ean?" he exclaimed.

Sapt cast another glance at James, and then began in an even, mechanical
voice, as though he were reading a lesson he had learnt, or playing a
part that habit made familiar:

"That poor fellow Herbert carelessly left a candle burning where the oil
and the wood were kept," he said. "This afternoon, about six, James and
I lay down for a nap after our meal. At about seven James came to my
side and roused me. My room was full of smoke. The lodge was ablaze. I
darted out of bed: the fire had made too much headway; we could not hope
to quench it; we had but one thought!" He suddenly paused, and looked at
James.

"But one thought, to save our companion," said James gravely.

"But one thought, to save our companion. We rushed to the door of the
room where he was. I opened the door and tried to enter. It was certain
death. James tried, but fell back. Again I rushed in. James pulled me
back: it was but another death. We had to save ourselves. We gained the
open air. The lodge was a sheet of flame. We could do nothing but stand
watching, till the swiftly burning wood blackened to ashes and the
flames died down. As we watched we knew that all in the cottage must be
dead. What could we do? At last James started off in the hope of getting
help. He found a party of charcoal-burners, and they came with him.
The flames were burnt down now; and we and they approached the charred
ruins. Everything was in ashes. But"--he lowered his voice--"we found
what seemed to be the body of Boris the hound; in another room was a
charred corpse, whose hunting-horn, melted to a molten mass, told us
that it had been Herbert the forester. And there was another
corpse, almost shapeless, utterly unrecognizable. We saw it; the
charcoal-burners saw it. Then more peasants came round, drawn by the
sight of the flames. None could tell who it was; only I and James knew.
And we mounted our horses and have ridden here to tell the king."

Sapt finished his lesson or his story. A sob burst from the queen, and
she hid her face in her hands. Bernenstein and I, amazed at this strange
tale, scarcely understanding whether it were jest or earnest, stood
staring stupidly at Sapt. Then I, overcome by the strange thing, turned
half-foolish by the bizarre mingling of comedy and impressiveness in
Sapt's rendering of it, plucked him by the sleeve, and asked, with
something between a laugh and a gasp:

"Who had that other corpse been, Constable?"

He