CHAPTER XX.
THE DECISION OF HEAVEN.
WE were half mad that night, Sapt and Bernenstein and I. The thing seemed to have got into our blood and to have become part of ourselves. For us it was inevitable—nay, it was done. Sapt busied himself in preparing the account of the fire at the hunting-lodge; it was to be communicated to the journals, and it told with much circumstantiality how Rudolf Rassendyll had come to visit the King, with James his servant, and, the King being summoned unexpectedly to the capital, had been awaiting His Majesty's return when he met his fate. There was a short history of Rudolf, a glancing reference to his family, a dignified expression of condolence with his relatives, to whom the King was sending messages of deepest regret by the hands of Mr. Rassendyll's servant. At another table young Bernenstein was drawing up, under the Constable's direction, a narrative of Rupert of Hentzau's attempt on the King's life and the King's courage in defending himself. The Count, eager to return (so it ran), had persuaded the King to meet him by declaring that he held a State
