"Don't think me a mad fool, because I talk of the fate," he said, almost anxiously.
"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 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."
