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 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. run. "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?" "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 twodays 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 shan'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. 66 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?" 66 Stop your damned riddles!" roared So they turned to the lodge where the Sapt. "Man, are you bent on driving me dead king and his huntsman lay. Verily the into it?" fate drove. The servant came near to him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. 66 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. "Aye," 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 shoul der. "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. CHAPTER XVI. A CROWD IN THE KÖNIGSTRASSE. 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 that 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 shrank from that alternative? 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 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. to accept it, the acceptance would be of his shamefaced sullenness. He could not meet own act, because the fate that old Sapt the grave eyes that she fixed on him. 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 Königstrasse. 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 Königstrasse, 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 "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 honour. Thus, my lord, I was the cause in you of a deed that your heart could not welcome nor your honour 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 His voice died away, and he sat silent again, twisting his hands. me 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." 66 66 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, madame." 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." "Aye," 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, madame "He's right," said Rischenheim; "he's right.' 66 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. serve her in everything." I'll "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 honour 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. 66 Then I'll see if the carriage is ready," "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 mouthhe went on. "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 Königstrasse. 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. 66 Have you need of my presence, madame, 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 Königstrasse," said I. To my surprise she rose and caught my hand. |