e Shuiski," he said presently, "and send him to me here."

Upon the tale the boyar had brought him he offered now no comment.

"We will talk of this again, Basmanov," was all he said in
acknowledgment that he had heard, and in dismissal.

But when the boyar had gone, Boris Godunov heaved himself to his feet,
and strode over to the fire, his great head sunk between his massive
shoulders. He was a short, thick-set, bow-legged man, inclining to
corpulence. He set a foot, shod in red leather reversed with ermine,
upon an andiron, and, leaning an elbow on the carved overmantel, rested
his brow against his hand. His eyes stared into the very heart of the
fire, as if they beheld there the pageant of the past, upon which his
mind was bent.

Nineteen years were sped since Ivan the Terrible had passed away,
leaving two sons, Feodor Ivanovitch, who had succeeded him, and the
infant Demetrius. Feodor, a weakling who was almost imbecile, had
married Irene, the daughter of Boris Godunov, whereby it had fallen out
that Boris became the real ruler of Russia, the power behind the throne.
But his insatiable ambition coveted still more. He must wear the crown
as well as wield the sceptre; and this could not be until the Ruric
dynasty which had ruled Russia for nearly seven centuries should be
stamped out. Between himself and the throne stood his daughter's husband
and their child, and the boy Demetrius, who had been dispatched with his
mother, the dowager Tsarina, to Uglich. The three must be removed.

Boris began with the last, and sought at first to drive him out of
the succession without bloodshed. He attempted to have him pronounced
illegitimate, on the ground that he was the son of Ivan's seventh
wife (the orthodox Church recognizing no wife as legitimate beyond the
third). But in this he failed. The memory of the terrible Tsar, the
fear of him, was still alive in superstitious Russia, and none dared to
dishonour his son. So Boris had recourse to other and surer means. He
dispatched his agents to Uglich, and presently there came thence a story
that the boy, whilst playing with a knife, had been taken with a fit of
epilepsy, and had fallen, running the blade into his throat. But it was
not a story that could carry conviction to the Muscovites, since with it
came the news that the town of Uglich had risen against the emissaries
of Boris, charging them with the murder of the boy, and killing them out
of hand.

Terrible had been th