ll content.

After five years had passed the Emperor fell very ill. All the people
felt sad, for they were really extremely fond of him, and now it was
said he could not possibly live. Already the new Emperor was selected,
and the people stood about in the streets and begged to know from the
Chamberlain how the old Emperor was.

But "Paugh!" was all he would say as he nodded his head.

White and cold the old Emperor lay in his great tall bed, and all the
courtiers thought he was dead, and ran away to greet their new King.
In the antechamber the pages gossiped with the maids-in-waiting as
they ate a splendid tea. The palace was wrapped in silence, for
carpets had been laid down in the hall and corridor, so that the noise
of footsteps might be deadened. It was very, very still and solemn.
And the Emperor, still alive, lay all cold and pale on the magnificent
bed, with its heavy velvet draperies and gorgeous golden tassels.
High up, through the open window, the moon shone in upon him and the
imitation nightingale lying in its casket by the bed.

The poor old Emperor lay panting for breath; a terrible weight seemed
pressing on his chest, and he opened his eyes at last to see Death
sitting there, with the Emperor's crown upon his head and his sword
and jewelled sceptre in his hands.

The Emperor's gaze travelled round, and he saw faces--some ugly and
some smiling and gentle--peeping at him from among the velvet folds of
the curtains; these were the Emperor's good and bad deeds looking down
at him as Death pressed on his heart.

"Don't you remember this?" and "Can you recall that?" they all seemed
to be whispering. And the cold sweat broke out on the Emperor's brow,
at the recollections they brought to his mind.

"I do not remember--I cannot!" gasped the Emperor, then cried, "Music!
music! Bring the great Chinese drum, that I may not hear what they
say."

But still they whispered together, and Death nodded his head, like a
Chinese mandarin, at all they said.

"Music, music, I say!" shrieked the old Emperor. "Oh precious jewelled
bird, sing! I heaped upon you gold and precious stones, and even hung
my golden slippers around your neck. Ah, heavens! sing! I say, sing!"

But the imitation bird was still and silent, for until someone wound
it up, it could not sing, and there was no one by to do it. And Death
still sat gazing at him with hollow, hungry eyes, and all around was
terribly still.

Suddenly a silvery note