick, silent walk. Our idea was that Sapt
should enter on pretext of having been
sent by the queen to attend to her
husband's comfort and arrange for his
return without further fatigue next day. If
Rupert had come and gone, the king's
demeanor would probably betray the fact;
if he had not yet come, I and James,
patrolling outside, would bar his passage.
There was a third possibility; he might be
even now with the king. Our course in
such a case we left unsettled; so far as I
had any plan, it was to kill Rupert and to
convince the king that the letter was a
forgery--a desperate hope, so desperate
that we turned our eyes away from the
possibility which would make it our only
resource.

We were now very near the hunting-
lodge, being about forty yards from the
front of it. All at once Sapt threw himself
on his stomach on the ground.

"Give me a match," he whispered.

James struck a light, and, the night being
still, the flame burnt brightly: it showed
us the mark of a horse's hoof, apparently
quite fresh, and leading away from the
lodge. We rose and went on, following
the tracks by the aid of more matches till
we reached a tree twenty yards from the
door. Here the hoof marks ceased; but
beyond there was a double track of human
feet in the soft black earth; a man had
gone thence to the house and returned
from the house thither. On the right of the
tree were more hoof-marks, leading up to
it and then ceasing. A man had ridden up
from the right, dismounted, gone on foot
to the house, returned to the tree,
remounted, and ridden away along the
track by which we had approached.

"It may be somebody else," said I; but I
do not think that we any of us doubted in
our hearts that the tracks were made by
the coming of Hentzau. Then the king had
the letter; the mischief was done. We
were too late.

Yet we did not hesitate. Since disaster had
come, it must be faced. Mr. Rassendyll's
servant and I followed the constable of
Zenda up to the door, or within a few feet
of it. Here Sapt, who was in uniform,
loosened his sword in its sheath; James
and I looked to our revolvers. There were
no lights visible in the lodge; the door was
shut; everything was still. Sapt knocked
softly with his knuckles, but there was no
answer from within. He laid hold of the
handle and turned it; the door opened, and
the passage lay dark and apparently empty
before us.

"You stay here, as we arranged,"
whispered the colonel. "Give me the
matches, and I'll go in."

James handed him the box of matches,
and he crossed the threshold. For a yard
or two we saw him plainly, then his figure
grew dim and indistinct. I heard nothing
except my own hard breathing. But in a
moment there was another sound--a
muffled exclamation, and a noise of a
man stumbling; a sword, too, clattered on
the stones of the passage. We looked at
one another; the noise did not produce
any answering stir in the house; then
came the sharp little explosion of a match
struck on its box; next we heard Sapt
raising himself, his scabbard scraping
along the stones; his footsteps came
towards us, and in a second he appeared
at the door.

"What was it?" I whispered.

"I fell," said Sapt.

"Over what?"

"Come and see. James, stay here."

I followed the constable for the distance
of eight or ten feet along the passage.

"Isn't there a lamp anywhere?" I asked.

"We can see enough with a match," he
answered. "Here, this is what I fell over."

Even before the match was struck I saw a
dark body lying across the passage.

"A dead man?" I guessed instantly.

"Why, no," said Sapt, striking a light: "a
dead dog, Fritz." An exclamation of
wonder escaped me as I fell on my knees.
At the same instant Sapt muttered, "Ay,
there's a lamp," and, stretching up his
hand to a little oil lamp that stood on a
bracket, he lit it, took it down, and held it
over the body. It served to give a fair,
though unsteady, light, and enabled us to
see what lay in the passage.

"It's Boris, the boar-hound," said I, still in
a whisper, although there was no sign of
any listeners.

I knew the dog well; he was the king's
favorite, and always accompanied him
when he went hunting. He was obedient
to every word of the king's, but of a rather
uncertain temper towards the rest of the
world. However, _i_ de mortuis nil nisi
bonum _i_; there he lay dead in the
passage. Sapt put his hand on the beast's
head. There was a bullet-hole right
through his forehead. I nodded, and in my
turn pointed to the dog's right shoulder,
which was shattered by another ball.

"And see here," said the constable. "Have
a pull at this."

I looked where his hand now was. In the
dog's mouth was a piece of gray cloth,
and on the piece of gray cloth was a horn
coat-button. I took hold of the cloth and
pulled. Boris held on even in death. Sapt
drew his sword, and, inserting the point of
it between the dog's teeth, parted them
enough for me to draw out the piece of
cloth.

"You'd better put it in your pocket," said
the constable. "Now come along"; and,
holding the lamp in one hand and his
sword (which he did not resheathe) in the
other, he stepped over the body of the
boar-hound, and I followed him.

We were now in front of the door of the
room where Rudolf Rassendyll had
supped with us on the day of his first
coming to Ruritania, and whence he had
set out to be crowned in Strelsau. On the
right of it was the room where the king
slept, and farther along in the same
direction the kitchen and the cellars. The
officer or officers in attendance on the
king used to sleep on the other side of the
dining-room.

"We must explore, I suppose," said Sapt.
In spite of his outward calmness, I caught
in his voice the ring of excitement rising
and ill-repressed. But at this moment we
heard from the passage on our left (as we
faced the door) a low moan, and then a
dragging sound, as if a man were crawling
along the floor, painfully trailing his
limbs after him. Sapt held the lamp in that
direction, and we saw Herbert the
forester, pale-faced and wide-eyed, raised
from the ground on his two hands, while
his legs stretched behind him and his
stomach rested on the flags.

"Who is it?" he said in a faint voice.

"Why, man, you know us," said the
constable, stepping up to him. "What's
happened here?"

The poor fellow was very faint, and, I
think, wandered a little in his brain.

"I've got it, sir," he murmured; "I've got it,
fair and straight. No more hunting for me,
sir. I've got it here in the stomach. Oh, my
God!" He let his head fall with a thud on
the floor.

I ran and raised him. Kneeling on one
knee, I propped his head against my leg.

"Tell us about it," commanded Sapt in a
curt, crisp voice while I got the man into
the easiest position that I could contrive.

In slow, struggling tones he began his
story, repeating here, omitting there, often
confusing the order of his narrative,
oftener still arresting it while he waited
for fresh strength. Yet we were not
impatient, but heard without a thought of
time. I looked round once at a sound, and
found that James, anxious about us, had
stolen along the passage and joined us.
Sapt took no notice of him, nor of
anything save the words that dropped in
irregular utterance from the stricken man's
lips. Here is the story, a strange instance
of the turning of a great event on a small
cause.

The king had eaten a little supper, and,
having gone to his bedroom, had stretched
himself on the bed and fallen asleep
without undressing. Herbert was clearing
the dining-table and performing similar
duties, when suddenly (thus he told it) he
found a man standing beside him. He did
not know (he was new to the king's
service) who the unexpected visitor was,
but he was of middle height, dark,
handsome, and "looked a gentleman all
over." He was dressed in a shooting-tunic,
and a revolver was thrust through the belt
of it. One hand rested on the belt, while
the other held a small square box.

"Tell the king I am here. He expects me,"
said the stranger. Herbert, alarmed at the
suddenness and silence of the stranger's
approach, and guiltily conscious of having
left the door unbolted, drew back. He was
unarmed, but, being a stout fellow, was
prepared to defend his master as best he
could. Rupert--beyond doubt it was
Rupert--laughed lightly, saying again,
"Man, he expects me. Go and tell him,"
and sat himself on the table, swinging his
leg. Herbert, influenced by the visitor's air
of command, began to retreat towards the
bedroom, keeping his face towards
Rupert.

"If the king asks more, tell him I have the
packet and the letter," said Rupert. The
man bowed and passed into the bedroom.
The king was asleep; when roused he
seemed to know nothing of letter or
packet, and to expect no visitor. Herbert's
ready fears revived; he whispered that the
stranger carried a revolver. Whatever the
king's faults might be--and God forbid
that I should speak hardly of him whom
fate used so hardly--he was no coward.
He sprang from his bed; at the same
moment the great boar-hound uncoiled
himself and came from beneath, yawning
and fawning. But in an instant the beast
caught the scent of a stranger: his ears
pricked and he gave a low growl, as he
looked up in his master's face. Then
Rupert of Hentzau, weary perhaps of
waiting, perhaps only doubtful whether
his message would be properly delivered,
appeared in the doorway.

The king was unarmed, and Herbert in no
better plight; their hunting weapons were
in the adjoining room, and Rupert seemed
to bar the way. I have said that the king
was no coward, yet I think, that the sight
of Rupert, bringing back the memory of
his torments in the dungeon, half cowed
him; for he shrank back crying, "You!"
The hound, in subtle understanding of his
master's movement, growled angrily.

"You expected me, sire?" said Rupert
with a bow; but he smiled. I know that the
sight of the king's alarm pleased him. To
inspire terror was his delight, and it does
not come to every man to strike fear into
the heart of a king and an Elphberg. It had
come more than once to Rupert of
Hentzau.

"No," muttered the king. Then, recovering
his composure a little, he said angrily,
"How dare you come here?"

"You didn't expect me?" cried Rupert, and
in an instant the thought of a trap seemed
to flash across his alert mind. He drew the
revolver halfway from his belt, probably
in a scarcely conscious movement, born
of the desire to assure himself of its
presence. With a cry of alarm Herbert
flung himself before the king, who sank
back on the bed. Rupert, puzzled, vexed,
yet half-amused (for he smiled still, the
man said), took a step forward, crying out
something about Rischenheim--what,
Herbert could not tell us.

"Keep back," exclaimed the king. "Keep
back."

Rupert paused; then, as though with a
sudden thought, he held up the box that
was in his left hand, saying:

'"Well, look at this sire, and we'll talk
afterwards," and he stretched out his hand
with the box in it.

Now the king stood on a razor's edge, for
the king whispered to Herbert, "What is
it? Go and take it."

But Herbert hesitated, fearing to leave the
king, whom his body now protected as
though with a shield. Rupert's impatience
overcame him: if there were a trap, every
moment's delay doubled his danger. With
a scornful laugh he exclaimed, "Catch it,
then, if you're afraid to come for it," and
he flung the packet to Herbert or the king,
or which of them might chance to catch it.

This insolence had a strange result. In an
instant, with a fierce growl and a mighty
bound, Boris was at the stranger's throat.
Rupert had not seen or had not heeded the
dog. A startled oath rang out from him.
He snatched the revolver from his belt
and fired at his assailant. This shot must
have broken the beast's shoulder, but it
only half arrested his spring. His great
weight was still hurled on Rupert's chest,
and bore him back on his knee. The
packet that he had flung lay unheeded.
The king, wild with alarm and furious
with anger at his favorite's fate, jumped
up and ran past Rupert into the next room.
Herbert followed; even as they went
Rupert flung the wounded, weakened
beast from him and darted to the doorway.
He found himself facing Herbert, who
held a boar-spear, and the king, who had a
double-barreled hunting-gun. He raised
his left hand, Herbert said--no doubt he
still asked a hearing--but the king leveled
his weapon. With a spring Rupert gained
the shelter of the door, the bullet sped by
him, and buried itself in the wall of the
room. Then Herbert was at him with the
boar-spear. Explanations must wait now:
it was life or death; without hesitation
Rupert fired at Herbert, bringing him to
the ground with a mortal wound. The
king's gun was at his shoulder again.

"You damned fool!" roared Rupert, "if
you must have it, take it," and gun and
revolver rang out at the same moment.
But Rupert--never did his nerve fail him--
hit, the king missed; Herbert saw the
count stand for an instant with his
smoking barrel in his hand, looking at the
king, who lay on the ground. Then Rupert
walked towards the door. I wish I had
seen his face then! Did he frown or smile?
Was triumph or chagrin uppermost?
Remorse? Not he!

He reached the door and passed through.
That was the last Herbert saw of him; but
the fourth actor in the drama, the wordless
player whose part had been so
momentous, took the stage. Limping
along, now whining in sharp agony, now
growling in fierce anger, with blood
flowing but hair bristling, the hound Boris
dragged himself across the room, through
the door, after Rupert of Hentzau. Herbert
listened, raising his head from the ground.
There was a growl, an oath, the sound of
the scuffle. Rupert must have turned in
time to receive the dog's spring. The
beast, maimed and crippled by his
shattered shoulder, did not reach his
enemy's face, but his teeth tore away the
bit of cloth that we had found held in the
vise of his jaws. Then came another shot,
a laugh, retreating steps, and a door
slammed. With that last sound Herbert
woke to the fact of the count's escape;
with weary efforts he dragged himself
into the passage. The idea that he could
go on if he got a drink of brandy turned
him in the direction of the cellar. But his
strength failed, and he sank down where
we found him, not knowing whether the
king were dead or still alive, and unable
even to make his way back to the room
where his master lay stretched on the
ground.

I had listened to the story, bound as
though by a spell. Halfway through,
James's hand had crept to my arm and
rested there; when Herbert finished I
heard the little man licking his lips, again
and again slapping his tongue against
them. Then I looked at Sapt. He was as
pale as a ghost, and the lines on his face
seemed to have grown deeper. He glanced
up, and met my regard. Neither of us
spoke; we exchanged thoughts with our
eyes. "This is our work," we said to one
another. "It was our trap, these are our
victims." I cannot even now think of that
hour, for by our act the king lay dead.

But was he dead? I seized Sapt by the
arm. His glance questioned me.

"The king," I whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, the king," he returned.

Facing round, we walked to the door of
the dining-room. Here I turned suddenly
faint, and clutched at the constable. He
held me up, and pushed the door wide
open. The smell of powder was in the
room; it seemed as if the smoke hung
about, curling in dim coils round the
chandelier which gave a subdued light.
James had the lamp now, and followed us
with it. But the king was not there. A
sudden hope filled me. He had not been
killed then! I regained strength, and
darted across towards the inside room.
Here too the light was dim, and I turned to
beckon for the lamp. Sapt and James
came together, and stood peering over my
shoulder in the doorway.

The king lay prone on the floor, face
downwards, near the bed. He had crawled
there, seeking for some place to rest, as
we supposed. He did not move. We
watched him for a moment; the silence
seemed deeper than silence could be. At
last, moved by a common impulse, we
stepped forward, but timidly, as though
we approached the throne of Death
himself. I was the first to kneel by the
king and raise his head. Blood had flowed
from his lips, but it had ceased to flow
now. He was dead.

I felt Sapt's hand on my shoulder.
Looking up, I saw his other hand
stretched out towards the ground. I turned
my eyes where he pointed. There, in the
king's hand, stained with the king'sblood,
was the box that I had carried to
Wintenberg and Rupert of Hentzau had
brought to the lodge that night. It was not
rest, but the box that the dying king had
sought in his last moment. I bent, and
lifting his hand unclasped the fingers, still
limp and warm.

Sapt bent down with sudden eagerness.
"Is it open?" he whispered.

The string was round it; the sealing-wax
was unbroken. The secret had outlived the
king, and he had gone to his death
unknowing. All at once--I cannot tell
why--I put my hand over my eyes; I found
my eyelashes were wet.

"Is it open?" asked Sapt again, for in the
dim light he could not see.

"No," I answered.

"Thank God!" said he. And, for Sapt's, the
voice was soft.

---

CHAPTER IX--

THE KING IN THE HUNTING LODGE

THE moment with its shock and tumult of
feeling brings one judgment, later
reflection another. Among the sins of
Rupert of Hentzau I do not assign the first
and greatest place to his killing of the
king. It was, indeed, the act of a reckless
man who stood at nothing and held
nothing sacred; but when I consider
Herbert's story, and trace how the deed
came to be done and the impulsion of
circumstances that led to it, it seems to
have been in some sort thrust upon him by
the same perverse fate that dogged our
steps. He had meant the king no harm--
indeed it may be argued that, from
whatever motive, he had sought to serve
him--and save under the sudden stress of
self-defense he had done him none. The
king's unlooked-for ignorance of his
errand, Herbert's honest hasty zeal, the
temper of Boris the hound, had forced on
him an act unmeditated and utterly against
his interest. His whole guilt lay in
preferring the king's death to his own--a
crime perhaps in most men, but hardly
deserving a place in Rupert's catalogue.
All this I can admit now, but on that
night, with the dead body lying there
before us, with the story piteously told by
Herbert's faltering voice fresh in our ears,
it was hard to allow any such extenuation.
Our hearts cried out for vengeance,
although we ourselves served the king no
more. Nay, it may well be that we hoped
to stifle some reproach of our own
consciences by a louder clamor against
another's sin, or longed to offer some
belated empty atonement to our dead
master by executing swift justice on the
man who had killed him. I cannot tell
fully what the others felt, but in me at
least the dominant impulse was to waste
not a moment in proclaiming the crime
and raising the whole country in pursuit
of Rupert, so that every man in Ruritania
should quit his work, his pleasure, or his
bed, and make it his concern to take the
Count of Hentzau, alive or dead. I
remember that I walked over to where
Sapt was sitting, and caught him by the
arm, saying:

"We must raise the alarm. If you'll go to
Zenda, I'll start for Strelsau."

"The alarm?" said he, looking up at me
and tugging his moustache.

"Yes: when the news is known, every
man in the kingdom will be on the
lookout for him, and he can't escape."

"So that he'd be taken?" asked the
constable.

"Yes, to a certainty," I cried, hot in
excitement and emotion. Sapt glanced
across at Mr. Rassendyll's servant. James
had, with my help, raised the king's body
on to the bed, and had aided the wounded
forester to reach a couch. He stood now
near the constable, in his usual
unobtrusive readiness. He did not speak,
but I saw a look of understanding in his
eyes as he nodded his head to Colonel
Sapt. They were well matched, that pair,
hard to move, hard to shake, not to be
turned from the purpose in their minds
and the matter that lay to their hands.

"Yes, he'd probably be taken or killed,"
said Sapt.

"Then let's do it!" I cried.

"With the queen's letter on him," said
Colonel Sapt.

I had forgotten.

"We have the box, he has the letter still,"
said Sapt.

I could have laughed even at that moment.
He had left the box (whether from haste
or heedlessness or malice, we could not
tell), but the letter was on him. Taken
alive, he would use that powerful weapon
to save his life or satisfy his anger; if it
were found on his body, its evidence
would speak loud and clear to all the
world. Again he was protected by his
crime: while he had the letter, he must be
kept inviolate from all attack except at our
own hands. We desired his death, but we
must be his body-guard and die in his
defense rather than let any other but
ourselves come at him. No open means
must be used, and no allies sought. All
this rushed to my mind at Sapt's words,
and I saw what the constable and James
had never forgotten. But what to do I
could not see. For the King of Ruritania
lay dead.

An hour or more had passed since our
discovery, and it was now close on
midnight. Had all gone well we ought by
this time to have been far on our road
back to the castle; by this time Rupert
must be miles away from where he had
killed the king; already Mr. Rassendyll
would be seeking his enemy in Strelsau.

"But what are we to do about--about that,
then?" I asked, pointing with my finger
through the doorway towards the bed.

Sapt gave a last tug at his moustache, then
crossed his hands on the hilt of the sword
between his knees, and leant forward in
his chair.

"Nothing, he said," looking at my face.
"Until we have the letter, nothing."

"But it's impossible!" I cried.

"Why, no, Fritz," he answered
thoughtfully. "It's not possible yet; it may
become so. But if we can catch Rupert in
the next day, or even in the next two days,
it's not impossible. Only let me have the
letter, and I'll account for the
concealment. What? Is the fact that
crimes are known never concealed, for
fear of putting the criminal on his guard?"

"You'll be able to make a story, sir,"
James put in, with a grave but reassuring
air.

"Yes, James, I shall be able to make a
story, or your master will make one for
me. But, by God, story or no story, the
letter mustn't be found. Let them say we
killed him ourselves if they like, but.--"

I seized his hand and gripped it.

"You don't doubt I'm with you?" I asked.

"Not for a moment, Fritz," he answered.

"Then how can we do it?"

We drew nearer together; Sapt and I sat,
while James leant over Sapt's chair.

The oil in the lamp was almost exhausted,
and the light burnt very dim. Now and
again poor Herbert, for whom our skill
could do nothing, gave a slight moan. I
am ashamed to remember how little we
thought of him, but great schemes make
the actors in them careless of humanity;
the life of a man goes for nothing against
a point in the game. Except for his
groans--and they grew fainter and less
frequen--our voices alone broke the
silence of the little lodge.

"The queen must know," said Sapt. "Let
her stay at Zenda and give out that the
king is at the lodge for a day or two
longer. Then you, Fritz--for you must ride
to the castle at once--and Bernenstein
must get to Strelsau as quick as you can,
and find Rudolf Rassendyll. You three
ought to be able to track young Rupert
down and get the letter from him. If he's
not in the city, you must catch
Rischenheim, and force him to say where
he is; we know Rischenheim can be
persuaded. If Rupert's there, I need give
no advice either to you or to Rudolf."

"And you?"

"James and I stay here. If any one comes
whom we can keep out, the king is ill. If
rumors get about, and great folk come,
why, they must enter."

"But the body?"

"This morning, when you're gone, we
shall make a temporary grave. I dare say
two," and he jerked his thumb towards
poor Herbert.

"Or even," he added, with his grim smile,
"three--for our friend Boris, too, must be
out of sight."

"You'll bury the king?"

"Not so deep but that we can take him out
again, poor fellow. Well, Fritz, have you a
better plan?"

I had no plan, and I was not in love with
Sapt's plan. Yet it offered us four and
twenty hours. For that time, at least, it
seemed as if the secret could be kept.
Beyond that we could hardly hope for
success; after that we must produce the
king; dead or alive, the king must be seen.
Yet it might be that before the respite ran
out Rupert would be ours. In fine, what
else could be chosen? For now a greater
peril threatened than that against which
we had at the first sought to guard. Then
the worst we feared was that the letter
should come to the king's hands. That
could never be. But it would be a worse
thing if it were found on Rupert, and all
the kingdom, nay, all Europe, know that it
was written in the hand of her who was
now, in her own right, Queen of
Ruritania. To save her from that, no
chance was too desperate, no scheme too
perilous; yes, if, as Sapt said, we
ourselves were held to answer for the
king's death, still we must go on. I,
through whose negligence the whole train
of disaster had been laid, was the last man
to hesitate. In all honesty, I held my life
due and forfeit, should it be demanded of
me--my life and, before the world, my
honor.

So the plan was made. A grave was to be
dug ready for the king; if need arose, his
body should be laid in it, and the place
chosen was under the floor of the wine-
cellar. When death came to poor Herbert,
he could lie in the yard behind the house;
for Boris they meditated a resting-place
under the tree where our horses were
tethered. There was nothing to keep me,
and I rose; but as I rose, I heard the
forester's voice call plaintively for me.
The unlucky fellow knew me well, and
now cried to me to sit by him. I think Sapt
wanted me to leave him, but I could not
refuse his last request, even though it
consumed some precious minutes. He was
very near his end, and, sitting by him, I
did my best to soothe his passing. His
fortitude was good to see, and I believe
that we all at last found new courage for
our enterprise from seeing how this
humble man met death. At least even the
constable ceased to show impatience, and
let me stay till I could close the sufferer's
eyes.

But thus time went, and it was nearly five
in the morning before I bade them
farewell and mounted my horse. They
took theirs and led them away to the
stables behind the lodge; I waved my
hand and galloped off on my return to the
castle. Day was dawning, and the air was
fresh and pure. The new light brought
new hope; fears seemed to vanish before
it; my nerves were strung to effort and to
confidence. My horse moved freely under
me and carried me easily along the grassy
avenues. It was hard then to be utterly
despondent, hard to doubt skill of brain,
strength of hand, or fortune's favor.

The castle came in sight, and I hailed it
with a glad cry that echoed among the
trees. But a moment later I gave an
exclamation of surprise, and raised myself
a little from the saddle while I gazed
earnestly at the summit of the keep. The
flag staff was naked; the royal standard
that had flapped in the wind last night was
gone. But by immemorial custom the flag
flew on the keep when the king or the
queen was at the castle. It would fly for
Rudolf V. no more; but why did it not
proclaim and honor the presence of Queen
Flavia? I sat down in my saddle and
spurred my horse to the top of his speed.
We had been buffeted by fate sorely, but
now I feared yet another blow.

In a quarter of an hour more I was at the
door. A servant ran out, and I dismounted
leisurely and easily. Pulling off my
gloves, I dusted my boots with them,
turned to the stableman and bade him
look to the horse, and then said to the
footman:

"As soon as the queen is dressed, find out
if she can see me. I have a message from
his Majesty."

The fellow looked a little puzzled, but at
this moment Hermann, the king's major-
domo, came to the door.

"Isn't the constable with you, my lord?"
he asked.

"No, the constable remains at the lodge
with the king," said I carelessly, though I
was very far from careless. "I have a
message for her Majesty, Hermann. Find
out from some of the women when she
will receive me."

"The queen's not here," said he. "Indeed
we've had a lively time, my lord. At five
o'clock she came out, ready dressed, from
her room, sent for Lieutenant von
Bernenstein, and announced that she was
about to set out from the castle. As you
know, the mail train passes here at six."
Hermann took out his watch. "Yes, the
queen must just have left the station."

"Where for?" I asked, with a shrug for the
woman's whim. "Why, for Strelsau. She
gave no reasons for going, and took with
her only one lady, Lieutenant von
Bernenstein being in attendance. It was a
bustle, if you like, with everybody to be
roused and got out of bed, and a carriage
to be made ready, and messages to go to
the station, and--"

"She gave no reasons?"

"None, my lord. She left with me a letter
to the constable, which she ordered me to
give to his own hands as soon as he
arrived at the castle. She said it contained
a message of importance, which the
constable was to convey to the king, and
that it must be intrusted to nobody except
Colonel Sapt himself. I wonder, my lord,
that you didn't notice that the flag was
hauled down."

"Tut, man, I wasn't staring at the keep.
Give me the letter." For I saw that the
clue to this fresh puzzle must lie under the
cover of Sapt's letter. That letter I must
myself carry to Sapt, and without loss of
time.

"Give you the letter, my lord? But, pardon
me, you're not the constable." He laughed
a little.

"Why, no," said I, mustering a smile. "It's
true that I'm not the constable, but I'm
going to the constable. I had the king's
orders to rejoin him as soon as I had seen
the queen, and since her Majesty isn't
here, I shall return to the lodge directly a
fresh horse can be saddled for me. And
the constable's at the lodge. Come, the
letter!"

"I can't give it you, my lord. Her
Majesty's orders were positive."

"Nonsense! If she had known I should
come and not the constable, she would
have told me to carry it to him."

"I don't know about that, my lord: her
orders were plain, and she doesn't like
being disobeyed."

The stableman had led the horse away, the
footman had disappeared, Hermann and I
were alone. "Give me the letter," I said;
and I know that my self-control failed,
and eagerness was plain in my voice.
Plain it was, and Hermann took alarm. He
started back, clapping his hand to the
breast of his laced coat. The gesture
betrayed where the letter was; I was past
prudence; I sprang on him and wrenched
his hand away, catching him by the throat
with my other hand. Diving into his
pocket, I got the letter. Then I suddenly
loosed hold of him, for his eyes were
starting out of his head. I took out a
couple of gold pieces and gave them to
him.

"It's urgent, you fool," said I. "Hold your
tongue about it." And without waiting to
study his amazed red face, I turned and
ran towards the stable. In five minutes I
was on a fresh horse, in six I was clear of
the castle, heading back fast as I could go
for the hunting-lodge. Even now Hermann
remembers the grip I gave him--though
doubtless he has long spent the pieces of
gold.

When I reached the end of this second
journey, I came in for the obsequies of
Boris. James was just patting the ground
under the tree with a mattock when I rode
up; Sapt was standing by, smoking his
pipe. The boots of both were stained and
sticky with mud. I flung myself from my
saddle and blurted out my news. The
constable snatched at his letter with an
oath; James leveled the ground with
careful accuracy; I do not remember
doing anything except wiping my
forehead and feeling very hungry.

"Good Lord, she's gone after him!" said
Sapt, as he read. Then he handed me the
letter.

I will not set out what the queen wrote.
The purport seemed to us, who did not
share her feelings, pathetic indeed and
moving, but in the end (to speak plainly)
folly. She had tried to endure her sojourn
at Zenda, she said; but it drove her mad.
She could not rest; she did not know how
we fared, nor how those in Strelsau; for
hours she had lain awake; then at last
falling asleep, she had dreamt.

"I had had the same dream before. Now it
came again. I saw him so plain. He
seemed to me to be king, and to be called
king. But he did not answer nor move. He
seemed dead; and I could not rest." So she
wrote, ever excusing herself, ever
repeating how something drew her to
Strelsau, telling her that she must go if
she would see "him whom you know,"
alive again. "And I must see him--ah, I
must see him! If the king has had the
letter, I am ruined already. If he has not,
tell him what you will or what you can
contrive. I must go. It came a second
time, and all so plain. I saw him; I tell you
I saw him. Ah, I must see him again. I
swear that I will only see him once. He's
in danger--I know he's in danger; or what
does the dream mean? Bernenstein will go
with me, and I shall see him. Do, do
forgive me: I can't stay, the dream was so
plain." Thus she ended, seeming, poor
lady, half frantic with the visions that her
own troubled brain and desolate heart had
conjured up to torment her. I did not
know that she had before told Mr.
Rassendyll himself of this strange dream;
though I lay small store by such matters,
believing that we ourselves make our
dreams, fashioning out of the fears and
hopes of to-day what seems to come by
night in the guise of a mysterious
revelation. Yet there are some things that
a man cannot understand, and I do not
profess to measure with my mind the
ways of God.

However, not why the queen went, but
that she had gone, concerned us. We had
returned to the house now, and James,
remembering that men must eat though
kings die, was getting us some breakfast.
In fact, I had great need of food, being
utterly worn out; and they, after their
labors, were hardly less weary. As we ate,
we talked; and it was plain to us that I
also must go to Strelsau. There, in the
city, the drama must be played out. There
was Rudolf, there Rischenheim, there in
all likelihood Rupert of Hentzau, there
now the queen. And of these Rupert
alone, or perhaps Rischenheim also, knew
that the king was dead, and how the issue
of last night had shaped itself under the
compelling hand of wayward fortune. The
king lay in peace on his bed, his grave
was dug; Sapt and James held the secret
with solemn faith and ready lives. To
Strelsau I must go to tell the queen that
she was widowed, and to aim the stroke at
young Rupert's heart.

At nine in the morning I started from the
lodge. I was bound to ride to Hofbau and
there wait for a train which would carry
me to the capital. From Hofbau I could
send a message, but the message must
announce only my own coming, not the
news I carried. To Sapt, thanks to the
cipher, I could send word at any time, and
he bade me ask Mr. Rassendyll whether
he should come to our aid, or stay where
he was.

"A day must decide the whole thing," he
said. "We can't conceal the king's death
long. For God's sake, Fritz, make an end
of that young villain, and get the letter."

So, wasting no time in farewells, I set out.
By ten o'clock I was at Hofbau, for I rode
furiously. From there I sent to
Bernenstein at the palace word of my
coming. But there I was delayed. There
was no train for an hour.

"I'll ride," I cried to myself, only to
remember the next moment that, if I rode,
I should come to my journey's end much
later. There was nothing for it but to wait,
and it may be imagined in what mood I
waited. Every minute seemed an hour,
and I know not to this day how the hour
wore itself away. I ate, I drank, I smoked,
I walked, sat, and stood. The
stationmaster knew me, and thought I had
gone mad, till I told him that I carried
most important despatches from the king,
and that the delay imperiled great
interests. Then he became sympathetic;
but what could he do? No special train
was to be had at a roadside station: I must
wait; and wait, somehow, and without
blowing my brains out, I did.

At last I was in the train; now indeed we
moved, and I came nearer. An hour's run
brought me in sight of the city. Then, to
my unutterable wrath, we were stopped,
and waited motionless twenty minutes or
half an hour. At last we started again; had
we not, I should have jumped out and run,
for to sit longer would have driven me
mad. Now we entered the station. With a
great effort I calmed myself. I lolled back
in my seat; when we stopped I sat there
till a porter opened the door. In lazy
leisureliness I bade him get me a cab, and
followed him across the station. He held
the door for me, and, giving him his
_i_douceur_i_, I set my foot on the step.

"Tell him to drive to the palace," said I,
"and be quick. I'm late already, thanks to
this cursed train."

