"Oh! at last you are here!" gasped Irma, with a deep sigh. Gathering all the strength yet left her, she raised herself up and knelt in the bed. Her long hair fell over her, her eyes sparkled with a strange l.u.s.ter. She folded her hands and, stretching out her arms, she cried, in heart-rending tones:

"Forgive me! Forgive me!"

"Forgive me, Irma! My sister!" sobbed the queen, clasping Irma in her arms and kissing her.

A smile pa.s.sed over Irma's face. Then, uttering a loud cry, she fell back and was no more.

The queen knelt at her bedside and Walpurga, who had stood in the background, stepped forward and closed Irma's eyes.

All was hushed. Not a sound was heard, save the sobbing of the queen and Walpurga.

Steps were heard approaching.

"Where? Where is she?" cried the king.

Gunther opened the door and with both hands motioned to him to be silent.

"Dead!" cried the king.

Gunther nodded affirmatively. He beckoned to Walpurga, and she left the room with him.

The king knelt down silently beside the corpse.

The queen arose and, placing her hand on her husband's head, said:

"Forgive me, Kurt, as I am forgiven!"

He seized the proffered hand, and, hand in hand, they stood there for a long while, gazing at Irma, on whose face there rested a gentle smile, even in death. It seemed as if they could not turn away from the sight.

At last, the queen removed her white shawl and spread it over Irma.

They left the hut. The sun was setting in purple glory, and all about them was hushed in silence.

Gunther approached the queen, gave her the journal wrapped in the bandage, and said: "This is Irma's bequest to Your Majesty."

The queen went up to Walpurga, silently offered her hand, and kissed the child that she was carrying in her arms.

The king offered his hand to Hansei and said: "I thank you; I shall see you again."

The little pitchman went up to the king and queen and said:

"May G.o.d reward you for having come to her. She deserved it."

The king and queen walked away in the direction of the forest. Their retinue kept in the background.

CHAPTER XX.

The king and queen went into the forest.

They were walking hand in hand.

Night drew on. The wind rustled through the tree-tops.

The queen stood still for a moment and then, impelled by the ardent love she had so long repressed, embraced her husband, kissing his eyes, his mouth and his brow, and said:

"I've asked the departed one to forgive me! She died with my kiss on her lips. I now ask you who still live, to forgive me. You have both expiated--she, alone, by herself; you, alone, while at my side!"

She took out an amulet which she had worn hidden next to her heart. It was the betrothal ring which the king had given to her.

"Take this ring, and put it on your hand," she said.

"We are united anew," replied the king, while he put the ring on his finger and embraced the queen. He clasped her in his arms and her head rested against his heart.

With a firm step, they descended the mountain unto where their carriages were waiting for them.

Followed by the servants, Bronnen, Sixtus, and Paula also descended the mountain.

The king and queen were in the first carriage; Paula and Sixtus in the second. Bronnen went back with Gunther to the cottage.

The newly espoused arrived at the dairy-farm. The first thing they did was to go to the crown prince's apartments and, while they stood at the child's bed, the king said:

"He sleeps, and his innocent, infant mind knows nothing of our differences. It is well for us that, with his dawning powers, he will see in us only love and harmony, enduring unto death."

During all that night, the king and queen sat by the lamp, reading the journal of the solitary worldling.

Gunther and Bronnen had lingered in the hut above. Gunther sat with Walpurga for a while, holding her hand in his, while he told her that her perfect innocence had now been brought to light. A silent nod was her only reply.

The cows gathered about the hut. Their bellowing and snorting proved that their unerring instinct told them of the presence of death, and scarcely were they driven away, before they returned again.

The little pitchman dug a grave during the night. It was up at the spot where Irma had so often rested. He shed many a tear over his work, and once, when he paused to take breath, said to himself: "When the kid is old enough to run of itself, I'll let it go back into the woods."

Irma was buried at early dawn. Hansei, the little pitchman, Gunther and Bronnen carried her, Walpurga and the child following after them.

Gundel and Franz had covered the sides and the bottom of the grave with Alpine roses. Wrapped in the queen's white mantle, Irma was silently laid to rest, just as the rosy dawn appeared in the east.

Down in the valley, the king and queen had been reading Irma's journal.

Day was breaking. They gazed at the rosy dawn and lifted their eyes to the mountains--to where Irma was being buried on the heights.

THE END.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: The familiar "thou."]