"Sense?" echoed Sapt with a chuckle. "I don't know about that.
But the fate's there, depend on it!"
The two were back in their little room now, past the door that
hid the bodies of the king and his huntsman. James stood by the
table, old Sapt roamed up and down, tugging his moustache, and
now and again sawing the air with his sturdy hairy hand.
"I daren't do it," he muttered: "I daren't do it. It's a thing a
man can't set his hand to of his own will. But the fate'll do
it--the fate'll do it. The fate'll force it on us."
"Then we'd best be ready, sir," suggested James quietly. Sapt
turned on him quickly, almost fiercely.
"They used to call me a cool hand," said he. "By Jove, what are
you?"
"There's no harm in being ready, sir," said James, the servant.
Sapt came to him and caught hold of his shoulders. "Ready?" he
asked in a gruff whisper.
"The oil, the firewood, the light," said James.
"Where, man, where? Do you mean, by the bodies?"
"Not where the bodies are now. Each must be in the proper place."
"We must move them then?"
"Why, yes. And the dog too."
Sapt almost glared at him; then he burst into a laugh.
"So be it," he said. "You take command.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273