"Yes," said the Duchess, "'twas I who saw him last." And for a few
seconds all paused to listen to the melody in the air. But Sir
Christopher came back to his theme.

"What sort of humour was the man in?" he asked. "Did he complain of 's
lot?"

Her Grace hesitated a second, as one who thought, and then shook her
head.

"No," she answered, and no other word.

"Did he speak of taking a journey?" said Lady Betty.

And the Duchess shook her head slow again, and answered as before,
"No."

And the music swelled with fresh added voices, and floated up gayer and
more sweet.

"Was he dressed for travel?" asked Lord Charles, he being likely to
think first of the meaning of a man's dress.

"No," said her Grace.

And then my lord Duke drew near behind her, and spoke over her
shoulder.

"Did he bid you any farewell?" he said.

She had not known he was so close, and gave a great start and dropped
her rose upon the terrace. Before she answered, she stooped herself and
picked it up.

"No," she said, very low. "No; none."

"Then," his Grace said, "I will tell you what _I_ think."

"You!" said my Lady Betty. "Has your Grace thought?"

"Often," he answered. "Who has not, at some time? I--knew more of the
man than many. More than once his life touched mine."

"Yours!" they cried.

He waved his hand with the gesture of a man who would sweep away some
memory.

"Yes," he said; "once I saw the end of a poor soul he had maddened, and
'twas a cruel thing." He turned his face towards his wife.

"The morning that he left your Grace," he said, "'tis my thought _he
went not far_."

"Not far?" the party exclaimed, but the Duchess joined not in the
chorus.

"Between Dunstanwolde House and his lodgings," he went on, "lie some of
the worst haunts in London. He was well known there, and not by friends
but by enemies. Perchance some tortured creature who owed him a bitter
debt may have lain in wait and paid it."

The Duchess turned and gazed at him with large eyes.

"What--" she said, almost hoarsely, "what do you mean?"

"There were men," he answered, gravely--"husbands, fathers, and
brothers--there were women he had driven to despair and madness, who
might well have struck him down."

"You mean," said her Grace, almost in a whisper, "you mean that he--was
murdered?"

"Nay," he replied, "not murdered--struck a frenzied blow and killed,
and it might have been by one driven mad with anguish and unknowing
what he di