"The old mare'll soon take you there, sir,"
said the driver. I jumped in. But at this
moment I saw a man on the platform
beckoning with his hand and hastening
towards me. The cabman also saw him
and waited. I dared not tell him to drive
on, for I feared to betray any undue haste,
and it would have looked strange not to
spare a moment to my wife's cousin,
Anton von Strofzin. He came up, holding
out his hand,delicately gloved in pearl-
gray kid, for young Anton was a leader of
the Strelsau dandies.

"Ah, my dear Fritz!" said he. "I am glad I
hold no appointment at court. How
dreadfully active you all are! I thought
you were settled at Zenda for a month?"

"The queen changed her mind suddenly,"
said I, smiling. "Ladies do, as you know
well, you who know all about them."

My compliment, or insinuation, produced
a pleased smile and a gallant twirling of
his moustache.

"Well, I thought you'd be here soon," he
said, "but I didn't know that the queen had
come."

"You didn't? Then why did you look for
me?"

He opened his eyes a little in languid,
elegant surprise. "Oh, I supposed you'd be
on duty, or something, and have to come.
Aren't you in attendance?"

"On the queen? No, not just now."

"But on the king?"

"Why, yes," said I, and I leaned forward.
"At least I'm engaged now on the king's
business."

"Precisely," said he. "So I thought you'd
come, as soon as I heard that the king was
here."

It may be that I ought to have preserved
my composure. But I am not Sapt nor
Rudolf Rassendyll.

"The king here?" I gasped, clutching him
by the arm.

"Of course. You didn't know? Yes, he's in
town."

But I heeded him no more. For a moment
I could not speak, then I cried to the
cabman:

"To the palace. And drive like the devil!"

We shot away, leaving Anton open-
mouthed in wonder. For me, I sank back
on the cushions, fairly aghast. The king
lay dead in the hunting-lodge, but the king
was in his capital!

Of course, the truth soon flashed through
my mind, but it brought no comfort.
Rudolf Rassendyll was in Strelsau. He
had been seen by somebody and taken for
the king. But comfort? What comfort was
there, now that the king was dead and
could never come to the rescue of his
counterfeit?

In fact, the truth was worse than I
conceived. Had I known it all, I might
well have yielded to despair. For not by
the chance, uncertain sight of a passer-by,
not by mere rumor which might have
been sturdily denied, not by the evidence
of one only or of two, was the king's
presence in the city known. That day, by
the witness of a crowd of people, by his
own claim and his own voice, ay, and by
the assent of the queen herself, Mr.
Rassendyll was taken to be the king in
Strelsau, while neither he nor Queen
Flavia knew that the king was dead. I
must now relate the strange and perverse
succession of events which forced them to
employ a resource so dangerous and face
a peril so immense. Yet, great and
perilous as they knew the risk to be even
when they dared it, in the light of what
they did not know it was more fearful and
more fatal still.

---

CHAPTER X--

THE KING IN STRELSAU

MR. RASSENDYLL reached Strelsau
from Zenda without accident about nine
o'clock in the evening of the same day as
that which witnessed the tragedy of the
hunting-lodge. He could have arrived
sooner, but prudence did not allow him to
enter the populous suburbs of the town till
the darkness guarded him from notice.
The gates of the city were no longer shut
at sunset, as they had used to be in the
days when Duke Michael was governor,
and Rudolf passed them without
difficulty. Fortunately the night, fine
where we were, was wet and stormy at
Strelsau; thus there were few people in
the streets, and he was able to gain the
door of my house still unremarked. Here,
of course, a danger presented itself. None
of my servants were in the secret; only my
wife, in whom the queen herself had
confided, knew Rudolf, and she did not
expect to see him, since she was ignorant
of the recent course of events. Rudolf was
quite alive to the peril, and regretted the
absence of his faithful attendant, who
could have cleared the way for him. The
pouring rain gave him an excuse for
twisting a scarf about his face and pulling
his coat-collar up to his ears, while the
gusts of wind made the cramming of his
hat low down over his eyes no more than
a natural precaution against its loss. Thus
masked from curious eyes, he drew rein
before my door, and, having dismounted,
rang the bell. When the butler came a
strange hoarse voice, half-stifled by folds
of scarf, asked for the countess, alleging
for pretext a message from myself. The
man hesitated, as well he might, to leave
the stranger alone with the door open and
the contents of the hall at his mercy.
Murmuring an apology in case his visitor
should prove to be a gentleman, he shut
the door and went in search of his
mistress. His description of the untimely
caller at once roused my wife's quick wit;
she had heard from me how Rudolf had
ridden once from Strelsau to the hunting-
lodge with muffled face; a very tall man
with his face wrapped in a scarf and his
hat over his eyes, who came with a
private message, suggested to her at least
a possibility of Mr. Rassendyll's arrival.
Helga will never admit that she is clever,
yet I find she discovers from me what she
wants to know, and I suspect hides
successfully the small matters of which
she in her wifely discretion deems I had
best remain ignorant. Being able thus to
manage me, she was equal to coping with
the butler. She laid aside her embroidery
most composedly.

"Ah, yes," she said, "I know the
gentleman. Surely you haven't left him
out in the rain?" She was anxious lest
Rudolf's features should have been
exposed too long to the light of the hall-
lamps.

The butler stammered an apology,
explaining his fears for our goods and the
impossibility of distinguishing social rank
on a dark night. Helga cut him short with
an impatient gesture, crying, "How stupid
of you!" and herself ran quickly down and
opened the door--a little way only,
though. The first sight of Mr. Rassendyll
confirmed her suspicions; in a moment,
she said, she knew his eyes.

"It is you, then?" she cried. "And my
foolish servant has left you in the rain!
Pray come in. Oh, but your horse!" She
turned to the penitent butler, who had
followed her downstairs. "Take the
baron's horse round to the stables," she
said.

"I will send some one at once, my lady."

"No, no, take it yourself--take it at once.
I'll look after the baron."

Reluctantly and ruefully the fat fellow
stepped out into the storm. Rudolf drew
back and let him pass, then he entered
quickly, to find himself alone with Helga
in the hall. With a finger on her lips, she
led him swiftly into a small sitting-room
on the ground floor, which I used as a sort
of office or place of business. It looked
out on the street, and the rain could be
heard driving against the broad panes of
the window. Rudolf turned to her with a
smile, and, bowing, kissed her hand.

"The baron what, my dear countess?" he
inquired.

"He won't ask," said she with a shrug.
"Do tell me what brings you here, and
what has happened."

He told her very briefly all he knew. She
hid bravely her alarm at hearing that I
might perhaps meet Rupert at the lodge,
and at once listened to what Rudolf
wanted of her.

"Can I get out of the house, and, if need
be, back again unnoticed?" he asked.

"The door is locked at night, and only
Fritz and the butler have keys."

Mr. Rassendyll's eye traveled to the
window of the room.

"I haven't grown so fat that I can't get
through there," said he. "So we'd better
not trouble the butler. He'd talk, you
know."

"I will sit here all night and keep
everybody from the room."

"I may come back pursued if I bungle my
work and an alarm is raised."

"Your work?" she asked, shrinking back a
little.

"Yes," said he. "Don't ask what it is,
Countess. It is in the queen's service."

"For the queen I will do anything and
everything, as Fritz would."

He took her hand and pressed it in a
friendly, encouraging way.

"Then I may issue my orders?" he asked,
smiling.

"They shall be obeyed."

"Then a dry cloak, a little supper, and this
room to myself, except for you."

As he spoke the butler turned the handle
of the door. My wife flew across the
room, opened the door, and, while Rudolf
turned his back, directed the man to bring
some cold meat, or whatever could be
ready with as little delay as possible.

"Now come with me," she said to Rudolf,
directly the servant was gone.

She took him to my dressing-room, where
he got dry clothes; then she saw the
supper laid, ordered a bedroom to be
prepared, told the butler that she had
business with the baron and that he need
not sit up if she were later than eleven,
dismissed him, and went to tell Rudolf
that the coast was clear for his return to
the sitting-room. He came, expressing
admiration for her courage and address; I
take leave to think that she deserved his
compliments. He made a hasty supper;
then they talked together, Rudolf smoking
his cigar. Eleven came and went. It was
not yet time. My wife opened the door
and looked out. The hall was dark, the
door locked and its key in the hands of the
butler. She closed the door again and
softly locked it. As the clock struck
twelve Rudolf rose and turned the lamp
very low. Then he unfastened the shutters
noiselessly, raised the window and looked
out.

"Shut them again when I'm gone," he
whispered. "If I come back, I'll knock like
this, and you'll open for me."

"For heaven's sake, be careful," she
murmured, catching at his hand.

He nodded reassuringly, and crossing his
leg over the windowsill, sat there for a
moment listening. The storm was as fierce
as ever, and the street was deserted. He let
himself down on to the pavement, his face
again wrapped up. She watched his tall
figure stride quickly along till a turn of
the road hid it. Then, having closed the
window and the shutters again, she sat
down to keep her watch, praying for him,
for me, and for her dear mistress the
queen. For she knew that perilous work
was afoot that night, and did not know
whom it might threaten or whom destroy.

From the moment that Mr. Rassendyll
thus left my house at midnight on his
search for Rupert of Hentzau, every hour
and almost every moment brought its
incident in the swiftly moving drama
which decided the issues of our fortune.
What we were doing has been told; by
now Rupert himself was on his way back
to the city, and the queen was meditating,
in her restless vigil, on the resolve that in
a few hours was to bring her also to
Strelsau. Even in the dead of night both
sides were active. For, plan cautiously and
skillfully as he might, Rudolf fought with
an antagonist who lost no chances, and
who had found an apt and useful tool in
that same Bauer, a rascal, and a cunning
rascal, if ever one were bred in the world.
From the beginning even to the end our
error lay in taking too little count of this
fellow, and dear was the price we paid.

Both to my wife and to Rudolf himself the
street had seemed empty of every living
being when she watched and he set out.
Yet everything had been seen, from his
first arrival to the moment when she
closed the window after him. At either
end of my house there runs out a
projection, formed by the bay windows of
the principal drawing-room and of the
dining room respectively. These
projecting walls form shadows, and in the
shade of one of them--of which I do not
know, nor is it of moment--a man
watched all that passed; had he been
anywhere else, Rudolf must have seen
him. If we had not been too engrossed in
playing our own hands, it would doubtless
have struck us as probable that Rupert
would direct Rischenheim and Bauer to
keep an eye on my house during his
absence; for it was there that any of us
who found our way to the city would
naturally resort in the first instance. As a
fact, he had not omitted this precaution.
The night was so dark that the spy, who
had seen the king but once and never Mr.
Rassendyll, did not recognize who the
visitor was, but he rightly conceived that
he should serve his employer by tracking
the steps of the tall man who made so
mysterious an arrival and so surreptitious
a departure from the suspected house.
Accordingly, as Rudolf turned the corner
and Helena closed the window, a short,
thickset figure started cautiously out of
the projecting shadow, and followed in
Rudolf's wake through the storm. The
pair, tracker and tracked, met nobody,
save here and there a police constable
keeping a most unwilling beat. Even such
were few, and for the most part more
intent on sheltering in the lee of a friendly
wall and thereby keeping a dry stitch or
two on them than on taking note of
passers-by. On the pair went. Now Rudolf
turned into the Ko"nigstrasse. As he did
so, Bauer, who must have been nearly a
hundred yards behind (for he could not
start till the shutters were closed)
quickened his pace and reduced the
interval between them to about seventy
yards. This he might well have thought a
safe distance on a night so wild, when the
rush of wind and the pelt of the rain
joined to hide the sound of footsteps.

But Bauer reasoned as a townsman, and
Rudolf Rassendyll had the quick ear of a
man bred in the country and trained to the
woodland. All at once there was a jerk of
his head; I know so well the motion which
marked awakened attention in him. He
did not pause nor break his stride: to do
either would have been to betray his
suspicions to his follower; but he crossed
the road to the opposite side to that where
No. 19 was situated, and slackened his
pace a little, so that there was a longer
interval between his own footfalls. The
steps behind him grew slower, even as his
did; their sound came no nearer: the
follower would not overtake. Now, a man
who loiters on such a night, just because
another head of him is fool enough to
loiter, has a reason for his action other
than what can at first sight be detected. So
thought Rudolf Rassendyll, and his brain
was busied with finding it out.

Then an idea seized him, and, forgetting
the precautions that had hitherto served so
well, he came to a sudden stop on the
pavement, engrossed in deep thought.
Was the man who dogged his steps
Rupert himself? It would be like Rupert to
track him, like Rupert to conceive such an
attack, like Rupert to be ready either for a
fearless assault from the front or a
shameless shot from behind, and
indifferent utterly which chance offered,
so it threw him one of them. Mr.
Rassendyll asked no better than to meet
his enemy thus in the open. They could
fight a fair fight, and if he fell the lamp
would be caught up and carried on by
Sapt's hand or mine; if he got the better of
Rupert, the letter would be his; a moment
would destroy it and give safety to the
queen. I do not suppose that he spent time
in thinking how he should escape arrest at
the hands of the police whom the fracas
would probably rouse; if he did, he may
well have reckoned on declaring plainly
who he was, of laughing at their surprise
over a chance likeness to the king, and of
trusting to us to smuggle him beyond the
arm of the law. What mattered all that, so
that there was a moment in which to
destroy the letter? At any rate he turned
full round and began to walk straight
towards Bauer, his hand resting on the
revolver in the pocket of his coat.

Bauer saw him coming, and must have
known that he was suspected or detected.
At once the cunning fellow slouched his
head between his shoulders, and set out
along the street at a quick shuffle,
whistling as he went. Rudolf stood still
now in the middle of the road, wondering
who the man was: whether Rupert,
purposely disguising his gait, or a
confederate, or, after all, some person
innocent of our secret and indifferent to
our schemes. On came Bauer, softly,
whistling and slushing his feet carelessly
through the liquid mud. Now he was
nearly opposite where Mr. Rassendyll
stood. Rudolf was well-nigh convinced
that the man had been on his track: he
would make certainty surer. The bold
game was always his choice and his
delight; this trait he shared with Rupert of
Hentzau, and hence arose, I think, the
strange secret inclination he had for his
unscrupulous opponent. Now he walked
suddenly across to Bauer, and spoke to
him in his natural voice, at the same time
removing the scarf partly, but not
altogether, from his face.

"You're out late, my friend, for a night
like this."

Bauer, startled though he was by the
unexpected challenge, had his wits about
him. Whether he identified Rudolf at
once, I do not know; I think that he must
at least have suspected the truth.

"A lad that has no home to go to must
needs be out both late and early, sir," said
he, arresting his shuffling steps, and
looking up with that honest stolid air
which had made a fool of me.

I had described him very minutely to Mr.
Rassendyll; if Bauer knew or guessed
who his challenger was, Mr. Rassendyll
was as well equipped for the encounter.

"No home to go to!" cried Rudolf in a
pitying tone. "How's that? But anyhow,
Heaven forbid that you or any man should
walk the streets a night like this. Come,
I'll give you a bed. Come with me, and I'll
find you good shelter, my boy."

Bauer shrank away. He did not see the
meaning of this stroke, and his eye,
traveling up the street, showed that his
thoughts had turned towards flight.
Rudolf gave no time for putting any such
notion into effect. Maintaining his air of
genial compassion, he passed his left arm
through Bauer's right, saying:

"I'm a Christian man, and a bed you shall
have this night, my lad, as sure as I'm
alive. Come along with me. The devil, it's
not weather for standing still!"

The carrying of arms in Strelsau was
forbidden. Bauer had no wish to get into
trouble with the police, and, moreover, he
had intended nothing but a
reconnaissance; he was therefore without
any weapon, and he was a child in
Rudolf's grasp. He had no alternative but
to obey the suasion of Mr. Rassendyll's
arm, and they two began to walk down
the Ko"nigstrasse. Bauer's whistle had
died away, not to return; but from time to
time Rudolf hummed softly a cheerful
tune, his fingers beating time on Bauer's
captive arm. Presently they crossed the
road. Bauer's lagging steps indicated that
he took no pleasure in the change of side,
but he could not resist.

"Ay, you shall go where I am going, my
lad," said Rudolf encouragingly; and he
laughed a little as he looked down at the
fellow's face.

Along they went; soon they came to the
small numbers at the station end of the
Ko"nigstrasse. Rudolf began to peer up at
the shop fronts.

"It's cursed dark," said he. "Pray, lad, can
you make out which is nineteen?"

The moment he had spoken the smile
broadened on his face. The shot had gone
home. Bauer was a clever scoundrel, but
his nerves were not under perfect control,
and his arm had quivered under Rudolf's.

"Nineteen, sir?" he stammered.

"Ay, nineteen. That's where we're bound
for, you and I. There I hope we shall find-
-what we want."

Bauer seemed bewildered: no doubt he
was at a loss how either to understand or
to parry the bold attack.

"Ah, this looks like it," said Rudolf, in a
tone of great satisfaction, as they came to
old Mother Holf's little shop. "Isn't that a
one and a nine over the door, my lad? Ah,
and Holf! Yes, that's the name. Pray ring
the bell. My hands are occupied."

Rudolf's hands were indeed occupied; one
held Bauer's arm, now no longer with a
friendly pressure, but with a grip of iron;
in the other the captive saw the revolver
that had till now lain hidden.

"You see?" asked Rudolf pleasantly.
"You must ring for me, mustn't you? It
would startle them if I roused them with a
shot." A motion of the barrel told Bauer
the direction which the shot would take.

"There's no bell," said Bauer sullenly.

"Ah, then you knock?"

"I suppose so."

"In any particular way, my friend?"

"I don't know," growled Bauer.

"Nor I. Can't you guess?"

"No, I know nothing of it."

"Well, we must try. You knock, and--
Listen, my lad. You must guess right. You
understand?"

"How can I guess?" asked Bauer, in an
attempt at bluster.

"Indeed, I don't know," smiled Rudolf.
"But I hate waiting, and if the door is not
open in two minutes, I shall arouse the
good folk with a shot. You see? You quite
see, don't you?" Again the barrel's motion
pointed and explained Mr. Rassendyll's
meaning.

Under this powerful persuasion Bauer
yielded. He lifted his hand and knocked
on the door with his knuckles, first loudly,
then very softly, the gentler stroke being
repeated five times in rapid succession.
Clearly he was expected, for without any
sound of approaching feet the chain was
unfastened with a subdued rattle. Then
came the noise of the bolt being
cautiously worked back into its socket. As
it shot home a chink of the door opened.
At the same moment Rudolf's hand
slipped from Bauer's arm. With a swift
movement he caught the fellow by the
nape of the neck and flung him violently
forward into the roadway, where, losing
his footing, he fell sprawling face
downwards in the mud. Rudolf threw
himself against the door: it yielded, he
was inside, and in an instant he had shut
the door and driven the bolt home again,
leaving Bauer in the gutter outside. Then
he turned, with his hand on the butt of his
revolver. I know that he hoped to find
Rupert of Hentzau's face within a foot of
his.

Neither Rupert nor Rischenheim, nor even
the old woman fronted him: a tall,
handsome, dark girl faced him, holding an
oil-lamp in her hand. He did not know
her, but I could have told him that she was
old Mother Holf's youngest child, Rosa,
for I had often seen her as I rode through
the town of Zenda with the king, before
the old lady moved her dwelling to
Strelsau. Indeed the girl had seemed to
haunt the king's foot-steps, and he had
himself joked on her obvious efforts to
attract his attention, and the languishing
glances of her great black eyes. But it is
the lot of prominent personages to inspire
these strange passions, and the king had
spent as little thought on her as on any of
the romantic girls who found a naughty
delight in half-fanciful devotion to him--
devotion starting, in many cases, by an
irony of which the king was happily
unconscious, from the brave figure that he
made at his coronation and his
picturesque daring in the affair of Black
Michael. The worshipers never came near
enough to perceive the alteration in their
idol.

The half then, at least, of Rosa's
attachment was justly due to the man who
now stood opposite to her, looking at her
with surprise by the murky light of the
strong-smelling oil-lamp. The lamp shook
and almost fell from her hand when she
saw him; for the scarf had slid away, and
his features were exposed to full view.
Fright, delight, and excitement vied with
one another in her eyes.

"The king!" she whispered in amazement.
"No, but--" And she searched his face
wonderingly.

"Is it the beard you miss?" asked Rudolf,
fingering his chin. "Mayn't kings shave
when they please, as well as other men?"
Her face still expressed bewilderment,
and still a lingering doubt. He bent
towards her, whispering:

"Perhaps I wasn't over-anxious to be
known at once."

She flushed with pleasure at the
confidence he seemed to put in her.

"I should know you anywhere," she
whispered, with a glance of the great
black eyes. "Anywhere, your Majesty."

"Then you'll help me, perhaps?"

"With my life."

"No, no, my dear young lady, merely with
a little information. Whose home is this?"

"My mother's."

"Ah! She takes lodgers?"

The girl appeared vexed at his cautious
approaches. "Tell me what you want to
know," she said simply.

"Then who's here?"

"My lord the Count of Luzau-
Rischenheim."

"And what's he doing?"

"He's lying on the bed moaning and
swearing, because his wounded arm gives
him pain."

"And is nobody else here?"

She looked round warily, and sank her
voice to a whisper as she answered:

"No, not now--nobody else."

"I was seeking a friend of mine," said
Rudolf. "I want to see him alone. It's not
easy for a king to see people alone."

"You mean--?"

"Well, you know whom I mean."

"Yes. No, he's gone; but he's gone to find
you."

"To find me! Plague take it! How do you
know that, my pretty lady?"

"Bauer told me."

"Ah, Bauer! And who's Bauer?"

"The man who knocked. Why did you
shut him out?"

"To be alone with you, to be sure. So
Bauer tells you his master's secrets?"

She acknowledged his raillery with a
coquettish laugh. It was not amiss for the
king to see that she had her admirers.

"Well, and where has this foolish count
gone to meet me?" asked Rudolf lightly.

"You haven't seen him?"

"No; I came straight from the Castle of
Zenda."

"But," she cried, "he expected to find you
at the hunting lodge. Ah, but now I
recollect! The Count of Rischenheim was
greatly vexed to find, on his return, that
his cousin was gone."

"Ah, he was gone! Now I see!
Rischenheim brought a message from me
to Count Rupert."

"And they missed one another, your
Majesty?"

"Exactly, my dear young lady. Very
vexatious it is, upon my word!" In this
remark, at least, Rudolf spoke no more
and no other than he felt. "But when do
you expect the Count of Hentzau?" he
pursued.

"Early in the morning, your Majesty--at
seven or eight."

Rudolf came nearer to her, and took a
couple of gold coins from his pocket.

"I don't want money, your Majesty," she
murmured.

"Oh, make a hole in them and hang them
round your neck."

"Ah, yes: yes, give them to me," she
cried, holding out her hand eagerly.

"You'll earn them?" he asked, playfully
holding them out of her reach.

"How?"

"By being ready to open to me when I
come at eleven and knock as Bauer
knocked."

"Yes, I'll be there."

"And by telling nobody that I've been here
to-night. Will you promise me that?"

"Not my mother?"

"No."

"Nor the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim?"

"Him least of all. You must tell nobody.
My business is very private, and
Rischenheim doesn't know it."

"I'll do all you tell me. But--but Bauer
knows."

"True," said Rudolf. "Bauer knows. Well,
we'll see about Bauer."

As he spoke he turned towards the door.
Suddenly the girl bent, snatched at his
hand and kissed it.

"I would die for you," she murmured.

"Poor child!" said he gently. I believe he
was loath to make profit, even in the
queen's service, of her poor foolish love.
He laid his hand on the door, but paused a
moment to say:

"If Bauer comes, you have told me
nothing. Mind, nothing! I threatened you,
but you told me nothing."

"He'll tell them you have been here."

"That can't be helped; at least they won't
know when I shall arrive again. Good-
night."

Rudolf opened the door and slipped
through, closing it hastily behind him. If
Bauer got back to the house, his visit must
be known; but if he could intercept Bauer,
the girl's silence was assured. He stood
just outside, listening intently and
searching the darkness with eager eyes.

---

CHAPTER XI--

WHAT THE CHANCELLOR'S WIFE
SAW

THE night, so precious in its silence,
solitude, and darkness, was waning fast;
soon the first dim approaches of day
would be visible; soon the streets would
become alive and people be about. Before
then Rudolf Rassendyll, the man who
bore a face that he dared not show in open
day, must be under cover; else men would
say that the king was in Strelsau, and the
news would flash in a few hours through
the kingdom and (so Rudolf feared) reach
even those ears which we knew to be shut
to all earthly sounds. But there was still
some time at Mr. Rassendyll's disposal,
and he could not spend it better than in
pursuing his fight with Bauer. Taking a
leaf out of the rascal's own book, he drew
himself back into the shadow of the house
walls and prepared to wait. At the worst
he could keep the fellow from
communicating with Rischenheim for a
little longer, but his hope was that Bauer
would steal back after a while and
reconnoitre with a view to discovering
how matters stood, whether the
unwelcome visitor had taken his departure
and the way to Rischenheim were open.
Wrapping his scarf closely round his face,
Rudolf waited, patiently enduring the
tedium as he best might, drenched by the
rain, which fell steadily, and very
imperfectly sheltered from the buffeting
of the wind. Minutes went by; there were
no signs of Bauer nor of anybody else in
the silent street. Yet Rudolf did not
venture to leave his post; Bauer would
seize the opportunity to slip in; perhaps
Bauer had seen him come out, and was in
his turn waiting till the coast should be
clear; or, again, perhaps the useful spy
had gone off to intercept Rupert of
Hentzau, and warn him of the danger in
the Ko"nigstrasse. Ignorant of the truth
and compelled to accept all these chances,
Rudolf waited, still watching the distant
beginnings of dawning day, which must
soon drive him to his hiding-place again.
Meanwhile my poor wife waited also, a
prey to every fear that a woman's
sensitive mind can imagine and feed
upon.

Rudolf turned his head this way and that,
seeking always the darker blot of shadow
that would mean a human being. For a
while his search was vain, but presently
he found what he looked for--ay, and even
more. On the same side of the street, to
his left hand, from the direction of the
station, not one, but three blurred shapes
moved up the street. They came stealthily,
yet quickly; with caution, but without
pause or hesitation. Rudolf, scenting
danger, flattened himself close against the
wall and felt for his revolver. Very likely
they were only early workers or late
revelers, but he was ready for something
else; he had not yet sighted Bauer, and
action was to be looked for from the man.
By infinitely gradual sidelong slitherings
he moved a few paces from the door of
Mother Holf's house, and stood six feet
perhaps, or eight, on the right-hand side
of it. The three came on. He strained his
eyes in the effort to discern their features.
In that dim light certainty was impossible,
but the one in the middle might well be
Bauer: the height, the walk, and the make
were much what Bauer's were. If it were
Bauer, then Bauer had friends, and Bauer
and his friends seemed to be stalking
some game. Always most carefully and
gradually Rudolf edged yet farther from
the little shop. At a distance of some five
yards he halted finally, drew out his
revolver, covered the man whom he took
to be Bauer, and thus waited his fortune
and his chance.

Now, it was plain that Bauer--for Bauer it
was--would look for one of two things:
what he hoped was to find Rudolf still in
the house, what he feared was to be told
that Rudolf, having fulfilled the unknown
purpose of his visit, was gone whole and
sound. If the latter tidings met him, these
two good friends of his whom he had
enlisted for his reinforcement were to
have five crowns each and go home in
peace; if the former, they were to do their
work and make ten crowns. Years after,
one of them told me the whole story
without shame or reserve. What their
work was, the heavy bludgeons they
carried and the long knife that one of
them had lent to Bauer showed pretty
clearly.

But neither to Bauer nor to them did it
occur that their quarry might be crouching
near, hunting as well as hunted. Not that
the pair of ruffians who had been thus
hired would have hesitated for that
thought, as I imagine. For it is strange, yet
certain, that the zenith of courage and the
acme of villainy can alike be bought for
the price of a lady's glove. Among such
outcasts as those from whom Bauer drew
his recruits the murder of a man is held
serious only when the police are by, and
death at the hands of him they seek to kill
is no more than an every-day risk of their
employment.

"Here's the house," whispered Bauer,
stopping at the door. "Now, I'll knock,
and you stand by to knock him on the
head if he runs out. He's got a six-shooter,
so lose no time."

"He'll only fire it in heaven," growled a
hoarse, guttural voice that ended in a
chuckle.

"But if he's gone?" objected the other
auxiliary.

"Then I know where he's gone," answered
Bauer. "Are you ready?"

A ruffian stood on either side of the door
with uplifted bludgeon. Bauer raised his
hand to knock.

Rudolf knew that Rischenheim was
within, and he feared that Bauer, hearing
that the stranger had gone, would take the
opportunity of telling the count of his
visit. The count would, in his turn, warn
Rupert of Hentzau, and the work of
catching the ringleader would all fall to be
done again. At no time did Mr.
Rassendyll take count of odds against
him, but in this instance he may well have
thought himself, with his revolver, a
match for the three ruffians. At any rate,
before Bauer had time to give the signal,
he sprang out suddenly from the wall and
darted at the fellow. His onset was so
sudden that the other two fell back a pace;
Rudolf caught Bauer fairly by the throat. I
do not suppose that he meant to strangle
him, but the anger, long stored in his
heart, found vent in the fierce grip of his
fingers. It is certain that Bauer thought his
time was come, unless he struck a blow
for himself. Instantly he raised his hand
and thrust fiercely at Rudolf with his long
knife. Mr. Rassendyll would have been a
dead man, had he not loosed his hold and
sprung lightly away. But Bauer sprang at
him again, thrusting with the knife, and
crying to his associates,

"Club him, you fools, club him!"

Thus exhorted, one jumped forward. The
moment for hesitation had gone. In spite
of the noise of wind and pelting rain, the
sound of a shot risked much; but not to
fire was death. Rudolf fired full at Bauer:
the fellow saw his intention and tried to
leap behind one of his companions; he
was just too late, and fell with a groan to
the ground.

Again the other ruffians shrank back,
appalled by the sudden ruthless decision
of the act. Mr. Rassendyll laughed, A half
smothered yet uncontrolled oath broke
from one of them.

"By God!" he whispered hoarsely, gazing
at Rudolf's face and letting his arm fall to
his side.

"My God!" he said then, and his mouth
hung open. Again Rudolf laughed at his
terrified stare.

"A bigger job than you fancied, is it?" he
asked, pushing his scarf well away from
his chin.

The man gaped at him; the other's eyes
asked wondering questions, but neither
did he attempt to resume the attack. The
first at last found voice, and he said,
"Well, it'd be damned cheap at ten
crowns, and that's the living truth."

His friend--or confederate rather, for such
men have no friends--looked on, still
amazed.

"Take up that fellow by his head and his
heels," ordered Rudolf. "Quickly! I
suppose you don't want the police to find
us here with him, do you? Well, no more
do I. Lift him up."

As he spoke Rudolf turned to knock at the
door of No. 19. But even as he did so
Bauer groaned. Dead perhaps he ought to
have been, but it seems to me that fate is
always ready to take the cream and leave
the scum. His leap aside had served him
well, after all: he had nearly escaped scot
free. As it was, the bullet, almost missing
his head altogether, had just glanced on
his temple as it passed; its impact had
stunned, but not killed. Friend Bauer was
in unusual luck that night; I wouldn't have
taken a hundred to one about his chance
of life. Rupert arrested his hand. It would
not do to leave Bauer at the house, if
Bauer were likely to regain speech. He
stood for a moment, considering what to
do, but in an instant the thoughts that he
tried to gather were scattered again.

"The patrol! the patrol!" hoarsely
whispered the fellow who had not yet
spoken. There was a sound of the hoofs of
horses. Down the street from the station
end there appeared two mounted men.
Without a second moment's hesitation the
two rascals dropped their friend Bauer
with a thud on the ground; one ran at his
full speed across the street, the other
bolted no less quickly up the
Ko"nigstrasse. Neither could afford to
meet the constables; and who could say
what story this red-haired gentleman
might tell, ay, or what powers he might
command?

But, in truth, Rudolf gave no thought to
either his story or his powers. If he were
caught, the best he could hope would be
to lie in the lockup while Rupert played
his game unmolested. The device that he
had employed against the amazed ruffians
could be used against lawful authority
only as a last and desperate resort. While
he could run, run he would. In an instant
he also took to his heels, following the
fellow who had darted up the
Ko"nigstrasse. But before he had gone
very far, coming to a narrow turning, he
shot down it; then he paused for a
moment to listen.

