must produce the King; dead or alive, the King must be seen. Yet it might be that before the respite ran out Rupert would be ours. In fine, what else could be chosen? For now a greater peril threatened than that against which we had at the first sought to guard. Then the worst we feared was that the letter should come to the King's hands. That could never be. But it would be a worse thing if it were found on Rupert, and all the kingdom, nay, all Europe, knew that it was written in the hand of her who was now in her own right Queen of Ruritania. To save her from that no chance was too desperate, no scheme too perilous; yes, if, as Sapt said, we ourselves were held to answer for the King's death, still we must go on. I, through whose negligence the whole train of disaster had been laid, was the last man to hesitate. In all honesty I held my life due and forfeit, should it be demanded of me—my life and, before the world, my honour.
So the plan was made. A grave was to be dug ready for the King; if need arose, his body should be laid in it, and the place chosen was under the floor of the wine-cellar. When death came to poor Herbert, he could lie in the yard behind the house; for Boris they meditated a resting-place under the tree where our horses were tethered. There was nothing to keep me, and I rose; but as I rose, I heard the forester's voice call plain-
