subdued light. James had the lamp now, and followed us with it. But the King was not there. A sudden hope filled me. He had not been killed then! I regained strength, and darted across towards the inside room. Here too the light was dim, and I turned to beckon for the lamp. Sapt and James came together, and stood peering over my shoulder in the doorway.
The King lay prone on the floor, face downwards, near the bed. He had crawled there, seeking for some place to rest, as we supposed. He did not move. We watched him for a moment; the silence seemed deeper than silence could be. At last, moved by a common impulse, we stepped forward, but timidly, as though we approached the throne of Death itself. I was the first to kneel by the King and raise his head. Blood had flowed from his lips, but it had ceased to flow now. He was dead.
I felt Sapt's hand on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw his other hand stretched out towards the ground. I turned my eyes where he pointed. There, in the King's hand, stained with the King's blood, was the box that I had carried to Wintenberg and Rupert of Hentzau had brought to the lodge that night. It was not rest, but the box, that the dying King had sought in his last moment. I bent, and lifting his hand unclasped the fingers, still limp and warm.
