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diff --git a/old/1145-0.txt b/old/1145-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3265c5e..0000000 --- a/old/1145-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9976 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rupert of Hentzau, by Anthony Hope - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Rupert of Hentzau - From The Memoirs of Fritz Von Tarlenheim: The Sequel to - The Prisoner of Zenda - -Author: Anthony Hope - -Posting Date: August 3, 2008 [EBook #1145] -Release Date: December, 1997 -Last Updated: October 22, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUPERT OF HENTZAU *** - - - - -Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger - - - - - -RUPERT OF HENTZAU - -FROM THE MEMOIRS OF FRITZ VON TARLENHEIM - -Sequel to The Prisoner of Zenda - -By Anthony Hope - - - - -CONTENTS - - 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 KONIGSTRASSE - 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 ease, 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--I 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 chateau 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 chateau. 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 of his 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 Konigstrasse.” - -“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, Konigstrasse, 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 chateau. 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 Konigstrasse (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 Konigstrasse 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 Konigstrasse. - -“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 chateau. 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 -Konigstrasse 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 -Konigstrasse, 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 Konigstrasse, 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, -de mortuis nil nisi bonum; 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 frequent--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 douceur, 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 Konigstrasse. 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 -ahead 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 -Konigstrasse. 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 Konigstrasse. 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 -Konigstrasse. 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 Konigstrasse. 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 Konigstrasse. 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 Konigstrasse 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 Konigstrasse. 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, Konigstrasse.” - -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 -Konigstrasse 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 reverie. - -“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 -Konigstrasse?” - -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 KONIGSTRASSE - -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 Konigstrasse. 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 Konigstrasse, 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 Konigstrasse. 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 Konigstrasse,” 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 -Konigstrasse. - -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 -Konigstrasse. - -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 helpless despair. 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 panting, 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 to perform the necessary ceremony. If we quailed in -our courage: we had but to look at the alternative, and find recompense for -the perils of what we meant to undertake by a consideration of the -desperate risk involved in abandoning it. Persuaded that the substitution of -Rudolf for the king was the only thing that would serve our turn, we asked -no longer whether it was possible, but sought only the means to make it 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 resolve? 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 of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rupert of Hentzau, by Anthony Hope - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUPERT OF HENTZAU *** - -***** This file should be named 1145-0.txt or 1145-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/4/1145/ - -Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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