The first two days and nights a cloud lingered around them, forming a veil of dense fog; but on the third day Irma was awakened by the sun and stepped out to see the awakening of nature.  The grandeur, the immensity of it all, the pure-scented air, the voices of the birds, filled her heart with gladness.  A sunray struck her forehead—­the forehead was pure, she felt it.

Irma now gave up her wood-carving; she had to be urged to eat, and only took her food to please the kind old “pitch-mannikin.”  Immovably she would lie for hours in her favorite meadow, and think and breathe the pure air.  Her life was slowly ebbing from her.  A sudden vision of the king with his companions of the chase galloping past her in pursuit of a stag gave her the final shock.  She cowered on the ground.  She bit into the moss, scraped the earth with her hands—­she feared to scream aloud.  She staggered back to the hut, shaken by fever, and threw herself upon her bed.  Then she asked Peter for some paper.  She had heard that Dr. Gunther was living with his family at the summer resort at the foot of the mountain.  She wrote with shaking hand:  “Eberhard’s daughter calls Dr. Gunther,” and sent Peter to speed down with the message.

In the little town all was excitement and commotion owing to the sojourn of the royal court.  Dr. Gunther, now in favour again, was with the king when the message arrived.  He read the note and was left speechless with amazement.  Then he collected his wits, and hurried with Peter to the dying penitent’s bedside.  Irma was sleeping, and he sat by her side until she awoke.  She saw Gunther—­pleasure illumined her face, and she held out both hands towards him.  He took them, and she pressed her feverish lips upon his hands.

Walpurga, to whom the news of Irma’s impending end had been brought, took a quick resolution.  She hurried to the little town to seek her queen.  The matter was not easy, for suspicion rested heavily upon her; but her determination removed all obstacles, and the queen, profoundly moved by Walpurga’s jerky explanation and passionate appeal, and stirred to the very depths of her soul by Irma’s heroism, demanded to be led at once to her.  She was followed in a short while by the king, to whom the whole incident had been reported.

Gunther sat for hours by Irma’s bedside, listening to her heavy breathing.  The door flew open and the queen appeared.

“At last, you have come!” breathed Irma, raising herself and kneeling in her bed.  Then, with a heart-breaking voice, she exclaimed:  “Forgive, forgive!”

“Forgive me, Irma, my sister!” sobbed the queen, and took her in her arms and kissed her.  A smile spread over Irma’s face; then with a cry of pain she fell back dead.

When the king arrived he found his wife kneeling before the bed.  He quietly knelt down by her side.  The queen arose, placed her hand upon his head.  “Kurt,” she said, “forgive me, as I have forgiven you.”  Then she spread a white kerchief over the dead, and they left the hut.  They walked hand in hand through the wood, until they reached the road, where carriages were waiting.