ry, and brooded over it as
a mother broods over her child. Twice had he saved Ehrenstein from the
drag-net of war, and with honor. So he was admired by fathers and
revered by mothers.

The secretary came in and laid a thin packet of papers on the
chancellor's desk. "It was the packet A, your Highness?"--his hand still
resting upon the documents.

"Yes. You may go."

The secretary bowed and withdrew.

The duke stirred the papers angrily, took one of them and spread it out
with a rasp.

"Look at that. Whose writing, I ask?"

Herbeck adjusted his glasses and scrutinized the slanting hieroglyphics.
He ran over it several times. At length he opened a drawer in his desk,
sorted some papers, and brought out a yellow letter. This he laid down
beside the other.

"Yes, they are alike. This will be Arnsberg. But"--mildly--"who may say
that it is not a cunning forgery?"

"Forgery!" roared the duke. "Read this one from the late king of
Jugendheit to Arnsberg, then, if you still doubt."

Herbeck read slowly and carefully.

Then he rose and walked to the nearest window, studying the letter again
in the sharper light. Presently his hands fell behind his back and met
about the paper, while he himself stared over into the royal gardens. He
remained in this attitude for some time.

"Well?" said the duke impatiently.

Herbeck returned to his chair. "I wish that you had shown me these long
ago."

"To what end?"

"You accused the king?"

"Certainly, but he denied it."

"In a letter?"

"Yes. Here, read it."

Herbeck compared the two. "Where did you find these?"

"In Arnsberg's desk," returned the duke, the anger in his eyes giving
place to gloomy retrospection. "Arnsberg, my boyhood playmate, the man I
loved and trusted and advanced to the highest office in my power. Is
that not the way? Do we ever trust any one fully without being in the
end deceived? Well, dead or alive," the duke continued, his throat
swelling, "ten thousand crowns to him who brings Arnsberg to me, dead or
alive."

"He will never come back," said Herbeck.

"Not if he is wise. He was clever. He sent all his fortune to Paris, so
I found, and what I confiscated was nothing but his estate. But do you
believe me"--putting a hand against his heart--"something here tells me
that some day fate will drag him back and give him into my hands?"

"You are very bitter."

"And have I not cause? Did not my wife die of a broken heart, and did I
not become