in a
meadow by a little brook while we waited for it. They promised to
send me all news; they overwhelmed me with kindness--even old Sapt was
touched to gentleness, while Fritz was half unmanned. I listened in a
kind of dream to all they said. "Rudolf! Rudolf! Rudolf!" still rang in
my ears--a burden of sorrow and of love. At last they saw that I could
not heed them, and we walked up and down in silence, till Fritz touched
me on the arm, and I saw, a mile or more away, the blue smoke of the
train. Then I held out a hand to each of them.

"We are all but half-men this morning," said I, smiling. "But we have
been men, eh, Sapt and Fritz, old friends? We have run a good course
between us."

"We have defeated traitors and set the King firm on his throne," said
Sapt.

Then Fritz von Tarlenheim suddenly, before I could discern his purpose
or stay him, uncovered his head and bent as he used to do, and kissed my
hand; and as I snatched it away, he said, trying to laugh:

"Heaven doesn't always make the right men kings!"

Old Sapt twisted his mouth as he wrung my hand.

"The devil has his share in most things," said he.

The people at the station looked curiously at the tall man with the
muffled face, but we took no notice of their glances. I stood with my
two friends and waited till the train came up to us. Then we shook hands
again, saying nothing; and both this time--and, indeed, from old Sapt
it seemed strange--bared their heads, and so stood still till the train
bore me away from their sight. So that it was thought some great man
travelled privately for his pleasure from the little station that
morning; whereas, in truth it was only I, Rudolf Rassendyll, an English
gentleman, a cadet of a good house, but a man of no wealth nor position,
nor of much rank. They would have been disappointed to know that. Yet
had they known all they would have looked more curiously still. For, be
I what I might now, I had been for three months a King, which, if not
a thing to be proud of, is at least an experience to have undergone.
Doubtless I should have thought more of it, had there not echoed through
the air, from the towers of Zenda that we were leaving far away, into
my ears and into my heart the cry of a woman's love--"Rudolf! Rudolf!
Rudolf!"

Hark! I hear it now!

CHAPTER 22

Present, Past--and Future?

The details of my return home can have but little interest. I went
straight to the Tyrol and spent a quiet for