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THE TEMPER OF BORIS THE HOUND.
153
Sapt bent down with sudden eagerness.
"Is it open?" he whispered.
The string was round it; the sealing-wax was unbroken. The secret had outlived the King, and he had gone to his death unknowing. All at once—I cannot tell why—I put my hand over my eyes; I found my eyelashes were wet.
"Is it open?" asked Sapt again, for in the dim light he could not see.
"No," I answered.
"Thank God!" said he. And, for Sapt's, the voice was soft.