The patrol had seen the sudden dispersal
of the group, and, struck with natural
suspicion, quickened pace. A few minutes
brought them where Bauer was. They
jumped from their horses and ran to him.
He was unconscious, and could, of
course, give them no account of how he
came to be in his present state. The fronts
of all the houses were dark, the doors
shut; there was nothing to connect the
man stretched on the ground with either
No. 19 or any other dwelling. Moreover,
the constables were not sure that the
sufferer was himself a meritorious object,
for his hand still held a long, ugly knife.
They were perplexed: they were but two;
there was a wounded man to look after;
there were three men to pursue, and the
three had fled in three separate directions.
They looked up at No. 19; No. 19
remained dark, quiet, absolutely
indifferent. The fugitives were out of
sight. Rudolf Rassendyll, hearing nothing,
had started again on his way. But a
minute later he heard a shrill whistle. The
patrol were summoning assistance; the
man must be carried to the station, and a
report made; but other constables might
be warned of what had happened, and
despatched in pursuit of the culprits.
Rudolf heard more than one answering
whistle; he broke into a run, looking for a
turning on the left that would take him
back into the direction of my house, but
he found none. The narrow street twisted
and curved in the bewildering way that
characterizes the old parts of the town.
Rudolf had spent some time once in
Strelsau; but a king learns little of back
streets, and he was soon fairly puzzled as
to his whereabouts. Day was dawning,
and he began to meet people here and
there. He dared run no more, even had his
breath lasted him; winding the scarf about
his face, and cramming his hat over his
forehead again, he fell into an easy walk,
wondering whether he could venture to
ask his way, relieved to find no signs that
he was being pursued, trying to persuade
himself that Bauer, though not dead, was
at least incapable of embarrassing
disclosures; above all, conscious of the
danger of his tell-tale face, and of the
necessity of finding some shelter before
the city was all stirring and awake.

At this moment he heard horses' hoofs
behind him. He was now at the end of the
street, where it opened on the square in
which the barracks stand. He knew his
bearings now, and, had he not been
interrupted, could have been back to safe
shelter in my house in twenty minutes.
But, looking back, he saw the figure of a
mounted constable just coming into sight
behind him. The man seemed to see
Rudolf, for he broke into a quick trot. Mr.
Rassendyll's position was critical; this fact
alone accounts for the dangerous step into
which he allowed himself to be forced.
Here he was, a man unable to give
account of himself, of remarkable
appearance, and carrying a revolver, of
which one barrel was discharged. And
there was Bauer, a wounded man, shot by
somebody with a revolver, a quarter of an
hour before. Even to be questioned was
dangerous; to be detained meant ruin to
the great business that engaged his
energies. For all he knew, the patrol had
actually sighted him as he ran. His fears
were not vain; for the constable raised his
voice, crying, "Hi, sir--you there--stop a
minute!"

Resistance was the one thing worse than
to yield. Wit, and not force, must find
escape this time. Rudolf stopped, looking
round again with a surprised air. Then he
drew himself up with an assumption of
dignity, and waited for the constable. If
that last card must be played, he would
win the hand with it.

"Well, what do you want?" he asked
coldly, when the man was a few yards
from him; and, as he spoke, he withdrew
the scarf almost entirely from his features,
keeping it only over his chin. "You call
very peremptorily," he continued, staring
contemptuously. "What's your business
with me?"

With a violent start, the sergeant--for such
the star on his collar and the lace on his
cuff proclaimed him--leant forward in the
saddle to look at the man whom he had
hailed. Rudolf said nothing and did not
move. The man's eyes studied his face
intently. Then he sat bolt upright and
saluted, his face dyed to a deep red in his
sudden confusion.

"And why do you salute me now?" asked
Rudolf in a mocking tone. "First you hunt
me, then you salute me. By Heaven, I
don't know why you put yourself out at all
about me!"

"I--I--" the fellow stuttered. Then trying a
fresh start, he stammered, "Your Majesty,
I didn't know--I didn't suppose--"

Rudolf stepped towards him with a quick,
decisive tread.

"And why do you call me 'Your
Majesty'?" he asked, still mockingly.

"It--it--isn't it your Majesty?"

Rudolf was close by him now, his hand
on the horse's neck.

He looked up into the sergeant's face with
steady eyes, saying:

"You make a mistake, my friend. I am not
the king."

"You are not--?" stuttered the bewildered
fellow.

"By no means. And, sergeant--?"

"Your Majesty?"

"Sir, you mean."

"Yes, sir."

"A zealous officer, sergeant, can make no
greater mistake than to take for the king a
gentleman who is not the king. It might
injure his prospects, since the king, not
being here, mightn't wish to have it
supposed that he was here. Do you follow
me, sergeant?"

The man said nothing, but stared hard.
After a moment Rudolf continued:

"In such a case," said he, "a discreet
officer would not trouble the gentleman
any more, and would be very careful not
to mention that he had made such a silly
mistake. Indeed, if questioned, he would
answer without hesitation that he hadn't
seen anybody even like the king, much
less the king himself."

A doubtful, puzzled little smile spread
under the sergeant's moustache.

"You see, the king is not even in
Strelsau," said Rudolf.

"Not in Strelsau, sir?"

"Why, no, he's at Zenda."

"Ah! At Zenda, sir?"

"Certainly. It is therefore impossible--
physically impossible--that he should be
here."

The fellow was convinced that he
understood now.

"It's certainly impossible, sir," said he,
smiling more broadly.

"Absolutely. And therefore impossible
also that you should have seen him." With
this Rudolf took a gold piece from his
pocket and handed it to the sergeant. The
fellow took it with something like a wink.

"As for you, you've searched here and
found nobody," concluded Mr.
Rassendyll. "So hadn't you better at once
search somewhere else?,

"Without doubt, sir," said the sergeant,
and with the most deferential salute, and
another confidential smile, he turned and
rode back by the way he had come. No
doubt he wished that he could meet a
gentleman who was--not the king--every
morning of his life. It hardly need be said
that all idea of connecting the gentleman
with the crime committed in the
Ko"nigstrasse had vanished from his
mind. Thus Rudolf won freedom from the
man's interference, but at a dangerous
cost--how dangerous he did not know. It
was indeed most impossible that the king
could be in Strelsau.

He lost no time now in turning his steps
towards his refuge. It was past five
o'clock, day came quickly, and the streets
began to be peopled by men and women
on their way to open stalls or to buy in the
market. Rudolf crossed the square at a
rapid walk, for he was afraid of the
soldiers who were gathering for early duty
opposite to the barracks. Fortunately he
passed by them unobserved, and gained
the comparative seclusion of the street in
which my house stands, without
encountering any further difficulties. In
truth, he was almost in safety; but bad
luck was now to have its turn. When Mr.
Rassendyll was no more than fifty yards
from my door, a carriage suddenly drove
up and stopped a few paces in front of
him. The footman sprang down and
opened the door. Two ladies got out; they
were dressed in evening costume, and
were returning from a ball. One was
middle-aged, the other young and rather
pretty. They stood for a moment on the
pavement, the younger saying:

"Isn't it pleasant, mother? I wish I could
always be up at five o'clock."

"My dear, you wouldn't like it for long,"
answered the elder. "It's very nice for a
change, but--"

She stopped abruptly. Her eye had fallen
on Rudolf Rassendyll. He knew her: she
was no less a person than the wife of
Helsing the chancellor; his was the house
at which the carriage had stopped. The
trick that had served with the sergeant of
police would not do now. She knew the
king too well to believe that she could be
mistaken about him; she was too much of
a busybody to be content to pretend that
she was mistaken.

"Good gracious!" she whispered loudly,
and, catching her daughter's arm, she
murmured, "Heavens, my dear, it's the
king!"

Rudolf was caught. Not only the ladies,
but their servants were looking at him.

Flight was impossible. He walked by
them. The ladies curtseyed, the servants
bowed bare-headed. Rudolf touched his
hat and bowed slightly in return. He
walked straight on towards my house;
they were watching him, and he knew it.
Most heartily did he curse the untimely
hours to which folks keep up their
dancing, but he thought that a visit to my
house would afford as plausible an excuse
for his presence as any other. So he went
on, surveyed by the wondering ladies, and
by the servants who, smothering smiles,
asked one another what brought his
Majesty abroad in such a plight (for
Rudolf's clothes were soaked and his
boots muddy), at such an hour--and that in
Strelsau, when all the world thought he
was at Zenda.

Rudolf reached my house. Knowing that
he was watched he had abandoned all
intention of giving the signal agreed on
between my wife and himself and of
making his way in through the window.
Such a sight would indeed have given the
excellent Baroness von Helsing matter for
gossip! It was better to let every servant in
my house see his open entrance. But, alas,
virtue itself sometimes leads to ruin. My
dearest Helga, sleepless and watchful in
the interest of her mistress, was even now
behind the shutter, listening with all her
ears and peering through the chinks. No
sooner did Rudolf's footsteps become
audible than she cautiously unfastened the
shutter, opened the window, put her pretty
head out, and called softly: "All's safe!
Come in!"

The mischief was done then, for the faces
of Helsing's wife and daughter, ay, and
the faces of Helsing's servants, were
intent on this most strange spectacle.
Rudolf, turning his head over his
shoulder, saw them; a moment later poor
Helga saw them also. Innocent and
untrained in controlling her feelings, she
gave a shrill little cry of dismay, and
hastily drew back. Rudolf looked round
again. The ladies had retreated to the
cover of the porch, but he still saw their
eager faces peering from between the
pillars that supported it.

"I may as well go in now," said Rudolf,
and in he sprang. There was a merry smile
on his face as he ran forward to meet
Helga, who leant against the table, pale
and agitated.

"They saw you?" she gasped.

"Undoubtedly," said he. Then his sense of
amusement conquered everything else,
and he sat down in a chair, laughing.

"I'd give my life," said he, "to hear the
story that the chancellor will be waked up
to hear in a minute or two from now!"

But a moment's thought made him grave
again. For whether he were the king or
Rudolf Rassendyll, he knew that my
wife's name was in equal peril. Knowing
this, he stood at nothing to serve her. He
turned to her and spoke quickly.

"You must rouse one of the servants at
once. Send him round to the chancellor's
and tell the chancellor to come here
directly. No, write a note. Say the king
has come by appointment to see Fritz on
some private business, but that Fritz has
not kept the appointment, and that the
king must now see the chancellor at once.
Say there's not a moment to lose."

She was looking at him with wondering
eyes.

"Don't you see," he said, "if I can impose
on Helsing, I may stop those women's
tongues? If nothing's done, how long do
you suppose it'll be before all Strelsau
knows that Fritz von Tarlenheim's wife let
the king in at the window at five o'clock
in the morning?"

"I don't understand," murmured poor
Helga in bewilderment.

"No, my dear lady, but for Heaven's sake
do what I ask of you. It's the only chance
now."

"I'll do it," she said, and sat down to write.

Thus it was that, hard on the marvelous
tidings which, as I conjecture, the
Baroness von Helsing poured into her
husband's drowsy ears, came an
imperative summons that the chancellor
should wait on the king at the house of
Fritz von Tarlenheim.

Truly we had tempted fate too far by
bringing Rudolf Rassendyll again to
Strelsau.

---

CHAPTER XII--

BEFORE THEM ALL!

GREAT as was the risk and immense as
were the difficulties created by the course
which Mr. Rassendyll adopted, I cannot
doubt that he acted for the best in the light
of the information which he possessed.
His plan was to disclose himself in the
character of the king to Helsing, to bind
him to secrecy, and make him impose the
same obligation on his wife, daughter, and
servants. The chancellor was to be quieted
with the excuse of urgent business, and
conciliated by a promise that he should
know its nature in the course of a few
hours; meanwhile an appeal to his loyalty
must suffice to insure obedience. If all
went well in the day that had now
dawned, by the evening of it the letter
would be destroyed, the queen's peril past,
and Rudolf once more far away from
Strelsau. Then enough of the truth--no
more--must be disclosed. Helsing would
be told the story of Rudolf Rassendyll and
persuaded to hold his tongue about the
harum-scarum Englishman (we are ready
to believe much of an Englishman) having
been audacious enough again to play the
king in Strelsau. The old chancellor was a
very good fellow, and I do not think that
Rudolf did wrong in relying upon him.
Where he miscalculated was, of course,
just where he was ignorant. The whole of
what the queen's friends, ay, and the
queen herself, did in Strelsau, became
useless and mischievous by reason of the
king's death; their action must have been
utterly different, had they been aware of
that catastrophe; but their wisdom must be
judged only according to their knowledge.

In the first place, the chancellor himself
showed much good sense. Even before he
obeyed the king's summons he sent for the
two servants and charged them, on pain of
instant dismissal and worse things to
follow, to say nothing of what they had
seen. His commands to his wife and
daughter were more polite, doubtless, but
no less peremptory. He may well have
supposed that the king's business was
private as well as important when it led
his Majesty to be roaming the streets of
Strelsau at a moment when he was
supposed to be at the Castle of Zenda, and
to enter a friend's house by the window at
such untimely hours. The mere facts were
eloquent of secrecy. Moreover, the king
had shaved his beard--the ladies were sure
of it--and this, again, though it might be
merely an accidental coincidence, was
also capable of signifying a very urgent
desire to be unknown. So the chancellor,
having given his orders, and being
himself aflame with the liveliest curiosity,
lost no time in obeying the king's
commands, and arrived at my house
before six o'clock.

When the visitor was announced Rudolf
was upstairs, having a bath and some
breakfast. Helga had learnt her lesson
well enough to entertain the visitor until
Rudolf appeared. She was full of
apologies for my absence, protesting that
she could in no way explain it; neither
could she so much as conjecture what was
the king's business with her husband. She
played the dutiful wife whose virtue was
obedience, whose greatest sin would be
an indiscreet prying into what it was not
her part to know.

"I know no more," she said, "than that
Fritz wrote to me to expect the king and
him at about five o'clock, and to be ready
to let them in by the window, as the king
did not wish the servants to be aware of
his presence."

The king came and greeted Helsing most
graciously. The tragedy and comedy of
these busy days were strangely mingled;
even now I can hardly help smiling when
I picture Rudolf, with grave lips, but that
distant twinkle in his eye (I swear he
enjoyed the sport), sitting down by the old
chancellor in the darkest corner of the
room, covering him with flattery, hinting
at most strange things, deploring a secret
obstacle to immediate confidence,
promising that to-morrow, at latest, he
would seek the advice of the wisest and
most tried of his counselors, appealing to
the chancellor's loyalty to trust him till
then. Helsing, blinking through his
spectacles, followed with devout attention
the long narrative that told nothing, and
the urgent exhortation that masked a trick.
His accents were almost broken with
emotion as he put himself absolutely at
the king's disposal, and declared that he
could answer for the discretion of his
family and household as completely as for
his own.

"Then you're a very lucky man, my dear
chancellor," said Rudolf, with a sigh
which seemed to hint that the king in his
palace was not so fortunate. Helsing was
immensely pleased. He was all agog to go
and tell his wife how entirely the king
trusted to her honor and silence.

There was nothing that Rudolf more
desired than to be relieved of the excellent
old fellow's presence; but, well aware of
the supreme importance of keeping him in
a good temper, he would not hear of his
departure for a few minutes.

"At any rate, the ladies won't talk till after
breakfast, and since they got home only at
five o'clock they won't breakfast yet
awhile," said he.

So he made Helsing sit down, and talked
to him. Rudolf had not failed to notice
that the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim had
been a little surprised at the sound of his
voice; in this conversation he studiously
kept his tones low, affecting a certain
weakness and huskiness such as he had
detected in the king's utterances, as he
listened behind the curtain in Sapt's room
at the castle. The part was played as
completely and triumphantly as in the old
days when he ran the gauntlet of every
eye in Strelsau. Yet if he had not taken
such pains to conciliate old Helsing, but
had let him depart, he might not have
found himself driven to a greater and even
more hazardous deception.

They were conversing together alone. My
wife had been prevailed on by Rudolf to
lie down in her room for an hour. Sorely
needing rest, she had obeyed him, having
first given strict orders that no member of
the household should enter the room
where the two were except on an express
summons. Fearing suspicion, she and
Rudolf had agreed that it was better to
rely on these injunctions than to lock the
door again as they had the night before.

But while these things passed at my
house, the queen and Bernenstein were on
their way to Strelsau. Perhaps, had Sapt
been at Zenda, his powerful influence
might have availed to check the impulsive
expedition; Bernenstein had no such
authority, and could only obey the queen's
peremptory orders and pathetic prayers.
Ever since Rudolf Rassendyll left her,
three years before, she had lived in stern
self-repression, never her true self, never
for a moment able to be or to do what
every hour her heart urged on her. How
are these things done? I doubt if a man
lives who could do them; but women live
who do them. Now his sudden coming,
and the train of stirring events that
accompanied it, his danger and hers, his
words and her enjoyment of his presence,
had all worked together to shatter her self-
control; and the strange dream,
heightening the emotion which was its
own cause, left her with no conscious
desire save to be near Mr. Rassendyll, and
scarcely with a fear except for his safety.
As they journeyed her talk was all of his
peril, never of the disaster which
threatened herself, and which we were all
striving with might and main to avert
from her head. She traveled alone with
Bernenstein, getting rid of the lady who
attended her by some careless pretext, and
she urged on him continually to bring her
as speedily as might be to Mr. Rassendyll.
I cannot find much blame for her. Rudolf
stood for all the joy in her life, and Rudolf
had gone to fight with the Count of
Hentzau. What wonder that she saw him,
as it were, dead? Yet still she would have
it that, in his seeming death, all men
hailed him for their king. Well, it was her
love that crowned him.

As they reached the city, she grew more
composed, being persuaded by
Bernenstein that nothing in her bearing
must rouse suspicion. Yet she was none
the less resolved to seek Mr. Rassendyll at
once. In truth, she feared even then to find
him dead, so strong was the hold of her
dream on her; until she knew that he was
alive she could not rest. Bernenstein,
fearful that the strain would kill her, or
rob her of reason, promised everything;
and declared, with a confidence which he
did not feel, that beyond doubt Mr.
Rassendyll was alive and well.

"But where--where?" she cried eagerly,
with clasped hands.

"We're most likely, madam, to find him at
Fritz von Tarlenheim's," answered the
lieutenant. "He would wait there till the
time came to attack Rupert, or, if the thing
is over, he will have returned there."

"Then let us drive there at once," she
urged.

Bernenstein, however, persuaded her to
go to the palace first and let it be known
there that she was going to pay a visit to
my wife. She arrived at the palace at eight
o'clock, took a cup of chocolate, and then
ordered her carriage. Bernenstein alone
accompanied her when she set out for my
house about nine. He was, by now, hardly
less agitated than the queen herself.

In her entire preoccupation with Mr.
Rassendyll, she gave little thought to what
might have happened at the hunting
lodge; but Bernenstein drew gloomy
auguries from the failure of Sapt and
myself to return at the proper time. Either
evil had befallen us, or the letter had
reached the king before we arrived at the
lodge; the probabilities seemed to him to
be confined to these alternatives. Yet
when he spoke in this strain to the queen,
he could get from her nothing except, "If
we can find Mr. Rassendyll, he will tell us
what to do."

Thus, then, a little after nine in the
morning the queen's carriage drove up to
my door. The ladies of the chancellor's
family had enjoyed a very short night's
rest, for their heads came bobbing out of
window the moment the wheels were
heard; many people were about now, and
the crown on the panels attracted the
usual small crowd of loiterers.
Bernenstein sprang out and gave his hand
to the queen. With a hasty slight bow to
the onlookers, she hastened up the two or
three steps of the porch, and with her own
hand rang the bell. Inside, the carriage
had just been observed. My wife's
waiting-maid ran hastily to her mistress;
Helga was lying on her bed; she rose at
once, and after a few moments of
necessary preparations (or such
preparations as seem to ladies necessary,
however great the need of haste may be)
hurried downstairs to receive her Majesty-
-and to warn her Majesty. She was too
late. The door was already open. The
butler and the footman both had run to it,
and thrown it open for the queen. As
Helga reached the foot of the stairs, her
Majesty was just entering the room where
Rudolf was, the servants attending her,
and Bernenstein standing behind, his
helmet in his hand.

Rudolf and the chancellor had been
continuing their conversation. To avoid
the observations of passers-by (for the
interior of the room is easy to see from
the street), the blind had been drawn
down, and the room was in deep shadow.
They had heard the wheels, but neither of
them dreamt that the visitor could be the
queen. It was an utter surprise to them
when, without their orders, the door was
suddenly flung open. The chancellor,
slow of movement, and not, if I may say
it, over-quick of brain, sat in his corner
for half a minute or more before he rose
to his feet. On the other hand, Rudolf
Rassendyll was the best part of the way
across the room in an instant. Helga was
at the door now, and she thrust her head
round young Bernenstein's broad
shoulders. Thus she saw what happened.
The queen, forgetting the servants, and
not observing Helsing--seeming indeed to
stay for nothing, and to think of nothing,
but to have her thoughts and heart filled
with the sight of the man she loved and
the knowledge of his safety--met him as
he ran towards her, and, before Helga, or
Bernenstein, or Rudolf himself, could stay
her or conceive what she was about to do,
caught both his hands in hers with an
intense grasp, crying:

"Rudolf, you're safe! Thank God, oh,
thank God!" and she carried his hands to
her lips and kissed them passionately.

A moment of absolute silence followed,
dictated in the servants by decorum, in the
chancellor by consideration, in Helga and
Bernenstein by utter consternation.
Rudolf himself also was silent, but
whether from bewilderment or an emotion
answering to hers, I know not. Either it
might well be. The stillness struck her.
She looked up in his eyes; she looked
round the room and saw Helsing, now
bowing profoundly from the corner; she
turned her head with a sudden frightened
jerk, and glanced at my motionless
deferential servants. Then it came upon
her what she had done. She gave a quick
gasp for breath, and her face, always pale,
went white as marble. Her features set in
a strange stiffness, and suddenly she
reeled where she stood, and fell forward.
Only Rudolf's hand bore her up. Thus for
a moment, too short to reckon, they stood.
Then he, a smile of great love and pity
coming on his lips, drew her to him, and
passing his arm about her waist, thus
supported her. Then, smiling still, he
looked down on her, and said in a low
tone, yet distinct enough for all to hear:

"All is well, dearest."

My wife gripped Bernenstein's arm, and
he turned to find her pale-faced too, with
quivering lips and shining eyes. But the
eyes had a message, and an urgent one,
for him. He read it; he knew that it bade
him second what Rudolf Rassendyll had
done. He came forward and approached
Rudolf; then he fell on one knee, and
kissed Rudolf's left hand that was
extended to him.

"I'm very glad to see you, Lieutenant von
Bernenstein," said Rudolf Rassendyll.

For a moment the thing was done, ruin
averted, and safety secured. Everything
had been at stake; that there was such a
man as Rudolf Rassendyll might have
been disclosed; that he had once filled the
king's throne was a high secret which they
were prepared to trust to Helsing under
stress of necessity; but there remained
something which must be hidden at all
costs, and which the queen's passionate
exclamation had threatened to expose.
There was a Rudolf Rassendyll, and he
had been king; but, more than all this, the
queen loved him and he the queen. That
could be told to none, not even to
Helsing; for Helsing, though he would not
gossip to the town, would yet hold
himself bound to carry the matter to the
king. So Rudolf chose to take any future
difficulties rather than that present and
certain disaster. Sooner than entail it on
her he loved, he claimed for himself the
place of her husband and the name of
king. And she, clutching at the only
chance that her act left, was content to
have it so. It may be that for an instant her
weary, tortured brain found sweet rest in
the dim dream that so it was, for she let
her head lie there on his breast and her
eyes closed, her face looking very
peaceful, and a soft little sigh escaping in
pleasure from her lips.

But every moment bore its peril and
exacted its effort. Rudolf led the queen to
a couch, and then briefly charged the
servants not to speak of his presence for a
few hours. As they had no doubt
perceived, said he, from the queen's
agitation, important business was on foot;
it demanded his presence in Strelsau, but
required also that his presence should not
be known. A short time would free them
from the obligation which he now asked
of their loyalty. When they had
withdrawn, bowing obedience, he turned
to Helsing, pressed his hand warmly,
reiterated his request for silence, and said
that he would summon the chancellor to
his presence again later in the day, either
where he was or at the palace. Then he
bade all withdraw and leave him alone for
a little with the queen. He was obeyed;
but Helsing had hardly left the house
when Rudolf called Bernenstein back, and
with him my wife. Helga hastened to the
queen, who was still sorely agitated;
Rudolf drew Bernenstein aside, and
exchanged with him all their news. Mr.
Rassendyll was much disturbed at finding
that no tidings had come from Colonel
Sapt and myself, but his apprehension
was greatly increased on learning the
untoward accident by which the king
himself had been at the lodge the night
before. Indeed, he was utterly in the dark;
where the king was, where Rupert, where
we were, he did not know. And he was
here in Strelsau, known as the king to half
a dozen people or more, protected only by
their promises, liable at any moment to be
exposed by the coming of the king
himself, or even by a message from him.

Yet, in face of all perplexities, perhaps
even the more because of the darkness in
which he was enveloped, Rudolf held
firm to his purpose. There were two
things that seemed plain. If Rupert had
escaped the trap and was still alive with
the letter on him, Rupert must be found;
here was the first task. That
accomplished, there remained for Rudolf
himself nothing save to disappear as
quietly and secretly as he had come,
trusting that his presence could be
concealed from the man whose name he
had usurped. Nay, if need were, the king
must be told that Rudolf Rassendyll had
played a trick on the chancellor, and,
having enjoyed his pleasure, was gone
again. Everything could, in the last resort,
be told, save that which touched the
queen's honor.

At this moment the message which I
despatched from the station at Hofbau
reached my house. There was a knock at
the door. Bernenstein opened it and took
the telegram, which was addressed to my
wife. I had written all that I dared to trust
to such a means of communication, and
here it is:

"I am coming to Strelsau. The king will
not leave the lodge to-day. The count
came, but left before we arrived. I do not
know whether he has gone to Strelsau. He
gave no news to the king."

"Then they didn't get him!" cried
Bernenstein in deep disappointment.

"No, but he gave no news to the king,"
said Rudolf triumphantly.

They were all standing now round the
queen, who sat on the couch. She seemed
very faint and weary, but at peace. It was
enough for her that Rudolf fought and
planned for her.

"And see this," Rudolf went on. "'The
king will not leave the lodge to-day.'
Thank God, then, we have to-day!"

"Yes, but where's Rupert?"

"We shall know in an hour, if he's in
Strelsau," and Mr. Rassendyll looked as
though it would please him well to find
Rupert in Strelsau. "Yes, I must seek him.
I shall stand at nothing to find him. If I
can only get to him as the king, then I'll
be the king. We have to-day!"

My message put them in heart again,
although it left so much still unexplained.
Rudolf turned to the queen.

"Courage, my queen," said he. "A few
hours now will see an end of all our
dangers."

"And then?" she asked.

"Then you'll be safe and at rest," said he,
bending over her and speaking softly.
"And I shall be proud in the knowledge of
having saved you."

"And you?"

"I must go," Helga heard him whisper as
he bent lower still, and she and
Bernenstein moved away.

---

CHAPTER XIII--

A KING UP HIS SLEEVE

The tall handsome girl was taking down
the shutters from the shop front at No. 19
in the Ko"nigstrasse. She went about her
work languidly enough, but there was a
tinge of dusky red on her cheeks and her
eyes were brightened by some suppressed
excitement. Old Mother Holf, leaning
against the counter, was grumbling
angrily because Bauer did not come. Now
it was not likely that Bauer would come
just yet, for he was still in the infirmary
attached to the police-cells, where a
couple of doctors were very busy setting
him on his legs again. The old woman
knew nothing of this, but only that he had
gone the night before to reconnoitre;
where he was to play the spy she did not
know, on whom perhaps she guessed.

"You're sure he never came back?" she
asked her daughter.

"He never came back that I saw,"
answered the girl. "And I was on the
watch with my lamp here in the shop till it
grew light."

"He's twelve hours gone now, and never a
message! Ay, and Count Rupert should be
here soon, and he'll be in a fine taking if
Bauer's not back."

The girl made no answer; she had finished
her task and stood in the doorway,
looking out on the street. It was past eight,
and many people were about, still for the
most part humble folk; the more
comfortably placed would not be moving
for an hour or two yet. In the road the
traffic consisted chiefly of country carts
and wagons, bringing in produce for the
day's victualling of the great city. The girl
watched the stream, but her thoughts were
occupied with the stately gentleman who
had come to her by night and asked a
service of her. She had heard the revolver
shot outside; as it sounded she had blown
out her lamp, and there behind the door in
the dark had heard the swiftly retreating
feet of the fugitives and, a little later, the
arrival of the patrol. Well, the patrol
would not dare to touch the king; as for
Bauer, let him be alive or dead: what
cared she, who was the king's servant,
able to help the king against his enemies?
If Bauer were the king's enemy, right glad
would she be to hear that the rogue was
dead. How finely the king had caught him
by the neck and thrown him out! She
laughed to think how little her mother
knew the company she had kept that
night.

The row of country carts moved slowly
by. One or two stopped before the shop,
and the carters offered vegetables for sale.
The old woman would have nothing to
say to them, but waved them on irritably.
Three had thus stopped and again
proceeded, and an impatient grumble
broke from the old lady as a fourth, a
covered wagon, drew up before the door.

"We don't want anything: go on, go on
with you!" she cried shrilly.

The carter got down from his seat without
heeding her, and walked round to the
back.

"Here you are, sir," he cried. "Nineteen,
Ko"nigstrasse."

A yawn was heard, and the long sigh a
man gives as he stretches himself in the
mingled luxury and pain of an awakening
after sound refreshing sleep.

"All right; I'll get down," came in answer
from inside.

"Ah, it's the count!" said the old lady to
her daughter in satisfied tones. "What will
he say, though, about that rogue Bauer?"

Rupert of Hentzau put his head out from
under the wagon-tilt, looked up and down
the street, gave the carter a couple of
crowns, leapt down, and ran lightly across
the pavement into the little shop. The
wagon moved on.

"A lucky thing I met him," said Rupert
cheerily. "The wagon hid me very well;
and handsome as my face is, I can't let
Strelsau enjoy too much of it just now.
Well, mother, what cheer? And you, my
pretty, how goes it with you?" He
carelessly brushed the girl's cheek with
the glove that he had drawn off. "Faith,
though, I beg your pardon." he added a
moment later, "the glove's not clean
enough for that," and he looked at his buff
glove, which was stained with patches of
dull rusty 'brown.

"It's all as when you left, Count Rupert,"
said Mother Holf, "except that that rascal
Bauer went out last night--"

"That's right enough. But hasn't he
returned?"

"No, not yet."

"Hum. No signs of--anybody else?" His
look defined the vague question.

The old woman shook her head. The girl
turned away to hide a smile. "Anybody
else" meant the king, so she suspected.
Well, they should hear nothing from her.
The king himself had charged her to be
silent.

"But Rischenheim has come, I suppose?"
pursued Rupert.

"Oh, yes; he came, my lord, soon after
you went. He wears his arm in a sling."

"Ah!" cried Rupert in sudden excitement.
"As I guessed! The devil! If only I could
do everything myself, and not have to
trust to fools and bunglers! Where's the
count?"

"Why, in the attic. You know the way."

"True. But I want some breakfast,
mother."

"Rosa shall serve you at once, my lord."

The girl followed Rupert up the narrow
crazy staircase of the tall old house. They
passed three floors, all uninhabited; a last
steep flight that brought them right under
the deep arched roof. Rupert opened a
door that stood at the top of the stairs,
and, followed still by Rosa with her
mysterious happy smile, entered a long
narrow room. The ceiling, high in the
centre, sloped rapidly down on either side,
so that at door and window it was little
more than six feet above the floor. There
was an oak table and a few chairs; a
couple of iron bedsteads stood by the wall
near the window. One was empty; the
Count of Luzau-Rischenheim lay on the
other, fully dressed, his right arm
supported in a sling of black silk. Rupert
paused on the threshold, smiling at his
cousin; the girl passed on to a high press
or cupboard, and, opening it, took out
plates, glasses, and the other furniture of
the table. Rischenheim sprang up and ran
across the room.

"What news?" he cried eagerly. "You
escaped them, Rupert?"

"It appears so," said Rupert airily; and,
advancing into the room, he threw himself
into a chair, tossing his hat on to the table.

"It appears that I escaped, although some
fool's stupidity nearly made an end of
me." Rischenheim flushed.

