hat morbid and tenacious curiosity once more got hold of him. He would
have given all he possessed at this moment--the entire fruits of his
crime perhaps--to know what that ignorant girl thought of it all, and it
caused him acute, almost physical pain, to refrain from questioning her.

There was enough of the sense of self-protection in him, however, to
check himself from betraying such extraordinary interest in the matter:
but he turned on his heel and went quickly back to the house. He wanted
to catch sight of Editha's face, if only for a moment; he wanted to see
for himself, then and there, if she had also heard the news.

As he entered the hall, she was coming down the stairs. She had on her
cloak and hood as if preparing to go out. Their eyes met and he saw that
she knew.

Knew what? He broke into a loud and fierce laugh as he met her wildly
questioning gaze. There was a look almost of madness in the hopeless
puzzlement of her expression.

Of course Editha must be hopelessly puzzled. The very thought of her
vague conjecturings had caused him to laugh as maniacs laugh at times.

The mysterious French prince had been found on the sands murdered and
mutilated.... But then ...

Still laughing, Sir Marmaduke once more turned, running away from the
house now and never pausing until his foot had touched the stirrup and
his fingers were entangled in the damp mane of the mare. Even whilst he
settled himself into the saddle as comfortably as he could, the grim
humor of Editha's bewilderment caused him to laugh, within himself.

The nag stepped slowly along in the mud at first, then broke into a
short trot. The two serving-men had started on ahead with their
lanterns; they would, of course, be walking all the way.

The icy rain mingled with tiny flakes of snow was insufferably cutting
and paralyzing: yet Sir Marmaduke scarcely heeded it, until the mare
became unpleasantly uncertain in her gait. Once she stumbled and nearly
pitched her rider forward into the mud: whereupon, lashing into her, he
paid more heed to her doings.

Once just past the crossroad toward St. Nicholas, he all but turned his
horse's head back towards Acol Court. It seemed as if he must find out
now at once whether Editha had spoken to Lady Sue and what the young
girl had done and said when she heard, in effect, that her husband had
been murdered.

Nothing but the fear of missing the last look at the body of Adam
Lambert ere the lid of the coffin