"I think, sir, that you talk very good sense, if I may say so," answered James.
"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."
