e darkness and
quiet of eternal sleep.

"_Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord._"

CHAPTER XXIX

Sir Paul Verdayne reached Lucerne on the afternoon of the next day. He
was as eager as a boy for the reunion with his son. How he loved the
Boy--his Boy--the living embodiment of a love that seemed to him greater
than any other love the world had ever known.

The storm had ceased and in the brilliancy of the afternoon sunshine
little trace of the fury of the night could be seen. Nature smiled
radiantly through the tear-drops still glistening on tree and shrub and
flower, like some capricious coquette defying the world to prove that
she had ever been sad.

To Sir Paul, the place was hallowed with memories of his Queen, and his
heart and soul were full of her as he left the train. At the station
Vasili awaited him with the news of the double tragedy that had
horrified Lucerne.

In that moment, Sir Paul's heart broke. He grasped at the faithful
servitor for a support the old man was scarce able to give. He looked up
into the pitying face, grown old and worn in the service of the young
King and his heart thrilled, as it ever thrilled, at the sight of the
long, cruel scar he remembered so well--the scar which the Kalmuck had
received in the service of his Queen, long years before.

Sir Paul loved Vasili for that--loved him even more for the service he
had done the world when he choked to death the royal murderer of his
Queen, on the fatal night of that tragedy so cruelly alive in his
memory. He looked again at the scar on the swarthy face, and yet he knew
it was as nothing to the scar made in the old man's heart that day.

In some way--they never knew how--they managed to reach the scene of the
tragedy, and Sir Paul, at his urgent request, was left alone with the
body of his son.

Oh, God! Could he bear this last blow--and live?

After a time, when reason began to re-assert itself, he searched and
found the letters that had told the Boy-king the story of his birth. Was
there no word at all for him--his father?--save the brief telegram he
had received the night before?

Ah, yes! here was a note. His Boy had thought of him, then, even at the
last. He read it eagerly.

"Father--dear Father--you who alone of all the world can
understand--forgive and pity your son who has found the cross too
heavy--the crown too thorny--to bear! I go to join my unhappy
mother across the river that