"I'll tell you about that directly," he said,
glancing at the girl who had put some
cold meat and a bottle of wine on the
table, and was now completing the
preparations for Rupert's meal in a very
leisurely fashion.

"Had I nothing to do but to look at pretty
faces--which, by Heaven, I wish heartily
were the case--I would beg you to stay,"
said Rupert, rising and making her a
profound bow.

"I've no wish to hear what doesn't concern
me," she retorted scornfully.

"What a rare and blessed disposition!"
said he, holding the door for her and
bowing again.

"I know what I know," she cried to him
triumphantly from the landing. "Maybe
you'd give something to know it too,
Count Rupert!"

"It's very likely, for, by Heaven, girls
know wonderful things!" smiled Rupert;
but he shut the door and came quickly
back to the table, now frowning again.
"Come, tell me, how did they make a fool
of you, or why did you make a fool of me,
cousin?"

While Rischenheim related how he had
been trapped and tricked at the Castle of
Zenda, Rupert of Hentzau made a very
good breakfast. He offered no interruption
and no comments, but when Rudolf
Rassendyll came into the story he looked
up for an instant with a quick jerk of his
head and a sudden light in his eyes. The
end of Rischenheim's narrative found him
tolerant and smiling again.

"Ah, well, the snare was cleverly set," he
said. "I don't wonder you fell into it."

"And now you? What happened to you?"
asked Rischenheim eagerly.

"I? Why, having your message which was
not your message, I obeyed your
directions which were not your
directions."

"You went to the lodge "

"Certainly."

"And you found Sapt there?--Anybody
else?"

"Why, not Sapt at all."

"Not Sapt? But surely they laid a trap for
you?"

"Very possibly, but the jaws didn't bite."
Rupert crossed his legs and lit a cigarette.

"But what did you find?"

"I? I found the king's forester, and the
king's boar-hound, and--well, I found the
king himself, too."

"The king at the lodge?"

"You weren't so wrong as you thought,
were you?"

"But surely Sapt, or Bernenstein, or some
one was with him?"

"As I tell you, his forester and his boar-
hound. No other man or beast, on my
honor."

"Then you gave him the letter?" cried
Rischenheim, trembling with excitement.

"Alas, no, my dear cousin. I threw the box
at him, but I don't think he had time to
open it. We didn't get to that stage of the
conversation at which I had intended to
produce the letter."

"But why not--why not?"

Rupert rose to his feet, and, coming just
opposite to where Rischenheim sat,
balanced himself on his heels, and looked
down at his cousin, blowing the ash from
his cigarette and smiling pleasantly.

"Have you noticed," he asked, "that my
coat's torn?"

"I see it is."

"Yes. The boar-hound tried to bite me,
cousin. And the forester would have
stabbed me. And--well, the king wanted
to shoot me."

"Yes, yes! For God's sake, what
happened?"

"Well, they none of them did what they
wanted. That's what happened, dear
cousin."

Rischenheim was staring at him now with
wide-opened eyes. Rupert smiled down
on him composedly.

"Because, you see," he added, "Heaven
helped me. So that, my dear cousin, the
dog will bite no more, and the forester
will stab no more. Surely the country is
well rid of them?"

A silence followed. Then Rischenheim,
leaning forward, said in a low whisper, as
though afraid to hear his own question:

"And the king?"

"The king? Well, the king will shoot no
more."

For a moment Rischenheim, still leaning
forward, gazed at his cousin. Then he
sank slowly back into his chair.

"My God!" he murmured: "my God!"

"The king was a fool," said Rupert.
"Come, I'll tell you a little more about it."
He drew a chair up and seated himself in
it.

While he talked Rischenheim seemed
hardly to listen. The story gained in effect
from the contrast of Rupert's airy telling;
his companion's pale face and twitching
hands tickled his fancy to more shameless
jesting. But when he had finished, he gave
a pull to his small smartly-curled
moustache and said with a sudden gravity:

"After all, though, it's a serious matter."

Rischenheim was appalled at the issue.
His cousin's influence had been strong
enough to lead him into the affair of the
letter; he was aghast to think how Rupert's
reckless dare-deviltry had led on from
stage to stage till the death of a king
seemed but an incident in his schemes. He
sprang suddenly to his feet, crying:

"But we must fly--we must fly!"

"No, we needn't fly. Perhaps we'd better
go, but we needn't fly."

"But when it becomes known?" He broke
off and then cried:

"Why did you tell me? Why did you come
back here?"

"Well, I told you because it was
interesting, and I came back here because
I had no money to go elsewhere."

"I would have sent money."

"I find that I get more when I ask in
person. Besides, is everything finished?"

"I'll have no more to do with it."

"Ah, my dear cousin, you despond too
soon. The good king has unhappily gone
from us, but we still have our dear queen.
We have also, by the kindness of Heaven,
our dear queen's letter."

"I'll have no more to do with it."

"Your neck feeling--?" Rupert delicately
imitated the putting of a noose about a
man's throat.

Rischenheim rose suddenly and flung the
window open wide.

"I'm suffocated," he muttered with a
sullen frown, avoiding Rupert's eyes.

"Where's Rudolf Rassendyll?" asked
Rupert. "Have you heard of him?"

"No, I don't know where he is."

"We must find that out, I think."

Rischenheim turned abruptly on him.

"I had no hand in this thing," he said, "and
I'll have no more to do with it. I was not
there. What did I know of the king being
there? I'm not guilty of it: on my soul, I
know nothing of it."

"That's all very true," nodded Rupert.

"Rupert," cried he, "let me go, let me
alone. If you want money, I'll give it to
you. For God's sake take it, and get out of
Strelsau!"

"I'm ashamed to beg, my dear cousin, but
in fact I want a little money until I can
contrive to realize my valuable property.
Is it safe, I wonder? Ah, yes, here it is."

He drew from his inner pocket the queen's
letter. "Now if the king hadn't been a
fool!" he murmured regretfully, as he
regarded it.

Then he walked across to the window and
looked out; he could not himself be seen
from the street, and nobody was visible at
the windows opposite. Men and women
passed to and fro on their daily labors or
pleasures; there was no unusual stir in the
city. Looking over the roofs, Rupert could
see the royal standard floating in the wind
over the palace and the barracks. He took
out his watch; Rischenheim imitated his
action; it was ten minutes to ten.

"Rischenheim," he called, "come here a
moment. Here--look out."

Rischenheim obeyed, and Rupert let him
look for a minute or two before speaking
again.

"Do you see anything remarkable?" he
asked then.

"No, nothing," answered Rischenheim,
still curt and sullen in his fright.

"Well, no more do I. And that's very odd.
For don't you think that Sapt or some
other of her Majesty's friends must have
gone to the lodge last night?"

"They meant to, I swear," said
Rischenheim with sudden attention.

"Then they would have found the king.
There's a telegraph wire at Hofbau, only a
few miles away. And it's ten o'clock. My
cousin, why isn't Strelsau mourning for
our lamented king? Why aren't the flags at
half-mast? I don't understand it."

"No," murmured Rischenheim, his eyes
now fixed on his cousin's face.

Rupert broke into a smile and tapped his
teeth with his fingers.

"I wonder," said he meditatively, "if that
old player Sapt has got a king up his
sleeve again! If that were so " He stopped
and seemed to fall into deep thought.
Rischenheim did not interrupt him, but
stood looking now at him, now out of the
window. Still there was no stir in the
streets, and still the standards floated at
the summit of the flag staffs. The king's
death was not yet known in Strelsau.

"Where's Bauer?" asked Rupert suddenly.
"Where the plague can Bauer be? He was
my eyes. Here we are, cooped up, and I
don't know what's going on."

"I don't know where he is. Something
must have happened to him."

"Of course, my wise cousin. But what?"

Rupert began to pace up and down the
room, smoking another cigarette at a great
pace. Rischenheim sat down by the table,
resting his head on his hand. He was
wearied out by strain and excitement, his
wounded arm pained him greatly, and he
was full of horror and remorse at the
event which happened unknown to him
the night before.

"I wish I was quit of it," he moaned at
last. Rupert stopped before him.

"You repent of your misdeeds?" he asked.
"Well, then, you shall be allowed to
repent. Nay, you shall go and tell the king
that you repent. Rischenheim, I must
know what they are doing. You must go
and ask an audience of the king."

"But the king is--"

"We shall know that better when you've
asked for your audience. See here."

Rupert sat down by his cousin and
instructed him in his task. This was no
other than to discover whether there were
a king in Strelsau, or whether the only
king lay dead in the hunting lodge. If
there were no attempt being made to
conceal the king's death, Rupert's plan
was to seek safety in flight. He did not
abandon his designs: from the secure
vantage of foreign soil he would hold the
queen's letter over her head, and by the
threat of publishing it insure at once
immunity for himself and almost any
further terms which he chose to exact
from her. If, on the other hand, the Count
of Luzau-Rischenheim found a king in
Strelsau, if the royal standards continued
to wave at the summit of their flag staffs,
and Strelsau knew nothing of the dead
man in the lodge, then Rupert had laid his
hand on another secret; for he knew who
the king in Strelsau must be. Starting from
this point, his audacious mind darted
forward to new and bolder schemes. He
could offer again to Rudolf Rassendyll
what he had offered once before, three
years ago--a partnership in crime and the
profits of crime--or if this advance were
refused, then he declared that he would
himself descend openly into the streets of
Strelsau and proclaim the death of the
king from the steps of the cathedral.

"Who can tell," he cried, springing up,
enraptured and merry with the inspiration
of his plan, "who can tell whether Sapt or
I came first to the lodge? Who found the
king alive, Sapt or I? Who left him dead,
Sapt or I? Who had most interest in
killing him--I, who only sought to make
him aware of what touched his honor, or
Sapt, who was and is hand and glove with
the man that now robs him of his name
and usurps his place while his body is still
warm? Ah, they haven't done with Rupert
of Hentzau yet!"

He stopped, looking down on his
companion. Rischenheim's fingers still
twitched nervously and his cheeks were
pale. But now his face was alight with
interest and eagerness. Again the
fascination of Rupert's audacity and the
infection of his courage caught on his
kinsman's weaker nature, and inspired
him to a temporary emulation of the will
that dominated him.

"You see," pursued Rupert, "it's not likely
that they'll do you any harm."

"I'll risk anything."

"Most gallant gentleman! At the worst
they'll only keep you a prisoner. Well, if
you're not back in a couple of hours, I
shall draw my conclusions. I shall know
that there's a king in Strelsau."

"But where shall I look for the king?"

"Why, first in the palace, and secondly at
Fritz von Tarlenheim's. I expect you'll
find him at Fritz's, though."

"Shall I go there first, then?"

"No. That would be seeming to know too
much."

"You'll wait here?"

"Certainly, cousin--unless I see cause to
move, you know."

"And I shall find you on my return?"

"Me, or directions from me. By the way,
bring money too. There's never any harm
in having a full pocket. I wonder what the
devil does without a breeches-pocket?

Rischenheim let that curious speculation
alone, although he remembered the
whimsical air with which Rupert
delivered it. He was now on fire to be
gone, his ill-balanced brain leaping from
the depths of despondency to the certainty
of brilliant success, and not heeding the
gulf of danger that it surpassed in buoyant
fancy.

"We shall have them in a corner, Rupert,"
he cried.

"Ay, perhaps. But wild beasts in a corner
bite hard."

"I wish my arm were well!"

"You'll be safer with it wounded," said
Rupert with a smile.

"By God, Rupert, I can defend myself."

"True, true; but it's your brain I want now,
cousin."

"You shall see that I have something in
me."

"If it please God, dear cousin."

With every mocking encouragement and
every careless taunt Rischenheim's
resolve to prove himself a man grew
stronger. He snatched up a revolver that
lay on the mantelpiece and put it in his
pocket.

"Don't fire, if you can help it," advised
Rupert. Rischenheim's answer was to
make for the door at a great speed. Rupert
watched him go, and then returned to the
window. The last his cousin saw was his
figure standing straight and lithe against
the light, while he looked out on the city.
Still there was no stir in the streets, still
the royal standard floated at the top of the
flag staffs.

Rischenheim plunged down the stairs: his
feet were too slow for his eagerness. At
the bottom he found the girl Rosa
sweeping the passage with great apparent
diligence.

"You're going out, my lord?" she asked.

"Why, yes; I have business. Pray stand on
one side, this passage is so cursedly
narrow."

Rosa showed no haste in moving.

"And the Count Rupert, is he going out
also?" she asked.

"You see he's not with me. He'll wait."
Rischenheim broke off and asked angrily:
"What business is it of yours, girl? Get
out of the way!"

She moved aside now, making him no
answer. He rushed past; she looked after
him with a smile of triumph. Then she fell
again to her sweeping. The king had
bidden her be ready at eleven. It was half-
past ten. Soon the king would have need
of her.

---

CHAPTER XIV--

THE NEWS COMES TO STRELSAU

ON leaving No. 19, Rischenheim walked
swiftly some little way up the
Ko"nigstrasse and then hailed a cab. He
had hardly raised his hand when he heard
his name called, and, looking round, saw
Anton von Strofzin's smart phaeton
pulling up beside him. Anton was driving,
and on the other seat was a large nosegay
of choice flowers.

"Where are you off to?" cried Anton,
leaning forward with a gay smile.

"Well, where are you? To a lady's, I
presume, from your bouquet there,"
answered Rischenheim as lightly as he
could.

"The little bunch of flowers," simpered
young Anton, "is a cousinly offering to
Helga von Tarlenheim, and I'm going to
present it. Can I give you a lift
anywhere?"'

Although Rischenheim had intended to go
first to the palace, Anton's offer seemed to
give him a good excuse for drawing the
more likely covert first.

"I was going to the palace to find out
where the king is. I want to see him, if
he'll give me a minute or two," he
remarked.

"I'll drive you there afterwards. Jump up.
That your cab? Here you are, cabman,"
and flinging the cabman a crown, he
displaced the bouquet and made room for
Rischenheim beside him.

Anton's horses, of which he was not a
little proud, made short work of the
distance to my home. The phaeton rattled
up to the door and both young men got
out. The moment of their arrival found the
chancellor just leaving to return to his
own home. Helsing knew them both, and
stopped to rally Anton on the matter of his
bouquet. Anton was famous for his
bouquets, which he distributed widely
among the ladies of Strelsau.

"I hoped it was for my daughter," said the
chancellor slyly. "For I love flowers, and
my wife has ceased to provide me with
them; moreover, I've ceased to provide
her with them, so, but for my daughter,
we should have none."

Anton answered his chaff, promising a
bouquet for the young lady the next day,
but declaring that he could not disappoint
his cousin. He was interrupted by
Rischenheim, who, looking round on the
group of bystanders, now grown
numerous, exclaimed: "What's going on
here, my dear chancellor? What are all
these people hanging about here for? Ah,
that's a royal carriage!"

"The queen's with the countess,"
answered Helsing. "The people are
waiting to see her come out."

"She's always worth seeing," Anton
pronounced, sticking his glass in his eye.

"And you've been to visit her?" pursued
Rischenheim.

"Why, yes. I--I went to pay my respects,
my dear Rischenheim."

"An early visit!"

"It was more or less on business."

"Ah, I have business also, and very
important business. But it's with the
king."

"I won't keep you a moment,
Rischenheim," called Anton, as, bouquet
in hand, he knocked at the door.

"With the king?" said Helsing. "Ah, yes,
but the king--"

"I'm on my way to the palace to find out
where he is. If I can't see him, I must
write at once. My business is very
urgent."

"Indeed, my dear count, indeed! Dear me!
Urgent, you say?"

"But perhaps you can help me. Is he at
Zenda?"

The chancellor was becoming very
embarrassed; Anton had disappeared into
the house; Rischenheim buttonholed him
resolutely.

"At Zenda? Well, now, I don't--Excuse
me, but what's your business?"

"Excuse me, my dear chancellor; it's a
secret."

"I have the king's confidence."

"Then you'll be indifferent to not enjoying
mine," smiled Rischenheim.

"I perceive that your arm is hurt,"
observed the chancellor, seeking a
diversion.

"Between ourselves, that has something to
do with my business. Well, I must go to
the palace. Or--stay--would her Majesty
condescend to help me? I think I'll risk a
request. She can but refuse," and so
saying Rischenheim approached the door.

"Oh, my friend, I wouldn't do that," cried
Helsing, darting after him. "The queen is-
-well, very much engaged. She won't like
to be troubled."

Rischenheim took no notice of him, but
knocked loudly. The door was opened,
and he told the butler to carry his name to
the queen and beg a moment's speech
with her. Helsing stood in perplexity on
the step. The crowd was delighted with
the coming of these great folk and showed
no sign of dispersing. Anton von Strofzin
did not reappear. Rischenheim edged
himself inside the doorway and stood on
the threshold of the hall. There he heard
voices proceeding from the sitting-room
on the left. He recognized the queen's, my
wife's, and Anton's. Then came the
butler's, saying, "I will inform the count
of your Majesty's wishes."

The door of the room opened; the butler
appeared, and immediately behind him
Anton von Strofzin and Bernenstein.
Bernenstein had the young fellow by the
arm, and hurried him through the hall.
They passed the butler, who made way for
them, and came to where Rischenheim
stood.

"We meet again," said Rischenheim with
a bow.

The chancellor rubbed his hands in
nervous perturbation. The butler stepped
up and delivered his message: the queen
regretted her inability to receive the
count. Rischenheim nodded, and, standing
so that the door could not be shut, asked
Bernenstein whether he knew where the
king was.

Now Bernenstein was most anxious to get
the pair of them away and the door shut,
but he dared show no eagerness.

"Do you want another interview with the
king already?" he asked with a smile.
"The last was so pleasant, then?"

Rischenheim took no notice of the taunt,
but observed sarcastically: "There's a
strange difficulty in finding our good
king. The chancellor here doesn't know
where he is, or at least he won't answer
my questions."

"Possibly the king has his reasons for not
wishing to be disturbed," suggested
Bernenstein.

"It's very possible," retorted Rischenheim
significantly.

"Meanwhile, my dear count, I shall take it
as a personal favor if you'll move out of
the doorway."

"Do I incommode you by standing here?"
answered the count.

"Infinitely, my lord," answered
Bernenstein stiffly.

"Hallo, Bernenstein, what's the matter?"
cried Anton, seeing that their tones and
glances had grown angry. The crowd also
had noticed the raised voices and hostile
manner of the disputants, and began to
gather round in a more compact group.

Suddenly a voice came from inside the
hall: it was distinct and loud, yet not
without a touch of huskiness. The sound
of it hushed the rising quarrel and
silenced the crowd into expectant
stillness. Bernenstein looked aghast,
Rischenheim nervous yet triumphant,
Anton amused and gratified.

"The king!" he cried, and burst into a
laugh. "You've drawn him, Rischenheim!"

The crowd heard his boyish exclamation
and raised a cheer. Helsing turned, as
though to rebuke them. Had not the king
himself desired secrecy? Yes, but he who
spoke as the king chose any risk sooner
than let Rischenheim go back and warn
Rupert of his presence.

"Is that the Count of Luzau-
Rischenheim?" called Rudolf from within.
"If so, let him enter and then shut the
door."

There was something in his tone that
alarmed Rischenheim. He started back on
the step. But Bernenstein caught him by
the arm.

"Since you wish to come in, come in," he
said with a grim smile.

Rischenheim looked round, as though he
meditated flight. The next moment
Bernenstein was thrust aside. For one
short instant a tall figure appeared in the
doorway; the crowd had but a glimpse,
yet they cheered again. Rischenheim's
hand was clasped in a firm grip; he passed
unwillingly but helplessly through the
door. Bernenstein followed; the door was
shut. Anton faced round on Helsing, a
scornful twist on his lips.

"There was a deuced lot of mystery about
nothing," said he. "Why couldn't you say
he was there?" And without waiting for an
answer from the outraged and bewildered
chancellor he swung down the steps and
climbed into his phaeton.

The people round were chatting noisily,
delighted to have caught a glimpse of the
king, speculating what brought him and
the queen to my house, and hoping that
they would soon come out and get into the
royal carriage that still stood waiting.

Had they been able to see inside the door,
their emotion would have been stirred to a
keener pitch. Rudolf himself caught
Rischenheim by the arm, and without a
moment's delay led him towards the back
of the house. They went along a passage
and reached a small room that looked out
on the garden. Rudolf had known my
house in old days, and did not forget its
resources.

"Shut the door, Bernenstein," said Rudolf.
Then he turned to Rischenheim. "My
lord," he said, "I suppose you came to
find out something. Do you know it
now?"

Rischenheim plucked up courage to
answer him.

"Yes, I know now that I have to deal with
an impostor," said he defiantly.

"Precisely. And impostors can't afford to
be exposed." Rischenheim's cheek turned
rather pale. Rudolf faced him, and
Bernenstein guarded the door. He was
absolutely at their mercy; and he knew
their secret. Did they know his--the news
that Rupert of Hentzau had brought?

"Listen," said Rudolf. "For a few hours
to-day I am king in Strelsau. In those few
hours I have an account to settle with your
cousin: something that he has, I must
have. I'm going now to seek him, and
while I seek him you will stay here with
Bernenstein. Perhaps I shall fail, perhaps I
shall succeed. Whether I succeed or fail,
by to-night I shall be far from Strelsau,
and the king's place will be free for him
again."

Rischenheim gave a slight start, and a
look of triumph spread over his face.
They did not know that the king was
dead.

Rudolf came nearer to him, fixing his
eyes steadily on his prisoner's face.

"I don't know," he continued, "why you
are in this business, my lord. Your
cousin's motives I know well. But I
wonder that they seemed to you great
enough to justify the ruin of an unhappy
lady who is your queen. Be assured that I
will die sooner than let that letter reach
the king's hand."

Rischenheim made him no answer.

"Are you armed?" asked Rudolf.

Rischenheim sullenly flung his revolver
on the table. Bernenstein came forward
and took it.

"Keep him here, Bernenstein. When I
return I'll tell you what more to do. If I
don't return, Fritz will be here soon, and
you and he must make your own plans."

"He sha'n't give me the slip a second
time," said Bernenstein.

"We hold ourselves free," said Rudolf to
Rischenheim, "to do what we please with
you, my lord. But I have no wish to cause
your death, unless it be necessary. You
will be wise to wait till your cousin's fate
is decided before you attempt any further
steps against us." And with a slight bow
he left the prisoner in Bernenstein's
charge, and went back to the room where
the queen awaited him. Helga was with
her. The queen sprang up to meet him.

"I mustn't lose a moment," he said. "All
that crowd of people know now that the
king is here. The news will filter through
the town in no time. We must send word
to Sapt to keep it from the king's ears at
all costs: I must go and do my work, and
then disappear."

The queen stood facing him. Her eyes
seemed to devour his face; but she said
only: "Yes, it must be so."

"You must return to the palace as soon as
I am gone. I shall send out and ask the
people to disperse, and then I must be
off."

"To seek Rupert of Hentzau?"

"Yes."

She struggled for a moment with the
contending feelings that filled her heart.
Then she came to him and seized hold of
his hand.

"Don't go," she said in low trembling
tones. "Don't go, Rudolf. He'll kill you.
Never mind the letter. Don't go: I had
rather a thousand times that the king had
it than that you should .... Oh, my dear,
don't go!"

"I must go," he said softly.

Again she began to implore him, but he
would not yield. Helga moved towards
the door, but Rudolf stopped her.

"No," he said; "you must stay with her;
you must go to the palace with her."

Even as he spoke they heard the wheels of
a carriage driven quickly to the door. By
now I had met Anton von Strofzin and
heard from him that the king was at my
house. As I dashed up the news was
confirmed by the comments and jokes of
the crowd.

"Ah, he's in a hurry," they said. "He's kept
the king waiting. He'll get a wigging."

As may be supposed, I paid little heed to
them. I sprang out and ran up the steps to
the door. I saw my wife's face at the
window: she herself ran to the door and
opened it for me.

"Good God," I whispered, "do all these
people know he's here, and take him for
the king?"

"Yes," she said. "We couldn't help it. He
showed himself at the door."

It was worse than I dreamt: not two or
three people, but all that crowd were
victims of the mistake; all of them had
heard that the king was in Strelsau--ay,
and had seen him.

"Where is he? Where is he?" I asked, and
followed her hastily to the room.

The queen and Rudolf were standing side
by side. What I have told from Helga's
description had just passed between them.
Rudolf ran to meet me.

"Is all well?" he asked eagerly.

I forgot the queen's presence and paid no
sign of respect to her. I caught Rudolf by
the arm and cried to him: "Do they take
you for the king?"

"Yes," he said. "Heavens, man, don't look
so white! We shall manage it. I can be
gone by to-night."

"Gone? How will that help, since they
believe you to be the king?"

"You can keep it from the king," he
urged. "I couldn't help it. I can settle with
Rupert and disappear."

The three were standing round me,
surprised at my great and terrible
agitation. Looking back now, I wonder
that I could speak to them at all.

Rudolf tried again to reassure me. He
little knew the cause of what he saw.

"It won't take long to settle affairs with
Rupert," said he. "And we must have the
letter, or it will get to the king after all."

"The king will never see the letter," I
blurted out, as I sank back in a chair.

They said nothing. I looked round on their
faces. I had a strange feeling of
helplessness, and seemed to be able to do
nothing but throw the truth at them in
blunt plainness. Let them make what they
could of it, I could make nothing.

"The king will never see the letter," I
repeated. "Rupert himself has insured
that."

"What do you mean? You've not met
Rupert? You've not got the letter?"

"No, no; but the king can never read it."

Then Rudolf seized me by the shoulder
and fairly shook me; indeed I must have
seemed like a man in a dream or a torpor.

"Why not, man; why not?" he asked in
urgent low tones. Again I looked at them,
but somehow this time my eyes were
attracted and held by the queen's face. I
believe that she was the first to catch a
hint of the tidings I brought. Her lips were
parted, and her gaze eagerly strained upon
me. I rubbed my hand across my
forehead, and, looking up stupidly at her,
I said:

"He never can see the letter. He's dead."

There was a little scream from Helga;
Rudolf neither spoke nor moved; the
queen continued to gaze at me in
motionless wonder and horror.

"Rupert killed him," said I. "The boar-
hound attacked Rupert; then Herbert and
the king attacked him; and he killed them
all. Yes, the king is dead. He's dead."

Now none spoke. The queen's eyes never
left my face. "Yes, he's dead." said I; and
I watched her eyes still. For a long while
(or long it seemed) they were on my face;
at last, as though drawn by some
irresistible force, they turned away. I
followed the new line they took. She
looked at Rudolf Rassendyll, and he at
her. Helga had taken out her
handkerchief, and, utterly upset by the
horror and shock, was lying back in a low
chair, sobbing half-hysterically; I saw the
swift look that passed from the queen to
her lover, carrying in it grief, remorse,
and most unwilling joy. He did not speak
to her, but put out his hand and took hers.
She drew it away almost sharply, and
covered her face with both hands.

Rudolf turned to me. "When was it?"

"Last night."

"And the .... He's at the lodge?"

"Yes, with Sapt and James."

I was recovering my senses and my
coolness.

"Nobody knows yet," I said. "We were
afraid you might be taken for him by
somebody. But, my God, Rudolf, what's
to be done now?"

Mr. Rassendyll's lips were set firm and
tight. He frowned slightly, and his blue
eyes wore a curious entranced expression.
He seemed to me to be forgetful of
everything, even of us who were with
him, in some one idea that possessed him.
The queen herself came nearer to him and
lightly touched his arm with her hand. He
started as though surprised, then fell again
into his

"What's to be done, Rudolf?" I asked
again.

"I'm going to kill Rupert of Hentzau," he
said. "The rest we'll talk of afterwards."

He walked rapidly across the room and
rang the bell. "Clear those people away,"
he ordered. "Tell them that I want to be
quiet. Then send a closed carriage round
for me. Don't be more than ten minutes."

The servant received his peremptory
orders with a low bow, and left us. The
queen, who had been all this time
outwardly calm and composed, now fell
into a great agitation, which even the
consciousness of our presence could not
enable her to hide.

"Rudolf, must you go? Since--since this
has happened "

"Hush, my dearest lady," he whispered.
Then he went on more loudly, "I won't
quit Ruritania a second time leaving
Rupert of Hentzau alive. Fritz, send word
to Sapt that the king is in Strelsau--he will
understand--and that instructions from the
king will follow by midday. When I have
killed Rupert, I shall visit the lodge on my
way to the frontier."

He turned to go, but the queen, following,
detained him for a minute.

"You'll come and see me before you go?,
she pleaded.

"But I ought not," said he, his resolute
eyes suddenly softening in a marvelous
fashion.

"You will?"

"Yes, my queen."

Then I sprang up, for a sudden dread laid
hold on me.

"Heavens, man," I cried, "what if he kills
you--there in the Ko"nigstrasse?"

Rudolf turned to me; there was a look of
surprise on his face. "He won't kill me,"
he answered.

The queen, looking still in Rudolf's face,
and forgetful now, as it seemed, of the
dream that had so terrified her, took no
notice of what I said, but urged again:
"You'll come, Rudolf?"

"Yes, once, my queen," and with a last
kiss of her hand he was gone.

The queen stood for yet another moment
where she was, still and almost rigid.
Then suddenly she walked or stumbled to
where my wife sat, and, flinging herself
on her knees, hid her face in Helga's lap; I
heard her sobs break out fast and
tumultuously. Helga looked up at me, the
tears streaming down her cheeks. I turned
and went out. Perhaps Helga could
comfort her; I prayed that God in His pity
might send her comfort, although she for
her sin's sake dared not ask it of Him.
Poor soul! I hope there may be nothing
worse scored to my account.

---

CHAPTER XV--

A PASTIME FOR COLONEL SAPT

THE Constable of Zenda and James, Mr.
Rassendyll's servant, sat at breakfast in
the hunting-lodge. They were in the small
room which was ordinarily used as the
bedroom of the gentleman in attendance
on the king: they chose it now because it
commanded a view of the approach. The
door of the house was securely fastened;
they were prepared to refuse admission; in
case refusal was impossible, the
preparations for concealing the king's
body and that of his huntsman Herbert
were complete. Inquirers would be told
that the king had ridden out with his
huntsman at daybreak, promising to return
in the evening but not stating where he
was going; Sapt was under orders to await
his return, and James was expecting
instructions from his master the Count of
Tarlenheim. Thus armed against
discovery, they looked for news from me
which should determine their future
action.

Meanwhile there was an interval of
enforced idleness. Sapt, his meal finished,
puffed away at his great pipe; James, after
much pressure, had consented to light a
small black clay, and sat at his ease with
his legs stretched before him. His brows
were knit, and a curious half-smile played
about his mouth.

"What may you be thinking about, friend
James?" asked the constable between two
puffs. He had taken a fancy to the alert,
ready little fellow.

James smoked for a moment, and then
took his pipe from his mouth.

"I was thinking, sir, that since the king is
dead--"

He paused.

"The king is no doubt dead, poor fellow,"
said Sapt, nodding.

"That since he's certainly dead, and since
my master, Mr. Rassendyll, is alive--"

"So far as we know, James," Sapt
reminded him.

"Why, yes, sir, so far as we know. Since,
then, Mr. Rassendyll is alive and the king
is dead, I was thinking that it was a great
pity, sir, that my master can't take his
place and be king." James looked across
at the constable with an air of a man who
offers a respectful suggestion.

"A remarkable thought, James," observed
the constable with a grin.

"You don't agree with me, sir?, asked
James deprecatingly.

"I don't say that it isn't a pity, for Rudolf
makes a good king. But you see it's
impossible, isn't it?"

James nursed his knee between his hands,
and his pipe, which he had replaced, stuck
out of one corner of his mouth.

"When you say impossible, sir," he
remarked deferentially, "I venture to
differ from you."

"You do? Come, we're at leisure. Let's
hear how it would be possible."

"My master is in Strelsau, sir," began
James.

"Well, most likely."

"I'm sure of it, sir. If he's been there, he
will be taken for the king."

"That has happened before, and no doubt
may happen again, unless--"

"Why, of course, sir, unless the king's
body should be discovered."

"That's what I was about to say, James."

James kept silence for a few minutes.
Then he observed, "It will be very
awkward to explain how the king was
killed."

"The story will need good telling,"
admitted Sapt.

"And it will be difficult to make it appear
that the king was killed in Strelsau; yet if
my master should chance to be killed in
Strelsau--"

"Heaven forbid, James! On all grounds,
Heaven forbid!"

