“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. Yes, we’ll be ready. The fate drives.” Then and there they set about what they had to do. It seemed indeed as though some strange influence were dominating Sapt; he went about the work like a man who is hardly awake. They placed the bodies each where the living man would be by night--the king in the guest-room, the huntsman in the sort of cupboard where the honest fellow had been wont to lie. They dug up the buried dog, Sapt chuckling convulsively, James grave as the mute whose grim doings he seemed to travesty: they carried the shot-pierced, earth-grimed thing in, and laid it in the king’s room. Then they made their piles of wood, pouring the store of oil over them, and setting bottles of spirit near, that the flames having cracked the bottles, might gain fresh fuel. To Sapt it seemed now as if they played some foolish game that was to end with the playing, now as if they obeyed some mysterious power which kept its great purpose hidden from its instruments. Mr. Rassendyll’s servant moved and arranged and ordered all as deftly as he folded his master’s clothes or stropped his master’s razor. Old Sapt stopped him once as he went by. “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.