“It was only,” said the Grey Lady, “that you uttered a name which has not been named in mine hearing for twenty-seven years: you told me where, and doing what, was one of whom and of whose doings I had thought never to hear any more. One, of whom I try never to think, save when I am praying for him, or in the night when I am alone with God, and can ask Him to pardon me if I sin.”
“But whom did I name?” said Philippa, in an astonished tone. “Have I spoken of any but of my husband? Do you know him?”
“I have never heard of him before to-day, nor of you.”
“I think I did mention the Duke of Lancaster.”
A shake of the head negatived this suggestion.
“Well, I named none else,” pursued Philippa, “saving the Earl of Arundel; and you cannot know him.”
Even then she felt an intense repugnance to saying, “My father.” But, much to her surprise, the Grey Lady slowly bowed her head.
“And in what manner,” began Philippa, “can you know—”
But before she uttered another word, a suspicion which almost terrified her began to steal over her. She threw herself on her knees at the feet of the Grey Lady, and grasped her arm tightly.