"Even if my master is not killed, it will be
difficult for us to get the king killed at the
right time, and by means that will seem
plausible."

Sapt seemed to fall into the humor of the
speculation. "That's all very true. But if
Mr. Rassendyll is to be king, it will be
both awkward and difficult to dispose of
the king's body and of this poor fellow
Herbert," said he, sucking at his pipe.

Again James paused for a little while
before he remarked: "I am, of course, sir,
only discussing the matter by way of
passing the time. It would probably be
wrong to carry any such plan into effect."

"It might be, but let us discuss it--to pass
the time," said Sapt; and he leant forward,
looking into the servant's quiet, shrewd
face.

"Well, then, sir, since it amuses you, let
us say that the king came to the lodge last
night, and was joined there by his friend
Mr. Rassendyll."

"And did I come too?"

"You, sir, came also, in attendance on the
king."

"Well, and you, James? You came. How
came you?"

"Why, sir, by the Count of Tarlenheim's
orders, to wait on Mr. Rassendyll, the
king's friend. Now, the king, sir... This is
my story, you know, sir, only my story."

"Your story interests me. Go on with it."

"The king went out very early this
morning, sir."

"That would be on private business?"

"So we should have understood. But Mr.
Rassendyll, Herbert, and ourselves
remained here."

"Had the Count of Hentzau been?"

"Not to our knowledge, sir. But we were
all tired and slept very soundly."

"Now did we?" said the constable, with a
grim smile.

"In fact, sir, we were all overcome with
fatigue--Mr. Rassendyll like the rest--and
full morning found us still in our beds.
There we should be to this moment, sir,
had we not been suddenly aroused in a
startling and fearful manner."

"You should write story books, James.
Now what was this fearful manner in
which we were aroused?"

James laid down his pipe, and, resting his
hands on his knees, continued his story.

"This lodge, sir, this wooden lodge--for
the lodge is all of wood, sir, without and
within."

"This lodge is undoubtedly of wood,
James, and, as you say, both inside and
out."

"And since it is, sir, it would be mighty
careless to leave a candle burning where
the oil and firewood are stored."

"Most criminal!"

"But hard words don't hurt dead men; and
you see, sir, poor Herbert is dead."

"It is true. He wouldn't feel aggrieved."

"But we, sir, you and I, awaking--"

"Aren't the others to awake, James?"

"Indeed, sir, I should pray that they had
never awaked. For you and I, waking first,
would find the lodge a mass of flames.
We should have to run for our lives."

"What! Should we make no effort to rouse
the others?"

"Indeed, sir, we should do all that men
could do; we should even risk death by
suffocation."

"But we should fail, in spite of our
heroism, should we?"

"Alas, sir, in spite of all our efforts we
should fail. The flames would envelop the
lodge in one blaze; before help could
come, the lodge would be in ruins, and
my unhappy master and poor Herbert
would be consumed to ashes."

"Hum!"

"They would, at least, sir, be entirely
unrecognizable."

"You think so?"

"Beyond doubt, if the oil and the firewood
and the candle were placed to the best
advantage."

"Ah, yes. And there would be an end of
Rudolf Rassendyll?"

"Sir, I should myself carry the tidings to
his family."

"Whereas the King of Ruritania--"

"Would enjoy a long and prosperous
reign, God willing, sir."

"And the Queen of Ruritania, James?"

"Do not misunderstand me, sir. They
could be secretly married. I should say re-
married."

"Yes, certainly, re-married."

"By a trustworthy priest."

"You mean by an untrustworthy priest?"

"It's the same thing, sir, from a different
point of view." For the first time James
smiled a thoughtful smile.

Sapt in his turn laid down his pipe now,
and was tugging at his moustache. There
was a smile on his lips too, and his eyes
looked hard into James's. The little man
met his glance composedly.

"It's an ingenious fancy, this of yours,
James," the constable remarked. "What,
though, if your master's killed too? That's
quite possible. Count Rupert's a man to be
reckoned with."

"If my master is killed, sir, he must be
buried," answered James.

"In Strelsau?" came in quick question
from Sapt.

"He won't mind where, sir."

"True, he won't mind, and we needn't
mind for him."

"Why, no, sir. But to carry a body secretly
from here to Strelsau--"

"Yes, that is, as we agreed at the first,
difficult. Well, it's a pretty story, but--
your master wouldn't approve of it.
Supposing he were not killed, I mean."

"It's a waste of time, sir, disapproving of
what's done: he might think the story
better than the truth, although it's not a
good story."

The two men's eyes met again in a long
glance.

"Where do you come from?" asked Sapt,
suddenly.

"London, sir, originally."

"They make good stories there?"

"Yes, sir, and act them sometimes."

The instant he had spoken, James sprang
to his feet and pointed out of the window.

A man on horseback was cantering
towards the lodge. Exchanging one quick
look, both hastened to the door, and,
advancing some twenty yards, waited
under the tree on the spot where Boris lay
buried.

"By the way," said Sapt, "you forgot the
dog." And he pointed to the ground.

"The affectionate beast will be in his
master's room and die there, sir."

"Eh, but he must rise again first!"

"Certainly, sir. That won't be a long
matter."

Sapt was still smiling in grim amusement
when the messenger came up and, leaning
from his home, handed him a telegram.

"Special and urgent, sir," said he.

Sapt tore it open and read. It was the
message that I sent in obedience to Mr.
Rassendyll's orders. He would not trust
my cipher, but, indeed, none was
necessary. Sapt would understand the
message, although it said simply, "The
king is in Strelsau. Wait orders at the
lodge. Business here in progress, but not
finished. Will wire again."

Sapt handed it to James, who took it with
a respectful little bow. James read it with
attention, and returned it with another
bow.

"I'll attend to what it says, sir," he
remarked.

"Yes," said Sapt. "Thanks, my man," he
added to the messenger. "Here's a crown
for you. If any other message comes for
me and you bring it in good time, you
shall have another."

"You shall have it quick as a horse can
bring it from the station, sir."

"The king's business won't bear delay, you
know," nodded Sapt.

"You sha'n't have to wait, sir," and, with a
parting salute, the fellow turned his horse
and trotted away.

"You see," remarked Sapt, "that your
story is quite imaginary. For that fellow
can see for himself that the lodge was not
burnt down last night."

"That's true; but, excuse me, sir--"

"Pray go on, James. I've told you that I'm
interested."

"He can't see that it won't be burnt down
to-night. A fire, sir, is a thing that may
happen any night."

Then old Sapt suddenly burst into a roar,
half-speech, half laughter.

"By God, what a thing!" he roared; and
James smiled complacently.

"There's a fate about it," said the
constable. "There's a strange fate about it.
The man was born to it. We'd have done it
before if Michael had throttled the king in
that cellar, as I thought he would. Yes, by
heavens, we'd have done it! Why, we
wanted it! God forgive us, in our hearts
both Fritz and I wanted it. But Rudolf
would have the king out. He would have
him out, though he lost a throne--and
what he wanted more--by it. But he would
have him out. So he thwarted the fate. But
it's not to be thwarted. Young Rupert may
think this new affair is his doing. No, it's
the fate using him. The fate brought
Rudolf here again, the fate will have him
king. Well, you stare at me. Do you think
I'm mad, Mr. Valet?"

"I think, sir, that you talk very good sense,
if I may say so," answered James.

"Sense?" echoed Sapt with a chuckle. "I
don't know about that. But the fate's there,
depend on it!"

The two were back in their little room
now, past the door that hid the bodies of
the king and his huntsman. James stood
by the table, old Sapt roamed up and
down, tugging his moustache, and now
and again sawing the air with his sturdy
hairy hand.

"I daren't do it," he muttered: "I daren't do
it. It's a thing a man can't set his hand to
of his own will. But the fate'll do it--the
fate'll do it. The fate'll force it on us."

"Then we'd best be ready, sir," suggested
James quietly. Sapt turned on him
quickly, almost fiercely.

"They used to call me a cool hand," said
he. "By Jove, what are you?"

"There's no harm in being ready, sir," said
James, the servant.

Sapt came to him and caught hold of his
shoulders. "Ready?" he asked in a gruff
whisper.

"The oil, the firewood, the light," said
James.

"Where, man, where? Do you mean, by
the bodies?"

"Not where the bodies are now. Each
must be in the proper place."

"We must move them then?"

"Why, yes. And the dog too."

Sapt almost glared at him; then he burst
into a laugh.

"So be it," he said. "You take command.
Yes, we'll be ready. The fate drives."

Then and there they set about what they
had to do. It seemed indeed as though
some strange influence were dominating
Sapt; he went about the work like a man
who is hardly awake. They placed the
bodies each where the living man would
be by night--the king in the guest-room,
the huntsman in the sort of cupboard
where the honest fellow had been wont to
lie. They dug up the buried dog, Sapt
chuckling convulsively, James grave as
the mute whose grim doings he seemed to
travesty: they carried the shot-pierced,
earth-grimed thing in, and laid it in the
king's room. Then they made their piles of
wood, pouring the store of oil over them,
and setting bottles of spirit near, that the
flames having cracked the bottles, might
gain fresh fuel. To Sapt it seemed now as
if they played some foolish game that was
to end with the playing, now as if they
obeyed some mysterious power which
kept its great purpose hidden from its
instruments. Mr. Rassendyll's servant
moved and arranged and ordered all as
deftly as he folded his master's clothes or
stropped his master's razor. Old Sapt
stopped him once as he went by.

"Don't think me a mad fool, because I talk
of the fate," he said, almost anxiously.

"Not I, sir," answered James, "I know
nothing of that. But I like to be ready."

"It would be a thing!" muttered Sapt.

The mockery, real or assumed, in which
they had begun their work, had vanished
now. If they were not serious, they played
at seriousness. If they entertained no
intention such as their acts seemed to
indicate, they could no longer deny that
they had cherished a hope. They shrank,
or at least Sapt shrank, from setting such a
ball rolling; but they longed for the fate
that would give it a kick, and they made
smooth the incline down which it, when
thus impelled, was to run. When they had
finished their task and sat down again
opposite to one another in the little front
room, the whole scheme was ready, the
preparations were made, all was in train;
they waited only for that impulse from
chance or fate which was to turn the
servant's story into reality and action. And
when the thing was done, Sapt's coolness,
so rarely upset, yet so completely beaten
by the force of that wild idea, came back
to him. He lit his pipe again and lay back
in his chair, puffing freely, with a
meditative look on his face.

"It's two o'clock, sir," said James.
"Something should have happened before
now in Strelsau."

"Ah, but what?" asked the constable.

Suddenly breaking on their ears came a
loud knock at the door. Absorbed in their
own thoughts, they had not noticed two
men riding up to the lodge. The visitors
wore the green and gold of the king's
huntsmen; the one who had knocked was
Simon, the chief huntsman, and brother of
Herbert, who lay dead in the little room
inside.

"Rather dangerous!" muttered the
Constable of Zenda as he hurried to the
door, James following him.

Simon was astonished when Sapt opened
the door.

"Beg pardon, Constable, but I want to see
Herbert. Can I go in?" And he jumped
down from his horse, throwing the reins
to his companion.

"What's the good of your going in?" asked
Sapt. "Herbert's not here."

"Not here? Then where is he?"

"Why, he went with the king this
morning."

"Oh, he went with the king, sir? Then he's
in Strelsau, I suppose?"

"If you know that, Simon, you're wiser
than I am."

"But the king is in Strelsau, sir."

"The deuce he is! He said nothing of
going to Strelsau. He rose early and rode
off with Herbert, merely saying they
would be back to-night."

"He went to Strelsau, sir. I am just from
Zenda, and his Majesty is known to have
been in town with the queen. They were
both at Count Fritz's."

"I'm much interested to hear it. But didn't
the telegram say where Herbert was?"

Simon laughed.

"Herbert's not a king, you see," he said.
"Well, I'll come again to-morrow
morning, for I must see him soon. He'll be
back by then, sir?"

"Yes, Simon, your brother will be here to-
morrow morning."

"Or what's left of him after such a two-
days of work," suggested Simon jocularly.

"Why, yes, precisely," said Sapt, biting
his moustache and darting one swift
glance at James. "Or what's left of him, as
you say."

"And I'll bring a cart and carry the boar
down to the castle at the same time, sir.
At least, I suppose you haven't eaten it
all?

Sapt laughed; Simon was gratified at the
tribute, and laughed even more heartily
himself.

"We haven't even cooked it yet," said
Sapt, "but I won't answer for it that we
sha'n't have by to-morrow."

"All right, sir; I'll be here. By the way,
there's another bit of news come on the
wires. They say Count Rupert of Hentzau
has been seen in the city."

"Rupert of Hentzau? Oh, pooh! Nonsense,
my good Simon. He daren't show his face
there for his life."

"Ah, but it may be no nonsense. Perhaps
that's what took the king to Strelsau."

"It's enough to take him if it's true,"
admitted Sapt.

"Well, good day, sir."

"Good day, Simon."

The two huntsmen rode off. James
watched them for a little while.

"The king," he said then, "is known to be
in Strelsau; and now Count Rupert is
known to be in Strelsau. How is Count
Rupert to have killed the king here in the
forest of Zenda, sir?"

Sapt looked at him almost apprehensively.

"How is the king's body to come to the
forest of Zenda?" asked James. "Or how
is the king's body to go to the city of
Strelsau?"

"Stop your damned riddles!" roared Sapt.
"Man, are you bent on driving me into
it?"

The servant came near to him, and laid a
hand on his shoulder.

"You went into as great a thing once
before, sir," said he.

"It was to save the king."

"And this is to save the queen and
yourself. For if we don't do it, the truth
about my master must be known."

Sapt made him no answer. They sat down
again in silence.

There they sat, sometimes smoking, never
speaking, while the tedious afternoon
wore away, and the shadows from the
trees of the forest lengthened. They did
not think of eating or drinking; they did
not move, save when James rose and lit a
little fire of brushwood in the grate. It
grew dusk and again James moved to
light the lamp. It was hard on six o'clock,
and still no news came from Strelsau.

Then there was the sound of a horse's
hoofs. The two rushed to the door, beyond
it, and far along the grassy road that gave
approach to the hunting-lodge. They
forgot to guard the secret and the door
gaped open behind them. Sapt ran as he
had not run for many a day, and
outstripped his companion. There was a
message from Strelsau!

The constable, without a word of greeting,
snatched the envelope from the hand of
the messenger and tore it open. He read it
hastily, muttering under his breath "Good
God!, Then he turned suddenly round and
began to walk quickly Back to James,
who, seeing himself beaten in the race,
had dropped to a walk. But the messenger
had his cares as well as the constable. If
the constable's thoughts were on a crown,
so were his. He called out in indignant
protest:

"I have never drawn rein since Hofbau,
sir. Am I not to have my crown?"

Sapt stopped, turned, and retraced his
steps. He took a crown from his pocket.
As he looked up in giving it, there was a
queer smile on his broad, weather-beaten
face.

"Ay," he said, "every man that deserves a
crown shall have one, if I can give it
him."

Then he turned again to James, who had
now come up, and laid his hand on his
shoulder.

"Come along, my king-maker," said he.

James looked in his face for a moment.
The constable's eyes met his; and the
constable nodded.

So they turned to the lodge where the
dead king and his huntsman lay. Verily
the fate drove.

---

CHAPTER XVI--

A CROWD IN THE KO"NIGSTRASSE

The project that had taken shape in the
thoughts of Mr. Rassendyll's servant, and
had inflamed Sapt's daring mind as the
dropping of a spark kindles dry shavings,
had suggested itself vaguely to more than
one of us in Strelsau. We did not indeed
coolly face and plan it, as the little servant
had, nor seize on it at once with an
eagerness to be convinced of its necessity,
like the Constable of Zenda; but it was
there in my mind, sometimes figuring as a
dread, sometimes as a hope, now seeming
the one thing to be avoided, again the
only resource against a more disastrous
issue. I knew that it was in Bernenstein's
thoughts no less than in my own; for
neither of us had been able to form any
reasonable scheme by which the living
king, whom half Strelsau now knew to be
in the city, could be spirited away, and the
dead king set in his place. The change
could take place, as it seemed, only in one
way and at one cost: the truth, or the
better part of it, must be told, and every
tongue set wagging with gossip and
guesses concerning Rudolf Rassendyll
and his relations with the queen. Who that
knows what men and women are would
not have shrunk from that alternative? To
adopt it was to expose the queen to all or
nearly all the peril she had run by the loss
of the letter. We indeed assumed,
influenced by Rudolf's unhesitating self-
confidence, that the letter would be won
back, and the mouth of Rupert of Hentzau
shut; but enough would remain to furnish
material for eager talk and for conjectures
unrestrained by respect or charity.
Therefore, alive as we were to its
difficulties and its unending risks, we yet
conceived of the thing as possible, had it
in our hearts, and hinted it to one another-
-my wife to me, I to Bernenstein, and he
to me--in quick glances and half uttered
sentences that declared its presence while
shunning the open confession of it. For
the queen herself I cannot speak. Her
thoughts, as I judged them, were bounded
by the longing to see Mr. Rassendyll
again, and dwelt on the visit that he
promised as the horizon of hope. To
Rudolf we had dared to disclose nothing
of the part our imaginations set him to
play: if he were to accept it, the
acceptance would be of his own act,
because the fate that old Sapt talked of
drove him, and on no persuasion of ours.
As he had said, he left the rest, and had
centered all his efforts on the immediate
task which fell to his hand to perform, the
task that was to be accomplished at the
dingy old house in the Ko"nigstrasse. We
were indeed awake to the fact that even
Rupert's death would not make the secret
safe. Rischenheim, although for the
moment a prisoner and helpless, was alive
and could not be mewed up for ever;
Bauer was we knew not where, free to act
and free to talk. Yet in our hearts we
feared none but Rupert, and the doubt was
not whether we could do the thing so
much as whether we should. For in
moments of excitement and intense
feeling a man makes light of obstacles
which look large enough as he turns
reflective eyes on them in the quiet of
after-days.

A message in the king's name had
persuaded the best part of the idle crowd
to disperse reluctantly. Rudolf himself
had entered one of my carriages and
driven off. He started not towards the
Ko"nigstrasse, but in the opposite
direction: I supposed that he meant to
approach his destination by a circuitous
way, hoping to gain it without attracting
notice. The queen's carriage was still
before my door, for it had been arranged
that she was to proceed to the palace and
there await tidings. My wife and I were to
accompany her; and I went to her now,
where she sat alone, and asked if it were
her pleasure to start at once. I found her
thoughtful but calm. She listened to me;
then, rising, she said, "Yes, I will go." But
then she asked suddenly, "Where is the
Count of Luzau-Rischenheim?"

I told her how Bernenstein kept guard
over the count in the room at the back of
the house. She seemed to consider for a
moment, then she said:

"I will see him. Go and bring him to me.
You must be here while I talk to him, but
nobody else."

I did not know what she intended, but I
saw no reason to oppose her wishes, and I
was glad to find for her any means of
employing this time of suspense. I obeyed
her commands and brought Rischenheim
to her. He followed me slowly and
reluctantly; his unstable mind had again
jumped from rashness to despondency: he
was pale and uneasy, and, when he found
himself in her presence, the bravado of his
bearing, maintained before Bernenstein,
gave place to a shamefaced sullenness. He
could not meet the grave eyes that she
fixed on him.

I withdrew to the farther end of the room;
but it was small, and I heard all that
passed. I had my revolver ready to cover
Rischenheim in case he should be moved
to make a dash for liberty. But he was
past that: Rupert's presence was a tonic
that nerved him to effort and to
confidence, but the force of the last dose
was gone and the man was sunk again to
his natural irresolution.

"My lord," she began gently, motioning
him to sit, "I have desired to speak with
you, because I do not wish a gentleman of
your rank to think too much evil of his
queen. Heaven has willed that my secret
should be to you no secret, and therefore I
may speak plainly. You may say my own
shame should silence me; I speak to
lessen my shame in your eyes, if I can."

Rischenheim looked up with a dull gaze,
not understanding her mood. He had
expected reproaches, and met low-voiced
apology.

"And yet," she went on, "it is because of
me that the king lies dead now; and a
faithful humble fellow also, caught in the
net of my unhappy fortunes, has given his
life for me, though he didn't know it. Even
while we speak, it may be that a
gentleman, not too old yet to learn
nobility, may be killed in my quarrel;
while another, whom I alone of all that
know him may not praise, carries his life
lightly in his hand for me. And to you, my
lord, I have done the wrong of dressing a
harsh deed in some cloak of excuse,
making you seem to serve the king in
working my punishment."

Rischenheim's eyes fell to the ground, and
he twisted his hands nervously in and out,
the one about the other. I took my hand
from my revolver: he would not move
now.

"I don't know," she went on, now almost
dreamily, and as though she spoke more
to herself than to him, or had even
forgotten his presence, "what end in
Heaven's counsel my great unhappiness
has served. Perhaps I, who have place
above most women, must also be tried
above most; and in that trial I have failed.
Yet, when I weigh my misery and my
temptation, to my human eyes it seems
that I have not failed greatly. My heart is
not yet humbled, God's work not yet
done. But the guilt of blood is on my soul-
-even the face of my dear love I can see
now only through its scarlet mist; so that
if what seemed my perfect joy were now
granted me, it would come spoilt and
stained and blotched."

She paused, fixing her eyes on him again;
but he neither spoke nor moved.

"You knew my sin," she said, "the sin so
great in my heart; and you knew how little
my acts yielded to it. Did you think, my
lord, that the sin had no punishment, that
you took it in hand to add shame to my
suffering? Was Heaven so kind that men
must temper its indulgence by their
severity? Yet I know that because I was
wrong, you, being wrong, might seem to
yourself not wrong, and in aiding your
kinsman might plead that you served the
king's honor. Thus, my lord, I was the
cause in you of a deed that your heart
could not welcome nor your honor praise.
I thank God that you have come to no
more hurt by it."

Rischenheim began to mutter in a low
thick voice, his eyes still cast down:
"Rupert persuaded me. He said the king
would be very grateful, and--would give
me--" His voice died away, and he sat
silent again, twisting his hands.

"I know--I know," she said. "But you
wouldn't have listened to such persuasions
if my fault hadn't blinded your eyes."

She turned suddenly to me, who had been
standing all the while aloof, and stretched
out her hands towards me, her eyes filled
with tears.

"Yet," said she, "your wife knows, and
still loves me, Fritz."

"She should be no wife of mine, if she
didn't," I cried. "For I and all of mine ask
no better than to die for your Majesty."

"She knows, and yet she loves me,"
repeated the queen. I loved to see that she
seemed to find comfort in Helga's love. It
is women to whom women turn, and
women whom women fear.

"But Helga writes no letters," said the
queen.

"Why, no," said I, and I smiled a grim
smile. Well, Rudolf Rassendyll had never
wooed my wife.

She rose, saying: "Come, let us go to the
palace."

As she rose, Rischenheim made a quick
impulsive step towards her.

"Well, my lord," said she, turning towards
him, "will you also go with me?"

"Lieutenant von Bernenstein will take
care--" I began. But I stopped. The
slightest gesture of her hand silenced me.

"Will you go with me?" she asked
Rischenheim again.

"Madam," he stammered, "Madam--"

She waited. I waited also, although I had
no great patience with him. Suddenly he
fell on his knee, but he did not venture to
take her hand. Of her own accord she
came and stretched it out to him, saying
sadly: "Ah, that by forgiving I could win
forgiveness!"

Rischenheim caught at her hand and
kissed it.

"It was not I," I heard him mutter. "Rupert
set me on, and I couldn't stand out against
him."

"Will you go with me to the palace?" she
asked, drawing her hand away, but
smiling.

"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim," I
made bold to observe, "knows some
things that most people do not know,
madam." She turned on me with dignity,
almost with displeasure.

"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim may
be trusted to be silent," she said. "We ask
him to do nothing against his cousin. We
ask only his silence."

"Ay," said I, braving her anger, "but what
security shall we have?"

"His word of honor, my lord." I knew that
a rebuke to my presumption lay in her
calling me "my lord," for, save on formal
occasions, she always used to call me
Fritz.

"His word of honor!" I grumbled. "In
truth, madam--"

"He's right," said Rischenheim; "he's
right."

"No, he's wrong," said the queen, smiling.
"The count will keep his word, given to
me."

Rischenheim looked at her and seemed
about to address her, but then he turned to
me, and said in a low tone:

"By Heaven, I will, Tarlenheim. I'll serve
her in everything--"

"My lord," said she most graciously, and
yet very sadly, "you lighten the burden on
me no less by your help than because I no
longer feel your honor stained through
me. Come, we will go to the palace." And
she went to him, saying, "We will go
together."

There was nothing for it but to trust him. I
knew that I could not turn her.

"Then I'll see if the carriage is ready,"
said I.

"Yes, do, Fritz," said the queen. But as I
passed she stopped me for a moment,
saying in a whisper, "Show that you trust
him."

I went and held out my hand to him. He
took and pressed it.

"On my honor," he said.

Then I went out and found Bernenstein
sitting on a bench in the hall. The
lieutenant was a diligent and watchful
young man; he appeared to be examining
his revolver with sedulous care.

"You can put that away," said I rather
peevishly--I had not fancied shaking
hands with Rischenheim. "He's not a
prisoner any longer. He's one of us now."

"The deuce he is!" cried Bernenstein,
springing to his feet.

I told him briefly what had happened, and
how the queen had won Rupert's
instrument to be her servant.

"I suppose he'll stick to it," I ended; and I
thought he would, though I was not eager
for his help.

A light gleamed in Bernenstein's eyes,
and I felt a tremble in the hand that he laid
on my shoulder.

"Then there's only Bauer now," he
whispered. "If Rischenheim's with us,
only Bauer!"

I knew very well what he meant. With
Rischenheim silent, Bauer was the only
man, save Rupert himself, who knew the
truth, the only man who threatened that
great scheme which more and more filled
our thoughts and grew upon us with an
increasing force of attraction as every
obstacle to it seemed to be cleared out of
the way. But I would not look at
Bernenstein, fearing to acknowledge even
with my eyes how my mind jumped with
his. He was bolder, or less scrupulous--
which you will.

"Yes, if we can shut Bauer's mouth." he
went on.

"The queen's waiting for the carriage," I
interrupted snappishly.

"Ah, yes, of course, the carriage," and he
twisted me round till I was forced to look
him in the face. Then he smiled, and even
laughed a little.

"Only Bauer now!" said he.

"And Rupert," I remarked sourly.

"Oh, Rupert's dead bones by now," he
chuckled, and with that he went out of the
hall door and announced the queen's
approach to her servants. It must be said
for young Bernenstein that he was a
cheerful fellow-conspirator. His
equanimity almost matched Rudolf's own;
I could not rival it myself.

I drove to the palace with the queen and
my wife, the other two following in a
second carriage. I do not know what they
said to one another on the way, but
Bernenstein was civil enough to his
companion when I rejoined them. With us
my wife was the principal speaker: she
filled up, from what Rudolf had told her,
the gaps in our knowledge of how he had
spent his night in Strelsau, and by the
time we arrived we were fully informed in
every detail. The queen said little. The
impulse which had dictated her appeal to
Rischenheim and carried her through it
seemed to have died away; she had
become again subject to fears and
apprehension. I saw her uneasiness when
she suddenly put out her hand and
touched mine, whispering:

"He must be at the house by now."

Our way did not lie by the house, and we
came to the palace without any news of
our absent chief (so I call him--as such we
all, from the queen herself, then regarded
him). She did not speak of him again; but
her eyes seemed to follow me about as
though she were silently asking some
service of me; what it was I could not
understand. Bernenstein had disappeared,
and the repentant count with him:
knowing they were together, I was in no
uneasiness; Bernenstein would see that
his companion contrived no treachery.
But I was puzzled by the queen's tacit
appeal. And I was myself on fire for news
from the Ko"nigstrasse. It was now two
hours since Rudolf Rassendyll had left us,
and no word had come of him or from
him. At last I could bear it no longer. The
queen was sitting with her hand in my
wife's; I had been seated on the other side
of the room, for I thought that they might
wish to talk to one another; yet I had not
seen them exchange a word. I rose
abruptly and crossed the room to where
they were.

"Have you need of my presence, madam,
or have I your permission to be away for a
time?" I asked.

"Where do you wish to go, Fritz?" the
queen asked with a little start, as though I
had come suddenly across her thoughts.

"To the Ko"nigstrasse," said I.

To my surprise she rose and caught my
hand.

"God bless you, Fritz!" she cried. "I don't
think I could have endured it longer. But I
wouldn't ask you to go. But go, my dear
friend, go and bring me news of him. Oh,
Fritz, I seem to dream that dream again!"

My wife looked up at me with a brave
smile and a trembling lip.

"Shall you go into the house, Fritz?" she
asked.

"Not unless I see need, sweetheart," said
I.

She came and kissed me. "Go, if you are
wanted," she said. And she tried to smile
at the queen, as though she risked me
willingly.

"I could have been such a wife, Fritz,"
whispered the queen. "Yes, I could."

I had nothing to say; at the moment I
might not have been able to say it if I had.
There is something in the helpless
courage of women that makes me feel
soft. We can work and fight; they sit and
wait. Yet they do not flinch. Now I know
that if I had to sit and think about the
thing I should turn cur.

Well, I went, leaving them there together.
I put on plain clothes instead of my
uniform, and dropped my revolver into
the pocket of my coat. Thus prepared, I
slipped out and made my way on foot to
the Ko"nigstrasse.

It was now long past midday, but many
folks were at their dinner and the streets
were not full. Two or three people
recognized me, but I passed by almost
unnoticed. There was no sign of stir or
excitement, and the flags still floated high
in the wind. Sapt had kept his secret; the
men of Strelsau thought still that their
king lived and was among them. I feared
that Rudolf's coming would have been
seen, and expected to find a crowd of
people near the house. But when I reached
it there were no more than ten or a dozen
idle fellows lounging about. I began to
stroll up and down with as careless an air
as I could assume.

Soon, however, there was a change. The
workmen and business folk, their meal
finished, began to come out of their
houses and from the restaurants. The
loafers before No. 19 spoke to many of
them. Some said, "Indeed?" shook their
heads, smiled and passed on: they had no
time to waste in staring at the king. But
many waited; lighting their cigars or
cigarettes or pipes, they stood gossiping
with one another, looking at their watches
now and again, lest they should overstay
their leisure. Thus the assembly grew to
the number of a couple of hundred. I
ceased my walk, for the pavement was too
crowded, and hung on the outskirts of the
throng. As I loitered there, a cigar in my
mouth, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
Turning round, I saw the lieutenant. He
was in uniform. By his side was
Rischenheim.

"You're here too, are you?" said I. "Well,
nothing seems to be happening, does it?"

For No. 19 showed no sign of life. The
shutters were up, the door closed; the little
shop was not open for business that day.

Bernenstein shook his head with a smile.
His companion took no heed of my
remark; he was evidently in a state of
great agitation, and his eyes never left the
door of the house. I was about to address
him, when my attention was abruptly and
completely diverted by a glimpse of a
head, caught across the shoulders of the
bystanders.

The fellow whom I saw wore a brown
wide-awake hat. The hat was pulled down
low over his forehead, but nevertheless
beneath its rim there appeared a white
bandage running round his head. I could
not see the face, but the bullet-shaped
skull was very familiar to me. I was sure
from the first moment that the bandaged
man was Bauer. Saying nothing to
Bernenstein,

I began to steal round outside the crowd.
As I went, I heard somebody saying that it
was all nonsense; the king was not there:
what should the king do in such a house?
The answer was a reference to one of the
first loungers; he replied that he did not
know what the devil the king did there,
but that the king or his double had
certainly gone in, and had as certainly not
yet come out again. I wished I could have
made myself known to them and
persuaded them to go away; but my
presence would have outweighed my
declarations, and been taken as a sure sign
that the king was in the house. So I kept
on the outskirts and worked my way
unobtrusively towards the bandaged head.
Evidently Bauer's hurt had not been so
serious as to prevent him leaving the
infirmary to which the police had carried
him: he was come now to await, even as I
was awaiting, the issue of Rudolf's visit to
the house in the Ko"nigstrasse.

He had not seen me, for he was looking at
No. 19 as intently as Rischenheim.
Apparently neither had caught sight of the
other, or Rischenheim would have shown
some embarrassment, Bauer some
excitement. I wormed my way quickly
towards my former servant. My mind was
full of the idea of getting hold of him. I
could not forget Bernenstein's remark,
"Only Bauer now!" If I could secure
Bauer we were safe. Safe in what? I did
not answer to myself, but the old idea was
working in me. Safe in our secret and safe
in our plan--in the plan on which we all,
we here in the city, and those two at the
hunting-lodge, had set our minds! Bauer's
death, Bauer's capture, Bauer's silence,
however procured, would clear the
greatest hindrance from its way.

