"Not I, sir," answered James, "I know nothing of that. But I like
to be ready."
"It would be a thing!" muttered Sapt.
The mockery, real or assumed, in which they had begun their work,
had vanished now. If they were not serious, they played at
seriousness. If they entertained no intention such as their acts
seemed to indicate, they could no longer deny that they had
cherished a hope. They shrank, or at least Sapt shrank, from
setting such a ball rolling; but they longed for the fate that
would give it a kick, and they made smooth the incline down which
it, when thus impelled, was to run. When they had finished their
task and sat down again opposite to one another in the little
front room, the whole scheme was ready, the preparations were
made, all was in train; they waited only for that impulse from
chance or fate which was to turn the servant's story into reality
and action. And when the thing was done, Sapt's coolness, so
rarely upset, yet so completely beaten by the force of that wild
idea, came back to him. He lit his pipe again and lay back in his
chair, puffing freely, with a meditative look on his face.
"It's two o'clock, sir," said James. "Something should have
happened before now in Strelsau.
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