"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.