Bauer stared intently at the house; I crept
cautiously up behind him. His hand was
in his trousers' pocket; where the curve of
the elbow came there with a space
between arm and body. I slipped in my
left arm and hooked it firmly inside his.
He turned round and saw me.

"Thus we meet again, Bauer," said I.

He was for a moment flabbergasted, and
stared stupidly at me.

"Are you also hoping to see the king?" I
asked.

He began to recover himself. A slow,
cunning smile spread over his face.

"The king?" he asked.

"Well, he's in Strelsau, isn't he? Who gave
you the wound on your head?"

Bauer moved his arm as though he meant
to withdraw it from my grasp. He found
himself tightly held.

"Where's that bag of mine?" I asked.

I do not know what he would have
answered, for at this instant there came a
sound from behind the closed door of the
house. It was as if some one ran rapidly
and eagerly towards the door. Then came
an oath in a shrill voice, a woman's voice,
but harsh and rough. It was answered by
an angry cry in a girl's intonation. Full of
eagerness, I drew my arm from Bauer's
and sprang forward. I heard a chuckle
from him and turned round, to see his
bandaged head retreating rapidly down
the street. I had no time to look to him, for
now I saw two men, shoulder to shoulder,
making their way through the crowd,
regardless of any one in their way, and
paying no attention to abuse or
remonstrances. They were the lieutenant
and Rischenheim. Without a moment's
hesitation I set myself to push and battle a
way through, thinking to join them in
front. On they went, and on I went. All
gave place before us in surly reluctance or
frightened willingness. We three were
together in the first rank of the crowd
when the door of the house was flung
open, and a girl ran out. Her hair was
disordered, her face pale, and her eyes full
of alarm. There she stood on the doorstep,
facing the crowd, which in an instant
grew as if by magic to three times its
former size, and, little knowing what she
did, she cried in the eager accents of sheer
terror:

"Help, help! The king! The king!"

---

CHAPTER XVII--

YOUNG RUPERT AND THE PLAY-
ACTOR

There rises often before my mind the
picture of young Rupert, standing where
Rischenheim left him, awaiting the return
of his messenger and watching for some
sign that should declare to Strelsau the
death of its king which his own hand had
wrought. His image is one that memory
holds clear and distinct, though time may
blur the shape of greater and better men,
and the position in which he was that
morning gives play enough to the
imagination. Save for Rischenheim, a
broken reed, and Bauer, who was gone,
none knew where, he stood alone against
a kingdom which he had robbed of its
head, and a band of resolute men who
would know no rest and no security so
long as he lived. For protection he had
only a quick brain, his courage, and his
secret. Yet he could not fly--he was
without resources till his cousin furnished
them--and at any moment his opponents
might find themselves able to declare the
king's death and raise the city in hue and
cry after him. Such men do not repent; but
it may be that he regretted the enterprise
which had led him on so far and forced on
him a deed so momentous; yet to those
who knew him it seems more likely that
the smile broadened on his firm full lips
as he looked down on the unconscious
city. Well, I daresay he would have been
too much for me, but I wish I had been
the man to find him there. He would not
have had it so; for I believe that he asked
no better than to cross swords again with
Rudolf Rassendyll and set his fortunes on
the issue.

Down below, the old woman was cooking
a stew for her dinner, now and then
grumbling to herself that the Count of
Luzau-Rischenheim was so long away,
and Bauer, the rascal, drunk in some pot-
house. The kitchen door stood open, and
through it could be seen the girl Rosa,
busily scrubbing the tiled floor; her color
was high and her eyes bright; from time to
time she paused in her task, and, raising
her head, seemed to listen. The time at
which the king needed her was past, but
the king had not come. How little the old
woman knew for whom she listened! All
her talk had been of Bauer--why Bauer
did not come and what could have
befallen him. It was grand to hold the
king's secret for him, and she would hold
it with her life; for he had been kind and
gracious to her, and he was her man of all
the men in Strelsau. Bauer was a stumpy
fellow; the Count of Hentzau was
handsome, handsome as the devil; but the
king was her man. And the king had
trusted her; she would die before hurt
should come to him.

There were wheels in the street--quick-
rolling wheels. They seemed to stop a few
doors away, then to roll on again past the
house. The girl's head was raised; the old
woman, engrossed in her stewing, took no
heed. The girl's straining ear caught a
rapid step outside. Then it came--the
knock, the sharp knock followed by five
light ones. The old woman heard now:
dropping her spoon into the pot, she lifted
the mess off the fire and turned round,
saying: "There's the rogue at last! Open
the door for him, Rosa."

Before she spoke Rosa had darted down
the passage. The door opened and shut
again. The old woman waddled to the
threshold of the kitchen. The passage and
the shop were dark behind the closed
shutters, but the figure by the girl's side
was taller than Bauer's.

"Who's there?" cried Mother Holf sharply.
"The shop's shut to-day: you can't come
in."

"But I am in," came the answer, and
Rudolf stepped towards her. The girl
followed a pace behind, her hands clasped
and her eyes alight with excitement.
"Don't you know me?" asked Rudolf,
standing opposite the old woman and
smiling down on her.

There, in the dim light of the low-roofed
passage, Mother Holf was fairly puzzled.
She knew the story of Mr. Rassendyll;
She knew that he was again in Ruritania,
it was no surprise to her that he should be
in Strelsau; but she did not know that
Rupert had killed the king, and she had
not seen the king close at hand since his
illness and his beard impaired what had
been a perfect likeness. In fine, she could
not tell whether it were indeed the king
who spoke to her or his counterfeit.

"Who are you?" she asked, curt and blunt
in her confusion. The girl broke in with an
amused laugh.

"Why, it's the--?" She paused. Perhaps the
king's identity was a secret.

Rudolf nodded to her. "Tell her who I
am," said he.

"Why, mother, it's the king," whispered
Rosa, laughing and blushing. "The king,
mother."

"Ay, if the king's alive, I'm the king," said
Rudolf. I suppose he wanted to find out
how much the old woman knew.

She made no answer, but stared up at his
face. In her bewilderment she forgot to
ask how he had learnt the signal that
gained him admission.

"I've come to see the Count of Hentzau,"
Rudolf continued. "Take me to him at
once."

The old woman was across his path in a
moment, all defiant, arms akimbo.

"Nobody can see the count. He's not
here," she blurted out.

"What, can't the king see him? Not even
the king?"

"King!" she cried, peering at him. "Are
you the king?"

Rosa burst out laughing.

"Mother, you must have seen the king a
hundred times," she laughed.

"The king, or his ghost--what does it
matter?" said Rudolf lightly.

The old woman drew back with an
appearance of sudden alarm.

"His ghost? Is he?"

"His ghost!" rang out in the girl's merry
laugh. "Why, here's the king himself,
mother. You don't look much like a ghost,
sir."

Mother Holf's face was livid now, and her
eyes staring fixedly. Perhaps it shot into
her brain that something had happened to
the king, and that this man had come
because of it--this man who was indeed
the image, and might have been the spirit,
of the king. She leant against the door
post, her broad bosom heaving under her
scanty stuff gown. Yet still--was it not the
king?

"God help us!" she muttered in fear and
bewilderment.

"He helps us, never fear," said Rudolf
Rassendyll. "Where is Count Rupert?"

The girl had caught alarm from her
mother's agitation. "He's upstairs in the
attic at the top of the house, sir," she
whispered in frightened tones, with a
glance that fled from her mother's terrified
face to Rudolf's set eyes and steady smile.

What she said was enough for him. He
slipped by the old woman and began to
mount the stairs.

The two watched him, Mother Holf as
though fascinated, the girl alarmed but
still triumphant: she had done what the
king bade her. Rudolf turned the corner of
the first landing and disappeared from
their sight. The old woman, swearing and
muttering, stumbled back into her kitchen,
set her stew on the fire, and began to stir
it, her eyes set on the flames and careless
of the pot. The girl watched her mother
for a moment, wondering how she could
think of the stew, not guessing that she
turned the spoon without a thought of
what she did; then she began to crawl,
quickly but noiselessly, up the staircase in
the track of Rudolf Rassendyll. She
looked back once: the old woman stirred
with a monotonous circular movement of
her fat arm. Rosa, bent half-double,
skimmed upstairs, till she came in sight of
the king whom she was so proud to serve.
He was on the top landing now, outside
the door of a large attic where Rupert of
Hentzau was lodged. She saw him lay his
hand on the latch of the door; his other
hand rested in the pocket of his coat.
From the room no sound came; Rupert
may have heard the step outside and stood
motionless to listen. Rudolf opened the
door and walked in. The girl darted
breathlessly up the remaining steps, and,
coming to the door, just as it swung back
on the latch, crouched down by it,
listening to what passed within, catching
glimpses of forms and movements
through the chinks of the crazy hinge and
the crevices where the wood of the panel
sprung and left a narrow eye hole for her
absorbed gazing.

Rupert of Hentzau had no thought of
ghosts; the men he killed lay still where
they fell, and slept where they were
buried. And he had no wonder at the sight
of Rudolf Rassendyll. It told him no more
than that Rischenheim's errand had fallen
out ill, at which he was not surprised, and
that his old enemy was again in his path,
at which (as I verily believe) he was more
glad than sorry. As Rudolf entered, he had
been half-way between window and table;
he came forward to the table now, and
stood leaning the points of two fingers on
the unpolished dirty-white deal.

"Ah, the play-actor!" said he, with a
gleam of his teeth and a toss of his curls,
while his second hand, like Mr.
Rassendyll's, rested in the pocket of his
coat.

Mr. Rassendyll himself has confessed that
in old days it went against the grain with
him when Rupert called him a play-actor.
He was a little older now, and his temper
more difficult to stir.

"Yes, the play-actor," he answered,
smiling. "With a shorter part this time,
though."

"What part to-day? Isn't it the old one, the
king with a pasteboard crown?" asked
Rupert, sitting down on the table. "Faith,
we shall do handsomely in Ruritania: you
have a pasteboard crown, and I (humble
man though I am) have given the other
one a heavenly crown. What a brave
show! But perhaps I tell you news?"

"No, I know what you've done."

"I take no credit. It was more the dog's
doing than mine," said Rupert carelessly.
"However, there it is, and dead he is, and
there's an end of it. What's your business,
play-actor?"

At the repetition of this last word, to her
so mysterious, the girl outside pressed her
eyes more eagerly to the chink and
strained her ears to listen more
sedulously. And what did the count mean
by the "other one" and "a heavenly
crown"?

"Why not call me king?" asked Rudolf.

"They call you that in Strelsau?"

"Those that know I'm here."

"And they are--?"

"Some few score."

"And thus," said Rupert, waving an arm
towards the window, "the town is quiet
and the flags fly?"

"You've been waiting to see them
lowered?"

"A man likes to have some notice taken of
what he has done," Rupert complained.
"However, I can get them lowered when I
will."

"By telling your news? Would that be
good for yourself?"

"Forgive me--not that way. Since the king
has two lives, it is but in nature that he
should have two deaths."

"And when he has undergone the
second?"

"I shall live at peace, my friend, on a
certain source of income that I possess."
He tapped his breast-pocket with a slight,
defiant laugh. "In these days," said he,
"even queens must be careful about their
letters. We live in moral times."

"You don't share the responsibility for it,"
said Rudolf, smiling.

"I make my little protest. But what's your
business, play-actor? For I think you're
rather tiresome."

Rudolf grew grave. He advanced towards
the table, and spoke in low, serious tones.

"My lord, you're alone in this matter now.
Rischenheim is a prisoner; your rogue
Bauer I encountered last night and broke
his head."

"Ah, you did?"

"You have what you know of in your
hands. If you yield, on my honor I will
save your life."

"You don't desire my blood, then, most
forgiving play-actor?"

"So much, that I daren't fail to offer you
life," answered Rudolf Rassendyll.
"Come, sir, your plan has failed: give up
the letter."

Rupert looked at him thoughtfully.

"You'll see me safe off if I give it you?"
he asked.

"I'll prevent your death. Yes, and I'll see
you safe."

"Where to?"

"To a fortress, where a trustworthy
gentleman will guard you."

"For how long, my dear friend?"

"I hope for many years, my dear Count."

"In fact, I suppose, as long as--?"

"Heaven leaves you to the world, Count.
It's impossible to set you free."

"That's the offer, then?"

"The extreme limit of indulgence,"
answered Rudolf. Rupert burst into a
laugh, half of defiance, yet touched with
the ring of true amusement. Then he lit a
cigarette and sat puffing and smiling.

"I should wrong you by straining your
kindness so far," said he; and in wanton
insolence, seeking again to show Mr.
Rassendyll the mean esteem in which he
held him, and the weariness his presence
was, he raised his arms and stretched
them above his head, as a man does in the
fatigue of tedium. "Heigho!" he yawned.

But he had overshot the mark this time.
With a sudden swift bound Rudolf was
upon him; his hands gripped Rupert's
wrists, and with his greater strength he
bent back the count's pliant body till trunk
and head lay flat on the table. Neither
man spoke; their eyes met; each heard the
other's breathing and felt the vapor of it
on his face. The girl outside had seen the
movement of Rudolf's figure, but her
cranny did not serve her to show her the
two where they were now; she knelt on
her knees in ignorant suspense. Slowly
and with a patient force Rudolf began to
work his enemy's arms towards one
another. Rupert had read his design in his
eyes and resisted with tense muscles. It
seemed as though his arms must crack;
but at last they moved. Inch by inch they
were driven closer; now the elbows
almost touched; now the wrists joined in
reluctant contact. The sweat broke out on
the count's brow, and stood in large drops
on Rudolf's. Now the wrists were side by
side, and slowly the long sinewy fingers
of Rudolf's right hand, that held one wrist
already in their vise, began to creep round
the other. The grip seemed to have half
numbed Rupert's arms, and his struggles
grew fainter. Round both wrists the
sinewy fingers climbed and coiled;
gradually and timidly the grasp of the
other hand was relaxed and withdrawn.
Would the one hold both? With a great
spasm of effort Rupert put it to the proof.

The smile that bent Mr. Rassendyll's lips
gave the answer. He could hold both, with
one hand he could hold both: not for long,
no, but for an instant. And then, in the
instant, his left hand, free at last, shot to
the breast of the count's coat. It was the
same that he had worn at the hunting-
lodge, and was ragged and torn from the
boar-hound's teeth. Rudolf tore it further
open, and his hand dashed in.

"God's curse on you!" snarled Rupert of
Hentzau.

But Mr. Rassendyll still smiled. Then he
drew out a letter. A glance at it showed
him the queen's seal. As he glanced
Rupert made another effort. The one
hand, wearied out, gave way, and Mr.
Rassendyll had no more than time to
spring away, holding his prize. The next
moment he had his revolver in his hand--
none too soon, for Rupert of Hentzau's
barrel faced him, and they stood thus,
opposite to one another, with no more
than three or four feet between the mouths
of their weapons.

There is, indeed, much that may be said
against Rupert of Hentzau, the truth about
him well-nigh forbidding that charity of
judgment which we are taught to observe
towards all men. But neither I nor any
man who knew him ever found in him a
shrinking from danger or a fear of death.
It was no feeling such as these, but rather
a cool calculation of chances, that now
stayed his hand. Even if he were
victorious in the duel, and both did not
die, yet the noise of the firearms would
greatly decrease his chances of escape.
Moreover, he was a noted swordsman,
and conceived that he was Mr.
Rassendyll's superior in that exercise. The
steel offered him at once a better prospect
for victory and more hope of a safe fight.
So he did not pull his trigger, but,
maintaining his aim the while, said:

"I'm not a street bully, and I don't excel in
a rough-and-tumble. Will you fight now
like a gentleman? There's a pair of blades
in the case yonder."

Mr. Rassendyll, in his turn, was keenly
alive to the peril that still hung over the
queen. To kill Rupert would not save her
if he himself also were shot and left dead,
or so helpless that he could not destroy
the letter; and while Rupert's revolver was
at his heart he could not tear it up nor
reach the fire that burnt on the other side
of the room. Nor did he fear the result of a
trial with steel, for he had kept himself in
practice and improved his skill since the
days when he came first to Strelsau.

"As you will," said he. "Provided we
settle the matter here and now, the manner
is the same to me."

"Put your revolver on the table, then, and
I'll lay mine by the side of it."

"I beg your pardon," smiled Rudolf, "but
you must lay yours down first."

"I'm to trust you, it seems, but you won't
trust me!"

"Precisely. You know you can trust me;
you know that I can't trust you."

A sudden flush swept over Rupert of
Hentzau's face. There were moments
when he saw, in the mirror of another's
face or words, the estimation in which
honorable men held him; and I believe
that he hated Mr. Rassendyll most
fiercely, not for thwarting his enterprise,
but because he had more power than any
other man to show him that picture. His
brows knit in a frown, and his lips shut
tight.

"Ay, but though you won't fire, you'll
destroy the letter," he sneered. "I know
your fine distinctions."

"Again I beg your pardon. You know very
well that, although all Strelsau were at the
door, I wouldn't touch the letter."

With an angry muttered oath Rupert flung
his revolver on the table. Rudolf came
forward and laid his by it. Then he took
up both, and, crossing to the mantelpiece,
laid them there; between there he placed
the queen's letter. A bright blaze burnt in
the grate; it needed but the slightest
motion of his hand to set the letter beyond
all danger. But he placed it carefully on
the mantelpiece, and, with a slight smile
on his face, turned to Rupert, saying:
"Now shall we resume the bout that Fritz
von Tarlenheim interrupted in the forest
of Zenda?"

All this while they had been speaking in
subdued accents, resolution in one, anger
in the other, keeping the voice in an even,
deliberate lowness. The girl outside
caught only a word here and there; but
now suddenly the flash of steel gleamed
on her eyes through the crevice of the
hinge. She gave a sudden gasp, and,
pressing her face closer to the opening,
listened and looked. For Rupert of
Hentzau had taken the swords from their
case and put them on the table. With a
slight bow Rudolf took one, and the two
assumed their positions. Suddenly Rupert
lowered his point. The frown vanished
from his face, and he spoke in his usual
bantering tone.

"By the way," said he, "perhaps we're
letting our feelings run away with us.
Have you more of a mind now to be King
of Ruritania? If so, I'm ready to be the
most faithful of your subjects."

"You honor me, Count."

"Provided, of course, that I'm one of the
most favored and the richest. Come,
come, the fool is dead now; he lived like a
fool and he died like a fool. The place is
empty. A dead man has no rights and
suffers no wrongs. Damn it, that's good
law, isn't it? Take his place and his wife.
You can pay my price then. Or are you
still so virtuous? Faith, how little some
men learn from the world they live in! If I
had your chance!"

"Come, Count, you'd be the last man to
trust Rupert of Hentzau."

"If I made it worth his while?"

"But he's a man who would take the pay
and betray his associate."

Again Rupert flushed. When he next
spoke his voice was hard, cold, and low.

"By God, Rudolf Rassendyll," said he,
"I'll kill you here and now."

"I ask no better than that you should try."

"And then I'll proclaim that woman for
what she is in all Strelsau." A smile came
on his lips as he watched Rudolf's face.

"Guard yourself, my lord," said Mr.
Rassendyll.

"Ay, for no better than--There, man, I'm
ready for you." For Rudolf's blade had
touched his in warning.

The steel jangled. The girl's pale face was
at the crevice of the hinge. She heard the
blades cross again and again. Then one
would run up the other with a sharp,
grating slither. At times she caught a
glimpse of a figure in quick forward lunge
or rapid wary withdrawal. Her brain was
almost paralyzed.

Ignorant of the mind and heart of young
Rupert, she could not conceive that he
tried to kill the king. Yet the words she
had caught sounded like the words of men
quarreling, and she could not persuade
herself that the gentlemen fenced only for
pastime. They were not speaking now; but
she heard their hard breathing and the
movement of their unresting feet on the
bare boards of the floor. Then a cry rang
out, clear and merry with the fierce hope
of triumph: "Nearly! nearly!"

She knew the voice for Rupert of
Hentzau's, and it was the king who
answered calmly, "Nearly isn't quite."

Again she listened. They seemed to have
paused for a moment, for there was no
sound, save of the hard breathing and
deep-drawn pants of men who rest an
instant in the midst of intense exertion.
Then came again the clash and the
slitherings; and one of them crossed into
her view. She knew the tall figure and she
saw the red hair: it was the king.
Backward step by step he seemed to be
driven, coming nearer and nearer to the
door. At last there was no more than a
foot between him and her; only the crazy
panel prevented her putting out her hand
to touch him. Again the voice of Rupert
rang out in rich exultation, "I have you
now! Say your prayers, King Rudolf!"

"Say your prayers!" Then they fought. It
was earnest, not play. And it was the
king--her king--her dear king, who was in
great peril of his life. For an instant she
knelt, still watching. Then with a low cry
of terror she turned and ran headlong
down the steep stairs. Her mind could not
tell what to do, but her heart cried out that
she must do something for her king.
Reaching the ground floor, she ran with
wide-open eyes into the kitchen. The stew
was on the hob, the old woman still held
the spoon, but she had ceased to stir and
fallen into a chair.

"He's killing the king! He's killing the
king!" cried Rosa, seizing her mother by
the arm. "Mother, what shall we do? He's
killing the king!"

The old woman looked up with dull eyes
and a stupid, cunning smile.

"Let them alone," she said. "There's no
king here."

"Yes, yes. He's upstairs in the count's
room. They're fighting, he and the Count
of Hentzau. Mother, Count Rupert will
kill

"Let them alone. He the king? He's no
king," muttered the old woman again.

For an instant Rosa stood looking down
on her in helplessdespair. Then a light
flashed into her eyes.

"I must call for help," she cried.

The old woman seemed to spring to
sudden life. She jumped up and caught
her daughter by the shoulder.

"No, no," she whispered in quick accents.
"You--you don't know. Let them alone,
you fool! It's not our business. Let them
alone."

"Let me go, mother, let me go! Mother, I
must help the king!"

"I'll not let you go," said Mother Holf.

But Rosa was young and strong; her heart
was fired with terror for the king's danger.

"I must go," she cried; and she flung her
mother's grasp off from her so that the old
woman was thrown back into her chair,
and the spoon fell from her hand and
clattered on the tiles. But Rosa turned and
fled down the passage and through the
shop. The bolts delayed her trembling
fingers for an instant. Then she flung the
door wide. A new amazement filled her
eyes at the sight of the eager crowd before
the house. Then her eyes fell on me where
I stood between the lieutenant and
Rischenheim, and she uttered her wild
cry, "Help! The king!"

With one bound I was by her side and in
the house, while Bernenstein cried,
"Quicker!" from behind.

---

CHAPTER XVIII--

THE TRIUMPH OF THE KING

THE things that men call presages,
presentiments, and so forth, are, to my
mind, for the most part idle nothings:
sometimes it is only that probable events
cast before them a natural shadow which
superstitious fancy twists into a Heaven
sent warning; oftener the same desire that
gives conception works fulfilment, and
the dreamer sees in the result of his own
act and will a mysterious accomplishment
independent of his effort. Yet when I
observe thus calmly and with good sense
on the matter to the Constable of Zenda,
he shakes his head and answers, "But
Rudolf Rassendyll knew from the first
that he would come again to Strelsau and
engage young Rupert point to point. Else
why did he practise with the foils so as to
be a better swordsman the second time
than he was the first? Mayn't God do
anything that Fritz von Tarlenheim can't
understand? a pretty notion, on my life!"
And he goes off grumbling.

Well, be it inspiration, or be it delusion--
and the difference stands often on a hair's
breadth--I am glad that Rudolf had it. For
if a man once grows rusty, it is everything
short of impossible to put the fine polish
on his skill again. Mr. Rassendyll had
strength, will, coolness, and, of course,
courage. None would have availed had
not his eye been in perfect familiarity
with its work, and his hand obeyed it as
readily as the bolt slips in a well-oiled
groove. As the thing stood, the lithe
agility and unmatched dash of young
Rupert but just missed being too much for
him. He was in deadly peril when the girl
Rosa ran down to bring him aid. His
practised skill was able to maintain his
defence. He sought to do no more, but
endured Rupert's fiery attack and wily
feints in an almost motionless stillness.
Almost, I say; for the slight turns of wrist
that seem nothing are everything, and
served here to keep his skin whole and his
life in him.

There was an instant--Rudolf saw it in his
eyes and dwelt on it when he lightly
painted the scene for me--when there
dawned on Rupert of Hentzau the
knowledge that he could not break down
his enemy's guard. Surprise, chagrin,
amusement, or something like it, seemed
blended in his look. He could not make
out how he was caught and checked in
every effort, meeting, it seemed, a barrier
of iron impregnable in rest. His quick
brain grasped the lesson in an instant. If
his skill were not the greater, the victory
would not be his, for his endurance was
the less. He was younger, and his frame
was not so closely knit; pleasure had
taken its tithe from him; perhaps a good
cause goes for something. Even while he
almost pressed Rudolf against the panel of
the door, he seemed to know that his
measure of success was full. But what the
hand could not compass the head might
contrive. In quickly conceived strategy he
began to give pause in his attack, nay, he
retreated a step or two. No scruples
hampered his devices, no code of honor
limited the means he would employ.
Backing before his opponent, he seemed
to Rudolf to be faint-hearted; he was
baffled, but seemed despairing; he was
weary, but played a more complete
fatigue. Rudolf advanced, pressing and
attacking, only to meet a defence as
perfect as his own. They were in the
middle of the room now, close by the
table. Rupert, as though he had eyes in the
back of his head, skirted round, avoiding
it by a narrow inch. His breathing was
quick and distressed, gasp tumbling over
gasp, but still his eye was alert and his
hand unerring. He had but a few moments'
more effort left in him: it was enough if
he could reach his goal and perpetrate the
trick on which his mind, fertile in every
base device, was set. For it was towards
the mantelpiece that his retreat, seeming
forced, in truth so deliberate, led him.
There was the letter, there lay the
revolvers. The time to think of risks was
gone by; the time to boggle over what
honor allowed or forbade had never come
to Rupert of Hentzau. If he could not win
by force and skill, he would win by guile
and by treachery, to the test that he had
himself invited. The revolvers lay on the
mantelpiece: he meant to possess himself
of one, if he could gain an instant in
which to snatch it.

The device that he adopted was nicely
chosen. It was too late to call a rest or ask
breathing space: Mr. Rassendyll was not
blind to the advantage he had won, and
chivalry would have turned to folly had it
allowed such indulgence. Rupert was hard
by the mantelpiece now. The sweat was
pouring from his face, and his breast
seemed like to burst in the effort after
breath; yet he had enough strength for his
purpose. He must have slackened his hold
on his weapon, for when Rudolf's blade
next struck it, it flew from his hand,
twirled out of a nerveless grasp, and slid
along the floor. Rupert stood disarmed,
and Rudolf motionless.

"Pick it up," said Mr. Rassendyll, never
thinking there had been a trick.

"Ay, and you'll truss me while I do it."

"You young fool, don't you know me
yet?" and Rudolf, lowering his blade,
rested its point on the floor, while with his
left hand he indicated Rupert's weapon.
Yet something warned him: it may be
there came a look in Rupert's eyes,
perhaps of scorn for his enemy's
simplicity, perhaps of pure triumph in the
graceless knavery. Rudolf stood waiting.

"You swear you won't touch me while I
pick it up?" asked Rupert, shrinking back
a little, and thereby getting an inch or two
nearer the mantelpiece.

"You have my promise: pick it up. I won't
wait any longer."

"You won't kill me unarmed?" cried
Rupert, in alarmed scandalized
expostulation.

"No; but--"

The speech went unfinished, unless a
sudden cry were its ending. And, as he
cried, Rudolf Rassendyll, dropping his
sword on the ground, sprang forward. For
Rupert's hand had shot out behind him
and was on the butt of one of the
revolvers. The whole trick flashed on
Rudolf, and he sprang, flinging his long
arms round Rupert. But Rupert had the
revolver in his hand.

In all likelihood the two neither heard nor
heeded, though it seemed to me that the
creaks and groans of the old stairs were
loud enough to wake the dead. For now
Rosa had given the alarm, Bernenstein
and I--or I and Bernenstein (for I was
first, and, therefore, may put myself first)-
-had rushed up. Hard behind us came
Rischenheim, and hot on his heels a score
of fellows, pushing and shouldering and
trampling. We in front had a fair start, and
gained the stairs unimpeded; Rischenheim
was caught up in the ruck and gulfed in
the stormy, tossing group that struggled
for first footing on the steps. Yet, soon
they were after us, and we heard them
reach the first landing as we sped up to
the last. There was a confused din through
all the house, and it seemed now to echo
muffled and vague through the walls from
the street without. I was conscious of it,
although I paid no heed to anything but
reaching the room where the king--where
Rudolf--was. Now I was there,
Bernenstein hanging to my heels. The
door did not hold us a second. I was in, he
after me. He slammed the door and set his
back against it, just as the rush of feet
flooded the highest flight of stairs. And at
the moment a revolver shot rang clear and
loud.

The lieutenant and I stood still, he against
the door, I a pace farther into the room.
The sight we saw was enough to arrest us
with its strange interest. The smoke of the
shot was curling about, but neither man
seemed wounded. The revolver was in
Rupert's hand, and its muzzle smoked.
But Rupert was jammed against the wall,
just by the side of the mantelpiece. With
one hand Rudolf had pinned his left arm
to the wainscoting higher than his head,
with the other he held his right wrist. I
drew slowly nearer: if Rudolf were
unarmed, I could fairly enforce a truce
and put them on an equality; yet, though
Rudolf was unarmed, I did nothing. The
sight of his face stopped me. He was very
pale and his lips were set, but it was his
eyes that caught my gaze, for they were
glad and merciless. I had never seen him
look thus before. I turned from him to
young Hentzau's face. Rupert's teeth were
biting his under lip, the sweat dropped,
and the veins swelled large and blue on
his forehead; his eyes were set on Rudolf
Rassendyll. Fascinated, I drew nearer.
Then I saw what passed. Inch by inch
Rupert's arm curved, the elbow bent, the
hand that had pointed almost straight from
him and at Mr. Rassendyll pointed now
away from both towards the window. But
its motion did not stop; it followed the
line of a circle: now it was on Rupert's
arm; still it moved, and quicker now, for
the power of resistance grew less. Rupert
was beaten; he felt it and knew it, and I
read the knowledge in his eyes. I stepped
up to Rudolf Rassendyll. He heard or felt
me, and turned his eyes for an instant. I
do not know what my face said, but he
shook his head and turned back to Rupert.
The revolver, held still in the man's own
hand, was at his heart. The motion ceased,
the point was reached.

I looked again at Rupert. Now his face
was easier; there was a slight smile on his
lips; he flung back his comely head and
rested thus against the wainscoting; his
eyes asked a question of Rudolf
Rassendyll. I turned my gaze to where the
answer was to come, for Rudolf made
none in words. By the swiftest of
movements he shifted his grasp from
Rupert's wrist and pounced on his hand.
Now his forefinger rested on Rupert's and
Rupert's was on the trigger. I am no soft-
heart, but I laid a hand on his shoulder.
He took no heed; I dared do no more.
Rupert glanced at me. I caught his look,
but what could I say to him? Again my
eyes were riveted on Rudolf's finger. Now
it was crooked round Rupert's, seeming
like a man who strangles another.

I will not say more. He smiled to the last;
his proud head, which had never bent for
shame, did not bend for fear. There was a
sudden tightening in the pressure of that
crooked forefinger, a flash, a noise. He
was held up against the wall for an instant
by Rudolf's hand; when that was removed
he sank, a heap that looked all head and
knees.

But hot on the sound of the discharge
came a shout and an oath from
Bernenstein. He was hurled away from
the door, and through it burst
Rischenheim and the whole score after
him. They were jostling one another and
crying out to know what passed and
where the king was. High over all the
voices, coming from the back of the
throng, I heard the cry of the girl Rosa.
But as soon as they were in the room, the
same spell that had fastened Bernenstein
and me to inactivity imposed its numbing
power on them also. Only Rischenheim
gave a sudden sob and ran forward to
where his cousin lay. The rest stood
staring. For a moment Rudolf eyed them.
Then, without a word, he turned his back.
He put out the right hand with which he
had just killed Rupert of Hentzau, and
took the letter from the mantelpiece. He
glanced at the envelope, then he opened
the letter. The handwriting banished any
last doubt he had; he tore the letter across,
and again in four pieces, and yet again in
smaller fragments. Then he sprinkled the
morsels of paper into the blaze of the fire.
I believe that every eye in the room
followed them and watched till they
curled and crinkled into black, wafery
ashes. Thus, at last the queen's letter was
safe.

