ance from the stricken man's
lips. Here is the story, a strange instance of the turning of a great
event on a small cause.

The king had eaten a little supper, and, having gone to his bedroom,
had stretched himself on the bed and fallen asleep without undressing.
Herbert was clearing the dining-table and performing similar duties,
when suddenly (thus he told it) he found a man standing beside him.
He did not know (he was new to the king's service) who the unexpected
visitor was, but he was of middle height, dark, handsome, and "looked a
gentleman all over." He was dressed in a shooting-tunic, and a revolver
was thrust through the belt of it. One hand rested on the belt, while
the other held a small square box.

"Tell the king I am here. He expects me," said the stranger. Herbert,
alarmed at the suddenness and silence of the stranger's approach, and
guiltily conscious of having left the door unbolted, drew back. He was
unarmed, but, being a stout fellow, was prepared to defend his master
as best he could. Rupert--beyond doubt it was Rupert--laughed lightly,
saying again, "Man, he expects me. Go and tell him," and sat himself on
the table, swinging his leg. Herbert, influenced by the visitor's air of
command, began to retreat towards the bedroom, keeping his face towards
Rupert.

"If the king asks more, tell him I have the packet and the letter," said
Rupert. The man bowed and passed into the bedroom. The king was asleep;
when roused he seemed to know nothing of letter or packet, and to
expect no visitor. Herbert's ready fears revived; he whispered that the
stranger carried a revolver. Whatever the king's faults might be--and
God forbid that I should speak hardly of him whom fate used so
hardly--he was no coward. He sprang from his bed; at the same moment
the great boar-hound uncoiled himself and came from beneath, yawning and
fawning. But in an instant the beast caught the scent of a stranger: his
ears pricked and he gave a low growl, as he looked up in his master's
face. Then Rupert of Hentzau, weary perhaps of waiting, perhaps only
doubtful whether his message would be properly delivered, appeared in
the doorway.

The king was unarmed, and Herbert in no better plight; their hunting
weapons were in the adjoining room, and Rupert seemed to bar the way.
I have said that the king was no coward, yet I think, that the sight of
Rupert, bringing back the memory of his torments in the dungeon, half
cowed him; for he shrank