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 m