When he had thus set the seal on his task
he turned round to us again. He paid no
heed to Rischenheim, who was crouching
down by the body of Rupert; but he
looked at Bernenstein and me, and then at
the people behind us. He waited a
moment before he spoke; then his
utterance was not only calm but also very
slow, so that he seemed to be choosing his
words carefully.

"Gentlemen," said he, "a full account of
this matter will be rendered by myself in
due time. For the present it must suffice to
say that this gentleman who lies here dead
sought an interview with me on private
business. I came here to find him,
desiring, as he professed, to desire,
privacy. And here he tried to kill me. The
result of his attempt you see."

I bowed low, Bernenstein did the like, and
all the rest followed our example.

"A full account shall be given," said
Rudolf. "Now let all leave me, except the
Count of Tarlenheim and Lieutenant von
Bernenstein."

Most unwillingly, with gaping mouths
and wonder-struck eyes, the throng filed
out of the door. Rischenheim rose to his
feet.

"You stay, if you like," said Rudolf, and
the count knelt again by his kinsman.

Seeing the rough bedsteads by the wall of
the attic, I touched Rischenheim on the
shoulder and pointed to one of them.
Together we lifted Rupert of Hentzau.
The revolver was still in his hand, but
Bernenstein disengaged it from his grasp.
Then Rischenheim and I laid him down,
disposing his body decently and spreading
over it his riding cloak, still spotted with
the mud gathered on his midnight
expedition to the hunting-lodge. His face
looked much as before the shot was fired;
in death, as in life, he was the handsomest
fellow in all Ruritania. I wager that many
tender hearts ached and many bright eyes
were dimmed for him when the news of
his guilt and death went forth. There are
ladies still in Strelsau who wear his
trinkets in an ashamed devotion that
cannot forget. Well, even I, who had
every good cause to hate and scorn him,
set the hair smooth on his brow; while
Rischenheim was sobbing like a child,
and young Bernenstein rested his head on
his arm as he leant on the mantelpiece,
and would not look at the dead. Rudolf
alone seemed not to heed him or think of
him. His eyes had lost their unnatural look
of joy, and were now calm and tranquil.
He took his own revolver from the
mantelpiece and put it in his pocket,
laying Rupert's neatly where his had been.
Then he turned to me and said:

"Come, let us go to the queen and tell her
that the letter is beyond reach of hurt."

Moved by some impulse, I walked to the
window and put my head out. I was seen
from below, and a great shout greeted me.
The crowd before the doors grew every
moment; the people flocking from all
quarters would soon multiply it a hundred
fold; for such news as had been carried
from the attic by twenty wondering
tongues spreads like a forest-fire. It would
be through Strelsau in a few minutes,
through the kingdom in an hour, through
Europe in but little longer. Rupert was
dead and the letter was safe, but what
were we to tell that great concourse
concerning their king? A queer feeling of
helpless perplexity came over me and
found vent in a foolish laugh. Bernenstein
was by my side; he also looked out, and
turned again with an eager face.

"You'll have a royal progress to your
palace," said he to Rudolf Rassendyll.

Mr. Rassendyll made no answer, but,
coming to me, took my arm. We went out,
leaving Rischenheim by the body. I did
not think of him; Bernenstein probably
thought that he would keep his pledge
given to the queen, for he followed us
immediately and without demur. There
was nobody outside the door. The house
was very quiet, and the tumult from the
street reached us only in a muffled roar.
But when we came to the foot of the stairs
we found the two women. Mother Holf
stood on the threshold of the kitchen,
looking amazed and terrified. Rosa was
clinging to her; but as soon as Rudolf
came in sight, the girl sprang forward and
flung herself on her knees before him,
pouring out incoherent thanks to Heaven
for his safety. He bent down and spoke to
her in a whisper; she looked up with a
flush of pride on her face. He seemed to
hesitate a moment; he glanced at his
hands, but he wore no ring save that
which the queen had given him long ago.
Then he disengaged his chain and took his
gold watch from his pocket. Turning it
over, he showed me the monogram, R. R.

"Rudolfus Rex," he whispered with a
whimsical smile, and pressed the watch
into the girl's hand, saying: "Keep this to
remind you of me."

She laughed and sobbed as she caught it
with one hand, while with the other she
held his.

"You must let go," he said gently. "I have
much to do."

I took her by the arm and induced her to
rise. Rudolf, released, passed on to where
the old woman stood. He spoke to her in a
stern, distinct voice.

"I don't know," he said, "how far you are
a party to the plot that was hatched in
your house. For the present I am content
not to know, for it is no pleasure to me to
detect disloyalty or to punish an old
woman. But take care! The first word you
speak, the first act you do against me, the
king, will bring its certain and swift
punishment. If you trouble me, I won't
spare you. In spite of traitors I am still
king in Strelsau."

He paused, looking hard in her face. Her
lip quivered and her eyes fell.

"Yes," he repeated, "I am king in Strelsau.
Keep your hands out of mischief and your
tongue quiet."

She made no answer. He passed on. I was
following, but as I went by her the old
woman clutched my arm. "In God's name,
who is he?" she whispered.

"Are you mad?" I asked, lifting my
brows. "Don't you know the king when he
speaks to you? And you'd best remember
what he said. He has servants who'll do
his orders."

She let me go and fell back a step. Young
Bernenstein smiled at her; he at least
found more pleasure than anxiety in our
position. Thus, then, we left them: the old
woman terrified, amazed, doubtful; the
girl with ruddy cheeks and shining eyes,
clasping in her two hands the keepsake
that the king himself had given her.

Bernenstein had more presence of mind
than I. He ran forward, got in front of
both of us, and flung the door open. Then,
bowing very low, he stood aside to let
Rudolf pass. The street was full from end
to end now, and a mighty shout of
welcome rose from thousands of throats.
Hats and handkerchiefs were waved in
mad exultation and triumphant loyalty.
The tidings of the king's escape had
flashed through the city, and all were
there to do him honor. They had seized
some gentleman's landau and taken out
the horses. The carriage stood now before
the doors of the house. Rudolf had waited
a moment on the threshold, lifting his hat
once or twice; his face was perfectly
calm, and I saw no trembling in his hands.
In an instant a dozen arms took gentle
hold of him and impelled him forward. He
mounted into the carriage; Bernenstein
and I followed, with bare heads, and sat
on the back seat, facing him. The people
were round as thick as bees, and it seemed
as though we could not move without
crushing somebody. Yet presently the
wheels turned, and they began to drag us
away at a slow walk. Rudolf kept raising
his hat, bowing now to right, now to left.
But once, as he turned, his eyes met ours.
In spite of what was behind and what was
in front, we all three smiled.

"I wish they'd go a little quicker," said
Rudolf in a whisper, as he conquered his
smile and turned again to acknowledge
the loyal greetings of his subjects.

But what did they know of any need for
haste? They did not know what stood on
the turn of the next few hours, nor the
momentous question that pressed for
instant decision. So far from hurrying,
they lengthened our ride by many pauses;
they kept us before the cathedral, while
some ran and got the joy bells set ringing;
we were stopped to receive improvised
bouquets from the hands of pretty girls
and impetuous hand-shakings from
enthusiastic loyalists. Through it all
Rudolf kept his composure, and seemed
to play his part with native kingliness. I
heard Bernenstein whisper, "By God, we
must stick to it!"

At last we came in sight of the palace.
Here also there was a great stir. Many
officers and soldiers were about. I saw the
chancellor's carriage standing near the
portico, and a dozen other handsome
equipages were waiting till they could
approach. Our human horses drew us
slowly up to the entrance. Helsing was on
the steps, and ran down to the carriage,
greeting the king with passionate fervor.
The shouts of the crowd grew louder still.

But suddenly a stillness fell on them; it
lasted but an instant, and was the prelude
to a deafening roar. I was looking at
Rudolf and saw his head turn suddenly
and his eyes grow bright. I looked where
his eyes had gone. There, on the top step
of the broad marble flight, stood the
queen, pale as the marble itself, stretching
out her hands towards Rudolf. The people
had seen her: she it was whom this last
rapturous cheer greeted. My wife stood
close behind her, and farther back others
of her ladies. Bernenstein and I sprang
out. With a last salute to the people
Rudolf followed us. He walked up to the
highest step but one, and there fell on one
knee and kissed the queen's hand. I was
by him, and when he looked up in her
face I heard him say:

"All's well. He's dead, and the letter
burnt."

She raised him with her hand. Her lips
moved, but it seemed as though she could
find no words to speak. She put her arm
through his, and thus they stood for an
instant, fronting all Strelsau. Again the
cheers rang out, and young Bernenstein
sprang forward, waving his helmet and
crying like a man possessed, "God save
the king!" I was carried away by his
enthusiasm and followed his lead. All the
people took up the cry with boundless
fervor, and thus we all, high and low in
Strelsau, that afternoon hailed Mr.
Rassendyll for our king. There had been
no such zeal since Henry the Lion came
back from his wars, a hundred and fifty
years ago.

"And yet," observed old Helsing at my
elbow, "agitators say that there is no
enthusiasm for the house of Elphberg!"
He took a pinch of snuff in scornful
satisfaction.

Young Bernenstein interrupted his
cheering with a short laugh, but fell to his
task again in a moment. I had recovered
my senses by now, and stood punting,
looking down on the crowd. It was
growing dusk and the faces became
blurred into a white sea. Yet suddenly I
seemed to discern one glaring up at me
from the middle of the crowd--the pale
face of a man with a bandage about his
head. I caught Bernenstein's arm and
whispered, "Bauer," pointing with my
finger where the face was. But, even as I
pointed, it was gone; though it seemed
impossible for a man to move in that
press, yet it was gone. It had come like a
cynic's warning across the scene of mock
triumph, and went swiftly as it had come,
leaving behind it a reminder of our peril. I
felt suddenly sick at heart, and almost
cried out to the people to have done with
their silly shouting.

At last we got away. The plea of fatigue
met all visitors who made their way to the
door and sought to offer their
congratulations; it could not disperse the
crowd that hung persistently and
contentedly about, ringing us in the palace
with a living fence. We still heard their
jests and cheers when we were alone in
the small saloon that opens on the
gardens. My wife and I had come here at
Rudolf's request; Bernenstein had
assumed the duty of guarding the door.
Evening was now falling fast, and it grew
dark. The garden was quiet; the distant
noise of the crowd threw its stillness into
greater relief. Rudolf told us there the
story of his struggle with Rupert of
Hentzau in the attic of the old house,
dwelling on it as lightly as he could. The
queen stood by his chair--she would not
let him rise; when he finished by telling
how he had burnt her letter, she stooped
suddenly and kissed him off the brow.
Then she looked straight across at Helga,
almost defiantly; but Helga ran to her and
caught her in her arms.

Rudolf Rassendyll sat with his head
resting on his hand. He looked up once at
the two women; then he caught my eye,
and beckoned me to come to him. I
approached him, but for several moments
he did not speak. Again he motioned to
me, and, resting my hand on the arm of
his chair, I bent my head close down to
his. He glanced again at the queen,
seeming afraid that she would hear what
he wished to say.

"Fritz," he whispered at last, "as soon as
it's fairly dark I must get away.
Bernenstein will come with me. You must
stay here."

"Where can you go?"

"To the lodge. I must meet Sapt and
arrange matters with him."

I did not understand what plan he had in
his head, or what scheme he could
contrive. But at the moment my mind was
not directed to such matters; it was set on
the sight before my eyes.

"And the queen?" I whispered in answer
to him.

Low as my voice was, she heard it. She
turned to us with a sudden, startled
movement, still holding Helga's hand. Her
eyes searched our faces, and she knew in
an instant of what we had been speaking.
A little longer still she stood, gazing at us.
Then she suddenly sprang forward and
threw herself on her knees before Rudolf,
her hands uplifted and resting on his
shoulders. She forgot our presence, and
everything in the world, save her great
dread of losing him again.

"Not again, Rudolf, my darling! Not
again! Rudolf, I can't bear it again."

Then she dropped her head on his knees
and sobbed.

He raised his hand and gently stroked the
gleaming hair. But he did not look at her.
He gazed out at the garden, which grew
dark and dreary in the gathering gloom.
His lips were tight set and his face pale
and drawn.

I watched him for a moment, then I drew
my wife away, and we sat down at a table
some way off. From outside still came the
cheers and tumult of the joyful, excited
crowd. Within there was no sound but the
queen's stifled sobbing. Rudolf caressed
her shining hair and gazed into the night
with sad, set eyes. She raised her head and
looked into his face.

"You'll break my heart," she said.

---

CHAPTER XIX--

FOR OUR LOVE AND HER HONOR

RUPERT of Hentzau was dead! That was
the thought which, among all our
perplexities, came back to me, carrying
with it a wonderful relief. To those who
have not learnt in fighting against him the
height of his audacity and the reach of his
designs, it may well seem incredible that
his death should breed comfort at a
moment when the future was still so dark
and uncertain. Yet to me it was so great a
thing that I could hardly bring myself to
the conviction that we had done with him.
True, he was dead; but could he not strike
a blow at us even from beyond the gulf?

Such were the half-superstitious thoughts
that forced their way into my mind as I
stood looking out on the crowd which
obstinately encircled the front of the
palace. I was alone; Rudolf was with the
queen, my wife was resting, Bernenstein
had sat down to a meal for which I could
find no appetite. By an effort I freed
myself from my fancies and tried to
concentrate my brain on the facts of our
position. We were ringed round with
difficulties. To solve them was beyond
my power; but I knew where my wish and
longing lay. I had no desire to find means
by which Rudolf Rassendyll should
escape unknown from Strelsau; the king,
although dead, be again in death the king,
and the queen be left desolate on her
mournful and solitary throne. It might be
that a brain more astute than mine could
bring all this to pass. My imagination
would have none of it, but dwelt lovingly
on the reign of him who was now king in
Strelsau, declaring that to give the
kingdom such a ruler would be a splendid
fraud, and prove a stroke so bold as to
defy detection. Against it stood only the
suspicions of Mother Holf--fear or money
would close her lips--and the knowledge
of Bauer; Bauer's mouth also could be
shut, ay, and should be before we were
many days older. My reverie led me far; I
saw the future years unroll before me in
the fair record of a great king's
sovereignty. It seemed to me that by the
violence and bloodshed we had passed
through, fate, for once penitent, was but
righting the mistake made when Rudolf
was not born a king.

For a long while I stood thus, musing and
dreaming; I was roused by the sound of
the door opening and closing; turning, I
saw the queen. She was alone, and came
towards me with timid steps. She looked
out for a moment on the square and the
people, but drew back suddenly in
apparent fear lest they should see her.
Then she sat down and turned her face
towards mine. I read in her eyes
something of the conflict of emotions
which possessed her; she seemed at once
to deprecate my disapproval and to ask
my sympathy; she prayed me to be gentle
to her fault and kind to her happiness;
self-reproach shadowed her joy, but the
golden gleam of it strayed through. I
looked eagerly at her; this would not have
been her bearing had she come from a last
farewell; for the radiance was there,
however much dimmed by sorrow and by
fearfulness.

"Fritz," she began softly, "I am wicked--
so wicked. Won't God punish me for my
gladness?"

I fear I paid little heed to her trouble,
though I can understand it well enough
now.

"Gladness?" I cried in a low voice. "Then
you've persuaded him?"

She smiled at me for an instant.

"I mean, you've agreed ?" I stammered.

Her eyes again sought mine, and she said
in a whisper: "Some day, not now. Oh,
not now. Now would be too much. But
some day, Fritz, if God will not deal too
hardly with me, I--I shall be his, Fritz."

I was intent on my vision, not on hers. I
wanted him king; she did not care what he
was, so that he was hers, so that he should
not leave her.

"He'll take the throne," I cried
triumphantly.

"No, no, no. Not the throne. He's going
away."

"Going away!" I could not keep the
dismay out of my voice.

"Yes, now. But not--not for ever. It will
be long--oh, so long--but I can bear it, if I
know that at last!" She stopped, still
looking up at me with eyes that implored
pardon and sympathy.

"I don't understand," said I, bluntly, and, I
fear, gruffly, also.

"You were right," she said: "I did
persuade him. He wanted to go away
again as he went before. Ought I to have
let him? Yes, yes! But I couldn't. Fritz,
hadn't I done enough? You don't know
what I've endured. And I must endure
more still. For he will go now, and the
time will be very long. But, at last, we
shall be together. There is pity in God; we
shall be together at last."

"If he goes now, how can he come back?"

"He will not come back; I shall go to him.
I shall give up the throne and go to him,
some day, when I can be spared from
here, when I've done my--my work."

I was aghast at this shattering of my
vision, yet I could not be hard to her. I
said nothing, but took her hand and
pressed it.

"You wanted him to be king?" she
whispered.

"With all my heart, madam," said I.

"He wouldn't, Fritz. No, and I shouldn't
dare to do that, either."

I fell back on the practical difficulties.
"But how can he go?" I asked.

"I don't know. But he knows; he has a
plan."

We fell again into silence; her eyes grew
more calm, and seemed to look forward in
patient hope to the time when her
happiness should come to her. I felt like a
man suddenly robbed of the exaltation of
wine and sunk to dull apathy. "I don't see
how he can go," I said sullenly.

She did not answer me. A moment later
the door again opened. Rudolf came in,
followed by Bernenstein. Both wore
riding boots and cloaks. I saw on
Bernenstein's face just such a look of
disappointment as I knew must be on
mine. Rudolf seemed calm and even
happy. He walked straight up to the
queen.

"The horses will be ready in a few
minutes," he said gently. Then, turning to
me, he asked, "You know what we're
going to do, Fritz?"

"Not I, sire," I answered, sulkily.

"Not I, sire!" he repeated, in a half-merry,
half-sad mockery. Then he came between
Bernenstein and me and passed his arms
through ours. "You two villains!" he said.
"You two unscrupulous villains! Here you
are, as rough as bears, because I won't be
a thief! Why have I killed young Rupert
and left you rogues alive?"

I felt the friendly pressure of his hand on
my arm. I could not answer him. With
every word from his lips and every
moment of his presence my sorrow grew
keener that he would not stay.
Bernenstein looked across at me and
shrugged his shoulders despairingly.
Rudolf gave a little laugh.

"You won't forgive me for not being as
great a rogue, won't you?" he asked.

Well, I found nothing to say, but I took
my arm out of his and clasped his hand.
He gripped mine hard.

"That's old Fritz!" he said; and he caught
hold of Bernenstein's hand, which the
lieutenant yielded with some reluctance.
"Now for the plan," said he. "Bernenstein
and I set out at once for the lodge--yes,
publicly, as publicly as we can. I shall
ride right through the people there,
showing myself to as many as will look at
me, and letting it be known to everybody
where I'm going. We shall get there quite
early to-morrow, before it's light. There
we shall find what you know. We shall
find Sapt, too, and he'll put the finishing
touches to our plan for us. Hullo, what's
that?"

There was a sudden fresh shouting from
the large crowd that still lingered outside
the palace. I ran to the window, and saw a
commotion in the midst of them. I flung
the sash up. Then I heard a well-known,
loud, strident voice: "Make way, you
rascals, make way."

I turned round again, full of excitement.

"It's Sapt himself!" I said. "He's riding
like mad through the crowd, and your
servant's just behind him."

"My God, what's happened? Why have
they left the lodge?" cried Bernenstein.

The queen looked up in startled alarm,
and, rising to her feet, came and passed
her arm through Rudolf's. Thus we all
stood, listening to the people good-
naturedly cheering Sapt, whom they had
recognized, and bantering James, whom
they took for a servant of the constable's.

The minutes seemed very long as we
waited in utter perplexity, almost in
consternation. The same thought was in
the mind of all of us, silently imparted by
one to another in the glances we
exchanged. What could have brought
them from their guard of the great secret,
save its discovery? They would never
have left their post while the fulfilment of
their trust was possible. By some mishap,
some unforeseen chance, the king's body
must have been discovered. Then the
king's death was known, and the news of
it might any moment astonish and
bewilder the city.

At last the door was flung open, and a
servant announced the Constable of
Zenda. Sapt was covered with dust and
mud, and James, who entered close on his
heels, was in no better plight. Evidently
they had ridden hard and furiously; indeed
they were still panting. Sapt, with a most
perfunctory bow to the queen, came
straight to where Rudolf stood.

"Is he dead?" he asked, without preface.

"Yes, Rupert is dead," answered Mr.
Rassendyll: "I killed him."

"And the letter?"

"I burnt it."

"And Rischenheim?"

The queen struck in.

"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim will
say and do nothing against me," she said.

Sapt lifted his brows a little. "Well, and
Bauer?" he asked.

"Bauer's at large," I answered.

"Hum! Well, it's only Bauer" said the
constable, seeming tolerably well pleased.
Then his eyes fell on Rudolf and
Bernenstein. He stretched out his hand
and pointed to their riding-boots.
"Whither away so late at night?" he asked.

"First together to the lodge, to find you,
then I alone to the frontier," said Mr.
Rassendyll.

"One thing at a time. The frontier will
wait. What does your Majesty want with
me at the lodge?"

"I want so to contrive that I shall be no
longer your Majesty," said Rudolf.

Sapt flung himself into a chair and took
off his gloves.

"Come, tell me what has happened to-day
in Strelsau," he said.

We gave a short and hurried account. He
listened with few signs of approval or
disapproval, but I thought I saw a gleam
in his eyes when I described how all the
city had hailed Rudolf as its king and the
queen received him as her husband before
the eyes of all. Again the hope and vision,
shattered by Rudolf's calm resolution,
inspired me. Sapt said little, but he had
the air of a man with some news in
reserve. He seemed to be comparing what
we told him with something already
known to him but unknown to us. The
little servant stood all the while in
respectful stillness by the door; but I
could see by a glance at his alert face that
he followed the whole scene with keen
attention.

At the end of the story, Rudolf turned to
Sapt. "And your secret--is it safe?" he
asked.

"Ay, it's safe enough!"

"Nobody has seen what you had to hide?"

"No; and nobody knows that the king is
dead," answered Sapt.

"Then what brings you here?"

"Why, the same thing that was about to
bring you to the lodge: the need of a
meeting between yourself and me, sire."

"But the lodge--is it left unguarded?"

"The lodge is safe enough," said Colonel
Sapt.

Unquestionably there was a secret, a new
secret, hidden behind the curt words and
brusque manner. I could restrain myself
no longer, and sprang forward, saying:
"What is it? Tell us, Constable!"

He looked at me, then glanced at Mr.
Rassendyll.

"I should like to hear your plan first," he
said to Rudolf. "How do you mean to
account for your presence alive in the city
to-day, when the king has lain dead in the
shooting-box since last night?"

We drew close together as Rudolf began
his answer. Sapt alone lay back in his
chair. The queen also had resumed her
seat; she seemed to pay little heed to what
we said. I think that she was still
engrossed with the struggle and tumult in
her own soul. The sin of which she
accused herself, and the joy to which her
whole being sprang in a greeting which
would not be abashed, were at strife
between themselves, but joined hands to
exclude from her mind any other thought.

"In an hour I must be gone from here,"
began Rudolf.

"If you wish that, it's easy," observed
Colonel Sapt.

"Come, Sapt, be reasonable," smiled Mr.
Rassendyll. "Early to-morrow, we--you
and I--"

"Oh, I also?" asked the colonel.

"Yes; you, Bernenstein, and I will be at
the lodge."

"That's not impossible, though I have had
nearly enough riding."

Rudolf fixed his eyes firmly on Sapt's.

"You see," he said, "the king reaches his
hunting-lodge early in the morning."

"I follow you, sire."

"And what happens there, Sapt? Does he
shoot himself accidentally?"

"Well, that happens sometimes."

"Or does an assassin kill him?"

"Eh, but you've made the best assassin
unavailable."

Even at this moment I could not help
smiling at the old fellow's surly wit and
Rudolf's amused tolerance of it.

"Or does his faithful attendant, Herbert,
shoot him?"

"What, make poor Herbert a murderer!"

"Oh, no! By accident--and then, in
remorse, kill himself."

"That's very pretty. But doctors have
awkward views as to when a man can
have shot himself."

"My good Constable, doctors have palms
as well as ideas. If you fill the one you
supply the other."

"I think," said Sapt, "that both the plans
are good. Suppose we choose the latter,
what then?"

"Why, then, by to-morrow at midday the
news flashes through Ruritania--yes, and
through Europe--that the king,
miraculously preserved to-day--"

"Praise be to God!" interjected Colonel
Sapt; and young Bernenstein laughed.

"Has met a tragic end."

"It will occasion great grief," said Sapt.

"Meanwhile, I am safe over the frontier."

"Oh, you are quite safe?"

"Absolutely. And in the afternoon of to-
morrow, you and Bernenstein will set out
for Strelsau, bringing with you the body
of the king." And Rudolf, after a pause,
whispered, "You must shave his face.
And if the doctors want to talk about how
long he's been dead, why, they have, as I
say, palms."

Sapt sat silent for a while, apparently
considering the scheme. It was risky
enough in all conscience, but success had
made Rudolf bold, and he had learnt how
slow suspicion is if a deception be bold
enough. It is only likely frauds that are
detected.

"Well, what do you say?" asked Mr.
Rassendyll. I observed that he said
nothing to Sapt of what the queen and he
had determined to do afterwards.

Sapt wrinkled his forehead. I saw him
glance at James, and the slightest, briefest
smile showed on James's face.

"It's dangerous, of course," pursued
Rudolf. "But I believe that when they see
the king's body--"

"That's the point," interrupted Sapt. "They
can't see the king's body."

Rudolf looked at him with some surprise.
Then speaking in a low voice, lest the
queen should hear and be distressed, he
went on: "You must prepare it, you know.
Bring it here in a shell; only a few
officials need see the face."

Sapt rose to his feet and stood facing Mr.
Rassendyll.

"The plan's a pretty one, but it breaks
down at one point," said he in a strange
voice, even harsher than his was wont to
be. I was on fire with excitement, for I
would have staked my life now that he
had some strange tidings for us. "There is
no body," said he.

Even Mr. Rassendyll's composure gave
way. He sprang forward, catching Sapt by
the arm.

"No body? What do you mean?" he
exclaimed.

Sapt cast another glance at James, and
then began in an even, mechanical voice,
as though he were reading a lesson he had
learnt, or playing a part that habit made
familiar:

"That poor fellow Herbert carelessly left a
candle burning where the oil and the
wood were kept," he said. "This
afternoon, about six, James and I lay
down for a nap after our meal. At about
seven James came to my side and roused
me. My room was full of smoke. The
lodge was ablaze. I darted out of bed: the
fire had made too much headway; we
could not hope to quench it; we had but
one thought!" He suddenly paused, and
looked at James.

"But one thought, to save our
companion," said James gravely.

"But one thought, to save our companion.
We rushed to the door of the room where
he was. I opened the door and tried to
enter. It was certain death. James tried,
but fell back. Again I rushed in. James
pulled me back: it was but another death.
We had to save ourselves. We gained the
open air. The lodge was a sheet of flame.
We could do nothing but stand watching,
till the swiftly burning wood blackened to
ashes and the flames died down. As we
watched we knew that all in the cottage
must be dead. What could we do? At last
James started off in the hope of getting
help. He found a party of charcoal-
burners, and they came with him. The
flames were burnt down now; and we and
they approached the charred ruins.
Everything was in ashes. But"--he
lowered his voice--"we found what
seemed to be the body of Boris the hound;
in another room was a charred corpse,
whose hunting-horn, melted to a molten
mass, told us that it had been Herbert the
forester. And there was another corpse,
almost shapeless, utterly unrecognizable.
We saw it; the charcoal-burners saw it.
Then more peasants came round, drawn
by the sight of the flames. None could tell
who it was; only I and James knew. And
we mounted our horses and have ridden
here to tell the king."

Sapt finished his lesson or his story. A
sob burst from the queen, and she hid her
face in her hands. Bernenstein and I,
amazed at this strange tale, scarcely
understanding whether it were jest or
earnest, stood staring stupidly at Sapt.
Then I, overcome by the strange thing,
turned half-foolish by the bizarre
mingling of comedy and impressiveness
in Sapt's rendering of it, plucked him by
the sleeve, and asked, with something
between a laugh and a gasp:

"Who had that other corpse been,
Constable?"

He turned his small, keen eyes on me in
persistent gravity and unflinching
effrontery.

"A Mr. Rassendyll, a friend of the king's,
who with his servant James was awaiting
his Majesty's return from Strelsau. His
servant here is ready to start for England,
to tell Mr. Rassendyll's relatives the
news."

The queen had begun to listen before
now; her eyes were fixed on Sapt, and she
had stretched out one arm to him, as if
imploring him to read her his riddle. But a
few words had in truth declared his device
plainly enough in all its simplicity. Rudolf
Rassendyll was dead, his body burnt to a
cinder, and the king was alive, whole, and
on his throne in Strelsau. Thus had Sapt
caught from James, the servant, the
infection of his madness, and had fulfilled
in action the strange imagination which
the little man had unfolded to him in order
to pass their idle hours at the lodge.

Suddenly Mr. Rassendyll spoke in clear,
short tones.

"This is all a lie, Sapt," said he, and his
lips curled in contemptuous amusement.

"It's no lie that the lodge is burnt, and the
bodies in it, and that half a hundred of the
peasants know it, and that no man could
tell the body for the king's. As for the rest,
it is a lie. But I think the truth in it is
enough to serve."

The two men stood facing one another
with defiant eyes. Rudolf had caught the
meaning of the great and audacious trick
which Sapt and his companion had
played. It was impossible now to bring the
king's body to Strelsau; it seemed no less
impossible to declare that the man burnt
in the lodge was the king. Thus Sapt had
forced Rudolf's hand; he had been
inspired by the same vision as we, and
endowed with more unshrinking boldness.
But when I saw how Rudolf looked at
him, I did not know but that they would
go from the queen's presence set on a
deadly quarrel. Mr. Rassendyll, however,
mastered his temper.

"You're all bent on having me a rascal,"
he said coldly. "Fritz and Bernenstein
here urge me; you, Sapt, try to force me.
James, there, is in the plot, for all I
know."

"I suggested it, sir," said James, not
defiantly or with disrespect, but as if in
simple dutiful obedience to his master's
implied question.

"As I thought--all of you! Well, I won't be
forced. I see now that there's no way out
of this affair, save one. That one I'll
follow."

We none of us spoke, but waited till he
should be pleased to continue.

"Of the queen's letter I need say nothing
and will say nothing," he pursued. "But I
will tell them that I'm not the king, but
Rudolf Rassendyll, and that I played the
king only in order to serve the queen and
punish Rupert of Hentzau. That will
serve, and it will cut this net of Sapt's
from about my limbs."

He spoke firmly and coldly; so that when
I looked at him I was amazed to see how
his lips twitched and that his forehead was
moist with sweat. Then I understood what
a sudden, swift, and fearful struggle he
had suffered, and how the great
temptation had wrung and tortured him
before he, victorious, had set the thing
behind him. I went to him and clasped his
hand: this action of mine seemed to soften
him.

"Sapt, Sapt," he said, "you almost made a
rogue of me."

Sapt did not respond to his gentler mood.
He had been pacing angrily up and down
the room. Now he stopped abruptly before
Rudolf, and pointed with his finger at the
queen.

"I make a rogue of you?" he exclaimed.
"And what do you make of our queen,
whom we all serve? What does this truth
that you'll tell make of her? Haven't I
heard how she greeted you before all
Strelsau as her husband and her love?
Will they believe that she didn't know her
husband? Ay, you may show yourself,
you may say they didn't know you. Will
they believe she didn't? Was the king's
ring on your finger? Where is it? And
how comes Mr. Rassendyll to be at Fritz
von Tarlenheim's for hours with the
queen, when the king is at his hunting
lodge? A king has died already, and two
men besides, to save a word against her.
And you--you'll be the man to set every
tongue in Strelsau talking, and every
finger pointing in suspicion at her?

Rudolf made no answer. When Sapt had
first uttered the queen's name, he had
drawn near and let his hand fall over the
back of her chair. She put hers up to meet
it, and so they remained. But I saw that
Rudolf's face had gone very pale.

"And we, your friends?" pursued Sapt.
"For we've stood by you as we've stood
by the queen, by God we have--Fritz, and
young Bernenstein here, and I. If this
truth's told, who'll believe that we were
loyal to the king, that we didn't know, that
we weren't accomplices in the tricking of
the king--maybe, in his murder? Ah,
Rudolf Rassendyll, God preserve me from
a conscience that won't let me be true to
the woman I love, or to the friends who
love me!"

I had never seen the old fellow so moved;
he carried me with him, as he carried
Bernenstein. I know now that we were too
ready to be convinced; rather that, borne
along by our passionate desire, we needed
no convincing at all. His excited appeal
seemed to us an argument. At least the
danger to the queen, on which he dwelt,
was real and true and great.

Then a sudden change came over him. He
caught Rudolf's hand and spoke to him
again in a low, broken voice, an unwonted
softness transforming his harsh tones.

"Lad," he said, "don't say no. Here's the
finest lady alive sick for her lover, and the
finest country in the world sick for its true
king, and the best friends--ay, by Heaven,
the best friends--man ever had, sick to call
you master. I know nothing about your
conscience; but this I know: the king's
dead, and the place is empty; and I don't
see what Almighty God sent you here for
unless it was to fill it. Come, lad--for our
love and her honor! While he was alive I'd
have killed you sooner than let you take
it. He's dead. Now--for our love and her
honor, lad!"

I do not know what thoughts passed in
Mr. Rassendyll's mind. His face was set
and rigid. He made no sign when Sapt
finished, but stood as he was, motionless,
for a long while. Then he slowly bent his
head and looked down into the queen's
eyes. For a while she sat looking back
into his. Then, carried away by the wild
hope of immediate joy, and by her love
for him and her pride in the place he was
offered, she sprang up and threw herself
at his feet, crying:

"Yes, yes! For my sake, Rudolf--for my
sake!"

"Are you, too, against me, my queen?" he
murmured caressing her ruddy hair.

---

CHAPTER XX--

THE DECISION OF HEAVEN

WE. were half mad that night, Sapt and
Bernenstein and I.

The thing seemed to have got into our
blood and to have become part of
ourselves. For us it was inevitable--nay, it
was done. Sapt busied himself in
preparing the account of the fire at the
hunting-lodge; it was to be communicated
to the journals, and it told with much
circumstantiality how Rudolf Rassendyll
had come to visit the king, with James his
servant, and, the king being summoned
unexpectedly to the capital, had been
awaiting his Majesty's return when he met
his fate. There was a short history of
Rudolf, a glancing reference to his family,
a dignified expression of condolence with
his relatives, to whom the king was
sending messages of deepest regret by the
hands of Mr. Rassendyll's servant. At
another table young Bernenstein was
drawing up, under the constable's
direction, a narrative of Rupert of
Hentzau's attempt on the king's life and
the king's courage in defending himself.
The count, eager to return (so it ran), had
persuaded the king to meet him by
declaring that he held a state-document of
great importance and of a most secret
nature; the king, with his habitual
fearlessness, had gone alone, but only to
refuse with scorn Count Rupert's terms.
Enraged at this unfavorable reception, the
audacious criminal had made a sudden
attack on the king, with what issue all
knew. He had met his own death, while
the king, perceiving from a glance at the
document that it compromised well-
known persons, had, with the nobility
which marked him, destroyed it unread
before the eyes of those who were rushing
in to his rescue. I supplied suggestions
and improvements; and, engrossed in
contriving how to blind curious eyes, we
forgot the real and permanent difficulties
of the thing we had resolved upon. For us
they did not exist; Sapt met every
objection by declaring that the thing had
been done once and could be done again.
Bernenstein and I were not behind him in
confidence.

We would guard the secret with brain and
hand and life, even as we had guarded and
kept the secret of the queen's letter, which
would now go with Rupert of Hentzau to
his grave. Bauer we could catch and
silence: nay, who would listen to such a
tale from such a man? Rischenheim was
ours; the old woman would keep her
doubts between her teeth for her own
sake. To his own land and his own people
Rudolf must be dead while the King of
Ruritania would stand before all Europe
recognized, unquestioned, unassailed.
True, he must marry the queen again; Sapt
was ready with the means, and would hear
nothing of the difficulty and risk in
finding a hand perform the necessary
ceremony. If we quailed in our courage:
we had but to look at the alternative, and
find recompense the perils of what we
meant to undertake by a consideration the
desperate risk involved in abandoning it.
Persuaded the substitution of Rudolf for
the king was the only thing would serve
our turn, we asked no longer whether it
possible, but sought only the means to
make it safe and safe.

But Rudolf himself had not spoken. Sapt's
appeal and the queen's imploring cry had
shaken but not overcome him; he had
wavered, but he was not won. Yet there
was no talk of impossibility or peril in his
mouth, any more than in ours: those were
not what gave him pause. The score on
which he hesitated was whether the thing
should be done, not whether it could; our
appeals were not to brace a failing
courage, but cajole a sturdy sense of
honor which found the imposture
distasteful so soon as it seemed to serve a
personal end. To serve the king he had
played the king in old days, but he did not
love to play the king when the profit of it
was to be his own. Hence he was
unmoved till his care for the fair fame of
the queen and the love of his friends
joined to buffet his resolution.

Then he faltered; but he had not fallen.
Yet Colonel Sapt did all as though he had
given his assent, and watched the last
hours in which his flight from Strelsau
was possible go quickly by with more
than equanimity. Why hurry Rudolf's
resolven? Every moment shut him closer
in the trap of an inevitable choice. With
every hour that he was called the king, it
became more impossible for him to bear
any other name all his days. Therefore
Sapt let Mr. Rassendyll doubt and
struggle, while he himself wrote his story
and laid his long-headed plans. And now
and then James, the little servant, came in
and went out, sedate and smug, but with a
quiet satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He
had made a story for a pastime, and it was
being translated into history. He at least
would bear his part in it unflinchingly.

Before now the queen had left us,
persuaded to lie down and try to rest till
the matter should be settled. Stilled by
Rudolf's gentle rebuke, she had urged him
no more in words, but there was an
entreaty in her eyes stronger than any
spoken prayer, and a piteousness in the
lingering of her hand in his harder to
resist than ten thousand sad petitions. At
last he had led her from the room and
commended her to Helga's care. Then,
returning to us, he stood silent a little
while. We also were silent, Sapt sitting
and looking up at him with his brows knit
and his teeth restlessly chewing the
moustache on his lip.

"Well, lad?" he said at last, briefly putting
the great question. Rudolf walked to the
window and seemed to lose himself for a
moment in the contemplation of the quiet
night. There were no more than a few
stragglers in the street now; the moon
shone white and clear on the empty
square.

"I should like to walk up and down
outside and think it over," he said, turning
to us; and, as Bernenstein sprang up to
accompany him, he added, "No. Alone."

"Yes, do," said old Sapt, with a glance at
the clock, whose hands were now hard on
two o'clock. "Take your time, lad, take
your time."

Rudolf looked at him and broke into a
smile.

"I'm not your dupe, old Sapt," said he,
shaking his head. "Trust me, if I decide to
get away, I'll get away, be it what o'clock
it will."

"Yes, confound you!" grinned Colonel
Sapt.

So he left us, and then came that long
time of scheming and planning, and most
persistent eye-shutting, in which
occupations an hour wore its life away.
Rudolf had not passed out of the porch,
and we supposed that he had betaken
himself to the gardens, there to fight his
battle. Old Sapt, having done his work,
suddenly turned talkative.

"That moon there," he said, pointing his
square, thick forefinger at the window, "is
a mighty untrustworthy lady. I've known
her wake a villain's conscience before
now."

"I've known her send a lover's to sleep,"
laughed young Bernenstein, rising from
his table, stretching himself, and lighting
a cigar.

"Ay, she's apt to take a man out of what
he is," pursued old Sapt. "Set a quiet man
near her, and he dreams of battle; an
ambitious fellow, after ten minutes of her,
will ask nothing better than to muse all his
life away. I don't trust her, Fritz; I wish
the night were dark."

"What will she do to Rudolf Rassendyll?"
I asked, falling in with the old fellow's
whimsical mood.

"He will see the queen's face in hers,"
cried Bernenstein.

"He may see God's," said Sapt; and he
shook himself as though an unwelcome
thought had found its way to his mind and
lips.

A pause fell on us, born of the colonel's
last remark. We looked one another in the
face. At last Sapt brought his hand down
on the table with a bang.

"I'll not go back," he said sullenly, almost
fiercely.

"Nor I," said Bernenstein, drawing
himself up. "Nor you, Tarlenheim?"

"No, I also go on," I answered. Then
again there was a moment's silence.

"She may make a man soft as a sponge,"
reflected Sapt, starting again, "or hard as a
bar of steel. I should feel safer if the night
were dark. I've looked at her often from
my tent and from bare ground, and I know
her. She got me a decoration, and once
she came near to making me turn tail.
Have nothing to do with her, young
Bernenstein."

"I'll keep my eyes for beauties nearer at
hand," said Bernenstein, whose volatile
temper soon threw off a serious mood.

"There's a chance for you, now Rupert of
Hentzau's gone," said Sapt grimly.

As he spoke there was a knock at the
door. When it opened James entered.

"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim begs
to be allowed to speak with the king," said
James.

"We expect his Majesty every moment.
Beg the count to enter," Sapt answered;
and, when Rischenheim came in, he went
on, motioning the count to a chair: "We
are talking, my lord, of the influence of
the moon on the careers of men."

"What are you going to do? What have
you decided?" burst out Rischenheim
impatiently.

"We decide nothing," answered Sapt.

"Then what has Mr.--what has the king
decided?"

"The king decides nothing, my lord. She
decides," and the old fellow pointed again
through the window towards the moon.
"At this moment she makes or unmakes a
king; but I can't tell you which. What of
your cousin?"

"You know that my cousin's dead."

"Yes, I know that. What of him, though?"

"Sir," said Rischenheim with some
dignity, "since he is dead, let him rest in
peace. It is not for us to judge him."

"He may well wish it were. For, by
Heaven, I believe I should let the rogue
off," said Colonel Sapt, "and I don't think
his Judge will."

"God forgive him, I loved him," said
Rischenheim. "Yes, and many have loved
him. His servants loved him, sir."

"Friend Bauer, for example?"

"Yes, Bauer loved him. Where is Bauer?"

"I hope he's gone to hell with his loved
master," grunted Sapt, but he had the
grace to lower his voice and shield his
mouth with his hand, so that Rischenheim
did not hear.

"We don't know where he is," I answered.

"I am come," said Rischenheim, "to put
my services in all respects at the queen's
disposal."

"And at the king's?" asked Sapt.

"At the king's? But the king is dead."

"Therefore 'Long live the king!'" struck in
young Bernenstein.

"If there should be a king--" began Sapt.

"You'll do that?" interrupted Rischenheim
in breathless agitation.

"She is deciding," said Colonel Sapt, and
again he pointed to the moon.

"But she's a plaguey long time about it,"
remarked Lieutenant von Bernenstein.

Rischenheim sat silent for a moment. His
face was pale, and when he spoke his
voice trembled. But his words were
resolute enough.

"I gave my honor to the queen, and even
in that I will serve her if she commands
me."

Bernenstein sprang forward and caught
him by the hand. "That's what I like," said
he, "and damn the moon, colonel!" His
sentence was hardly out of his mouth
when the door opened, and to our
astonishment the queen entered. Helga
was just behind her; her clasped hands
and frightened eyes seemed to protest that
their coming was against her will. The
queen was clad in a long white robe, and
her hair hung on her shoulders, being but
loosely bound with a ribbon. Her air
showed great agitation, and without any
greeting or notice of the rest she walked
quickly across the room to me.

"The dream, Fritz," she said. "It has come
again. Helga persuaded me to lie down,
and I was very tired, so at last I fell
asleep. Then it came. I saw him, Fritz--I
saw him as plainly as I see you. They all
called him king, as they did to-day; but
they did not cheer. They were quiet, and
looked at him with sad faces. I could not
hear what they said; they spoke in hushed
voices. I heard nothing more than 'the
king, the king,' and he seemed to hear not
even that. He lay still.; he was lying on
something, something covered with
hanging stuff, I couldn't see what it was;
yes, quite still. His face was so pale, and
he didn't hear them say 'the king.' Fritz,
Fritz, he looked as if he were dead!
Where is he? Where have you let him
go?"

She turned from me and her eyes flashed
over the rest. "Where is he? Why aren't
you with him?" she demanded, with a
sudden change of tone; "why aren't you
round him? You should be between him
and danger, ready to give your lives for
his. Indeed, gentlemen, you take your
duty lightly."

It might be that there was little reason in
her words. There appeared to be no
danger threatening him, and after all he
was not our king, much as we desired to
make him such. Yet we did not think of
any such matter. We were abashed before
her reproof and took her indignation as
deserved. We hung our heads, and Sapt's
shame betrayed itself in the dogged
sullenness of his answer.

"He has chosen to go walking, madam,
and to go alone. He ordered us--I say, he
ordered us not to come. Surely we are
right to obey him?" The sarcastic
inflection of his voice conveyed his
opinion of the queen's extravagance.

"Obey him? Yes. You couldn't go with
him if he forbade you. But you should
follow him; you should keep him in
sight."

This much she spoke in proud tones and
with a disdainful manner, but then came a
sudden return to her former bearing. She
held out her hands towards me, wailing:

"Fritz, where is he? Is he safe? Find him
for me, Fritz; find him."

"I'll find him for you if he's above ground,
madam," I cried, for her appeal touched
me to the heart.

"He's no farther off than the gardens,"
grumbled old Sapt, still resentful of the
queen's reproof and scornful of the
woman's agitation. He was also out of
temper with Rudolf himself, because the
moon took so long in deciding whether
she would make or unmake a king.

"The gardens!" she cried. "Then let us
look for him. Oh, you've let him walk in
the gardens alone?"

"What should harm the fellow?" muttered
Sapt.

She did not hear him, for she had swept
out of the room. Helga went with her, and
we all followed, Sapt behind the rest of
us, still very surly. I heard him grumbling
away as we ran downstairs, and, having
passed along the great corridor, came to
the small saloon that opened on the
gardens. There were no servants about,
but we encountered a night-watchman,
and Bernenstein snatched the lantern from
the astonished man's hand.

Save for the dim light thus furnished, the
room was dark. But outside the windows
the moon streamed brightly down on the
broad gravel walk, on the formal flower-
beds, and the great trees in the gardens.
The queen made straight for the window.
I followed her, and, having flung the
window open, stood by her. The air was
sweet, and the breeze struck with grateful
coolness on my face. I saw that Sapt had
come near and stood on the other side of
the queen. My wife and the others were
behind, looking out where our shoulders
left space.

There, in the bright moonlight, on the far
side of the broad terrace, close by the line
of tall trees that fringed its edge, we saw
Rudolf Rassendyll pacing slowly up and
down, with his hands behind his back and
his eyes fixed on the arbiter of his fate, on
her who was to make him a king or send
him a fugitive from Strelsau.

"There he is, madam," said Sapt. "Safe
enough!"

The queen did not answer. Sapt said no
more, and of the rest of us none spoke.
We stood watching him as he struggled
with his great issue; a greater surely has
seldom fallen to the lot of any man born
in a private station. Yet I could read little
of it on the face that the rays of white
light displayed so clearly, although they
turned his healthy tints to a dull gray, and
gave unnatural sharpness to his features
against the deep background of black
foliage.

I heard the queen's quick breathing, but
there was scarcely another sound. I saw
her clutch her gown and pull it away a
little from her throat; save for that none in
the group moved. The lantern's light was
too dim to force notice from Mr.
Rassendyll. Unconscious of our presence,
he wrestled with fate that night in the
gardens.

Suddenly the faintest exclamation came
from Sapt. He put his hand back and
beckoned to Bernenstein. The young man
handed his lantern to the constable, who
set it close to the side of the window-
frame. The queen, absolutely engrossed in
her lover, saw nothing, but I perceived
what had caught Sapt's attention. There
were scores on the paint and indentations
in the wood, just at the edge of the panel
and near the lock. I glanced at Sapt, who
nodded his head. It looked very much as
though somebody had tried to force the
door that night, employing a knife which
had dented the woodwork and scratched
the paint. The least thing was enough to
alarm us, standing where we stood, and
the constable's face was full of suspicion.
Who had sought an entrance? It could be
no trained and practised housebreaker; he
would have had better tools.

But now our attention was again diverted.
Rudolf stopped short. He still looked for a
moment at the sky, then his glance
dropped to the ground at his feet. A
second later he jerked his head--it was
bare, and I saw the dark red hair stir with
the movement--like a man who has settled
something which caused him a puzzle. In
an instant we knew, by the quick intuition
of contagious emotion, that the question
had found its answer. He was by now
king or a fugitive. The Lady of the Skies
had given her decision. The thrill ran
through us; I felt the queen draw herself
together at my side; I felt the muscles of
Rischenheim's arm which rested against
my shoulder grow rigid and taut. Sapt's
face was full of eagerness, and he gnawed
his moustache silently. We gathered
closer to one another. At last we could
bear the suspense no longer. With one
look at the queen and another at me, Sapt
stepped on to the gravel. He would go and
learn the answer; thus the unendurable
strain that had stretched us like tortured
men on a rack would be relieved. The
queen did not answer his glance, nor even
seem to see that he had moved. Her eyes
were still all for Mr. Rassendyll, her
thoughts buried in his; for her happiness
was in his hands and lay poised on the
issue of that decision whose
momentousness held him for a moment
motionless on the path. Often I seem to
see him as he stood there, tall, straight,
and stately, the king a man's fancy paints
when he reads of great monarchs who
flourished long ago in the springtime of
the world.

Sapt's step crunched on the gravel. Rudolf
heard it and turned his head. He saw Sapt,
and he saw me also behind Sapt. He
smiled composedly and brightly, but he
did not move from where he was. He held
out both hands towards the constable and
caught him in their double grasp, still
smiling down in his face. I was no nearer
to reading his decision, though I saw that
he had reached a resolution that was
immovable and gave peace to his soul. If
he meant to go on he would go on now,
on to the end, without a backward look or
a falter of his foot; if he had chosen the
other way, he would depart without a
murmur or a hesitation. The queen's quick
breathing had ceased, she seemed like a
statue; but Rischenheim moved
impatiently, as though he could no longer
endure the waiting.

Sapt's voice came harsh and grating.

"Well?" he cried. "Which is it to be--
backward or forward?" Rudolf pressed his
hands and looked into his eyes. The
answer asked but a word from him. The
queen caught my arm; her rigid limbs
seemed to give way, and she would have
fallen if I had not supported her. At the
same instant a man sprang out of the dark
line of tall trees, directly behind Mr.
Rassendyll. Bernenstein uttered a loud
startled cry and rushed forward, pushing
the queen herself violently out of his path.
His hand flew to his side, and he ripped
the heavy cavalry sword that belonged to
his uniform of the Cuirassiers of the
Guard from its sheath. I saw it flash in the
moonlight, but its flash was quenched in a
brighter short blaze. A shot rang out
through the quiet gardens. Mr. Rassendyll
did not loose his hold of Sapt's hands, but
he sank slowly on to his knees. Sapt
seemed paralyzed.

Again Bernenstein cried out. It was a
name this time. "Bauer! By God, Bauer!"
he cried.

In an instant he was across the path and
by the trees. The assassin fired again, but
now he missed. We saw the great sword
flash high above Bernenstein's head and
heard it whistle through the air. It crashed
on the crown of Bauer's head, and he fell
like a log to the ground with his skull
split. The queen's hold on me relaxed; she
sank into Rischenheim's arms. I ran
forward and knelt by Mr. Rassendyll. He
still held Sapt's hands, and by their help
buoyed himself up. But when he saw me
he let go of them and sank back against
me, his head resting on my chest. He
moved his lips, but seemed unable to
speak. He was shot through the back.
Bauer had avenged the master whom he
loved, and was gone to meet him.

There was a sudden stir from inside the
palace. Shutters were flung back and
windows thrown open. The group we
made stood clean-cut, plainly visible in
the moonlight. A moment later there was
a rush of eager feet, and we were
surrounded by officers and servants.
Bernenstein stood by me now, leaning on
his sword; Sapt had not uttered a word;
his face was distorted with horror and
bitterness. Rudolf's eyes were closed and
his head lay back against me.

"A man has shot the king," said I, in bald,
stupid explanation.

All at once I found James, Mr.
Rassendyll's servant, by me.

"I have sent for doctors, my lord," he said.
"Come, let us carry him in."

He, Sapt and I lifted Rudolf and bore him
across the gravel terrace and into the little
saloon. We passed the queen. She was
leaning on Rischenheim's arm, and held
my wife's hand. We laid Rudolf down on
a couch. Outside I heard Bernenstein say,
"Pick up that fellow and carry him
somewhere out of sight." Then he also
came in, followed by a crowd. He sent
them all to the door, and we were left
alone, waiting for the surgeon. The queen
came up, Rischenheim still supporting
her. "Rudolf! Rudolf!" she whispered,
very softly.

He opened his eyes, and his lips bent in a
smile. She flung herself on her knees and
kissed his hand passionately. "The
surgeon will be here directly," said I.

Rudolf's eyes had been on the queen. As I
spoke he looked up at me, smiled again,
and shook his head. I turned away.

When the surgeon came Sapt and I
assisted him in his examination. The
queen had been led away, and we were
alone. The examination was very short.
Then we carried Rudolf to a bed; the
nearest chanced to be in Bernenstein's
room; there we laid him, and there all that
could be done for him was done. All this
time we had asked no questions of the
surgeon, and he had given no information.
We knew too well to ask: we had all seen
men die before now, and the look on the
face was familiar to us. Two or three
more doctors, the most eminent in
Strelsau, came now, having been hastily
summoned. It was their right to be called;
but, for all the good they were, they might
have been left to sleep the night out in
their beds. They drew together in a little
group at the end of the room and talked
for a few minutes in low tones. James
lifted his master's head and gave him a
drink of water. Rudolf swallowed it with
difficulty. Then I saw him feebly press
James's hand, for the little man's face was
full of sorrow. As his master smiled the
servant mustered a smile in answer. I
crossed over to the doctors. "Well,
gentlemen?" I asked.

They looked at one another, then the
greatest of them said gravely:

"The king may live an hour, Count Fritz.
Should you not send for a priest?"

I went straight back to Rudolf Rassendyll.
His eyes greeted me and questioned me.
He was a man, and I played no silly tricks
with him. I bent down and said: "An hour,
they think, Rudolf."

He made one restless movement, whether
of pain or protest I do not know. Then he
spoke, very low, slowly, and with
difficulty.

"Then they can go," he said; and when I
spoke of a priest he shook his head.

I went back to them and asked if anything
more could be done. The answer was
nothing; but I could not prevail further
than to get all save one sent into an
adjoining room; he who remained seated
himself at a table some way off. Rudolf's
eyes had closed again; old Sapt, who had
not once spoken since the shot was fired,
raised a haggard face to mine.

"We'd better fetch her to him," he said
hoarsely. I nodded my head.

Sapt went while I stayed by him.
Bernenstein came to him, bent down, and
kissed his hand. The young fellow, who
had borne himself with such reckless
courage and dash throughout the affair,
was quite unmanned now, and the tears
were rolling down his face. I could have
been much in the same plight, but I would
not before Mr. Rassendyll. He smiled at
Bernenstein. Then he said to me:

"Is she coming, Fritz?"

"Yes, she's coming, sire," I answered.

He noticed the style of my address; a faint
amused gleam shot into his languid eyes.

"Well, for an hour, then," he murmured,
and lay back on his pillows.

She came, dry-eyed, calm, and queenly.
We all drew back, and she knelt down by
his bed, holding his hand in her two
hands. Presently the hand stirred; she let it
go; then, knowing well what he wanted,
she raised it herself and placed it on her
head, while she bowed her face to the bed.
His hand wandered for the last time over
the gleaming hair that he had loved so
well. She rose, passed her arm about his
shoulders, and kissed his lips. Her face
rested close to his, and he seemed to
speak to her, but we could not have heard
the words even if we would. So they
remained for a long while.

The doctor came and felt his pulse,
retreating afterwards with close-shut lips.
We drew a little nearer, for we knew that
he would not be long with us now.
Suddenly strength seemed to come upon
him. He raised himself in his bed, and
spoke in distinct tones.

"God has decided," he said. "I've tried to
do the right thing through it all. Sapt, and
Bernenstein, and you, old Fritz, shake my
hand. No, don't kiss it. We've done with
pretence now."

We shook his hand as he bade us. Then he
took the queen's hand. Again she knew his
mind, and moved it to his lips. "In life and
in death, my sweet queen," he murmured.
And thus he fell asleep.

---

CHAPTER XXI--

THE COMING OF THE DREAM

THERE IS little need, and I have little
heart, to dwell on what followed the death
of Mr. Rassendyll. The plans we had laid
to secure his tenure of the throne, in case
he had accepted it, served well in the
event of his death. Bauer's lips were for
ever sealed; the old woman was too
scared and appalled to hint even to her
gossips of the suspicions she entertained.
Rischenheim was loyal to the pledge he
had given to the queen. The ashes of the
hunting-lodge held their secret fast, and
none suspected when the charred body
which was called Rudolf Rassendyll's was
laid to quiet rest in the graveyard of the
town of Zenda, hard by the tomb of
Herbert the forester. For we had from the
first rejected any idea of bringing the
king's body to Strelsau and setting it in the
place of Mr. Rassendyll's. The difficulties
of such an undertaking were almost
insuperable; in our hearts we did not
desire to conquer them. As a king Rudolf
Rassendyll had died, as a king let him lie.
As a king he lay in his palace at Strelsau,
while the news of his murder at the hands
of a confederate of Rupert of Hentzau
went forth to startle and appall the world.
At a mighty price our task had been made
easy; many might have doubted the
living, none questioned the dead;
suspicions which might have gathered
round a throne died away at the gate of a
vault. The king was dead. Who would ask
if it were in truth the king who lay in state
in the great hall of the palace, or whether
the humble grave at Zenda held the bones
of the last male Elphberg? In the silence
of the grave all murmurs and questionings
were hushed.

Throughout the day people had been
passing and repassing through the great
hall. There, on a stately bier surmounted
by a crown and the drooping folds of the
royal banner, lay Rudolf Rassendyll. The
highest officer guarded him; in the
cathedral the archbishop said a mass for
his soul. He had lain there three days; the
evening of the third had come, and early
on the morrow he was to be buried. There
is a little gallery in the hall, that looks
down on the spot where the bier stood;
here was I on this evening, and with me
Queen Flavia. We were alone together,
and together we saw beneath us the calm
face of the dead man. He was clad in the
white uniform in which he had been
crowned; the ribbon of the Red Rose was
across his breast. His hand held a true red
rose, fresh and fragrant; Flavia herself had
set it there, that even in death he might
not miss the chosen token of her love. I
had not spoken to her, nor she to me,
since. we came there. We watched the
pomp round him, and the circles of people
that came to bring a wreath for him or to
look upon his face. I saw a girl come and
kneel long at the bier's foot. She rose and
went away sobbing, leaving a little circlet
of flowers. It was Rosa Holf. I saw
women come and go weeping, and men
bite their lips as they passed by.
Rischenheim came, pale-faced and
troubled; and while all came and went,
there, immovable, with drawn sword, in
military stiffness, old Sapt stood at the
head of the bier, his eyes set steadily in
front of him, and his body never stirring
from hour to hour through the long day.

A distant faint hum of voices reached us.
The queen laid her hand on my arm.

"It is the dream, Fritz," she said. "Hark!
They speak of the king; they speak in low
voices and with grief, but they call him
king. It's what I saw in the dream. But he
does not hear nor heed. No, he can't hear
nor heed even when I call him my king."

A sudden impulse came on me, and I
turned to her, asking:

"What had he decided, madam? Would he
have been king?" She started a little.

"He didn't tell me," she answered, "and I
didn't think of it while he spoke to me."

"Of what then did he speak, madam?"

"Only of his love--of nothing but his love,
Fritz," she answered.

Well, I take it that when a man comes to
die, love is more to him than a kingdom:
it may be, if we could see truly, that it is
more to him even while he lives.

"Of nothing but his great love for me,
Fritz," she said again. "And my love
brought him to his death."

"He wouldn't have had it otherwise," said
I.

"No," she whispered; and she leant over
the parapet of the gallery, stretching out
her arms to him. But he lay still and quiet,
not hearing and not heeding what she
murmured, "My king! my king!" It was
even as it had been in the dream.

That night James, the servant, took leave
of his dead master and of us. He carried to
England by word of mouth--for we dared
write nothing down--the truth concerning
the King of Ruritania and Mr. Rassendyll.
It was to be told to the Earl of Burlesdon,
Rudolf's brother, under a pledge of
secrecy; and to this day the earl is the
only man besides ourselves who knows
the story. His errand done, James returned
in order to enter the queen's service, in
which he still is; and he told us that when
Lord Burlesdon had heard the story he sat
silent for a great while, and then said:

"He did well. Some day I will visit his
grave. Tell her Majesty that there is still a
Rassendyll, if she has need of one."

The offer was such as should come from a
man of Rudolf's name, yet I trust that the
queen needs no further service than such
as it is our humble duty and dear delight
to render her. It is our part to strive to
lighten the burden that she bears, and by
our love to assuage her undying grief. For
she reigns now in Ruritania alone, the last
of all the Elphbergs; and her only joy is to
talk of Mr. Rassendyll with those few
who knew him, her only hope that she
may some day be with him again.

In great pomp we laid him to his rest in
the vault of the kings of Ruritania in the
Cathedral of Strelsau. There he lies
among the princes of the House of
Elphberg. I think that if there be indeed
any consciousness among the dead, or any
knowledge of what passes in the world
they have left, they should be proud to
call him brother. There rises in memory of
him a stately monument, and people point
it out to one another as the memorial of
King Rudolf. I go often to the spot, and
recall in thought all that passed when he
came the first time to Zenda, and again on
his second coming. For I mourn him as a
man mourns a trusted leader and a loved
comrade, and I should have asked no
better than to be allowed to serve him all
my days. Yet I serve the queen, and in
that I do most truly serve her lover.

Times change for all of us. The roaring
flood of youth goes by, and the stream of
life sinks to a quiet flow. Sapt is an old
man now; soon my sons will be grown up,
men enough themselves to serve Queen
Flavia. Yet the memory of Rudolf
Rassendyll is fresh to me as on the day he
died, and the vision of the death of Rupert
of Hentzau dances often before my eyes.
It may be that some day the whole story
shall be told, and men shall judge of it for
themselves. To me it seems now as
though all had ended well. I must not be
misunderstood: my heart is still sore for
the loss of him. But we saved the queen's
fair fame, and to Rudolf himself the fatal
stroke came as a relief from a choice too
difficult: on the one side lay what
impaired his own honor, on the other what
threatened hers. As I think on this my
anger at his death is less, though my grief
cannot be. To this day I know not how he
chose; no, and I don't know how he
should have chosen. Yet he had chosen,
for his face was calm and clear.

Come, I have thought so much of him that
I will go now and stand before his
monument, taking with me my last-born
son, a little lad of ten. He is not too young
to desire to serve the queen, and not too
young to learn to love and reverence him
who sleeps there in the vault and was in
his life the noblest gentleman I have
known.

I will take the boy with me and tell him
what I may of brave King Rudolf, how he
fought and how he loved, and how he
held the queen's honor and his own above
all things in this world. The boy is not too
young to learn such lessons from the life
of Mr. Rassendyll. And while we stand
there I will turn again into his native
tongue--for, alas, the young rogue loves
his toy soldiers better than his Latin!--the
inscription that the queen wrote with her
own hand, directing that it should be
inscribed in that stately tongue over the
tomb in which her life lies buried.

"To Rudolf, who reigned lately in this
city, and reigns for ever in her heart.--
QUEEN FLAVIA."

I told him the meaning, and he spelt the
big words over in his childish voice; at
first he stumbled, but the second time he
had it right, and recited with a little touch
of awe in his fresh young tones:

RUDOLFO

Qui in hac civitate nuper regnavit

In corde ipsius in aeternum regnat

FLAVIA REGINA.

I felt his hand tremble in mine, and he
looked up in my face. "God save the
Queen, father," said he.



[End.]