"As 'twas with the poor man I told you of," she broke forth as if in eagerness, "the one who died on Tyburn Tree?"
"Yes," was his answer.
"Perhaps—you are right," she said, and passed her hand across her brow; "perhaps—you—are right."
"But there was found no trace," Sir Christopher cried out; "no trace."
"Ah!" said my lord Duke, slowly, "that is the mystery. A dead man's body is not easy hid."
The Duchess broke forth laughing—almost wildly. The whole group started at the sound.
"Nay, nay!" she cried. "What dark things do we talk of! Sir Christopher, Sir Christopher, 'twas you who set us on. A dead man's body is not easy hid!"
"'Tis enough to make a woman shudder," cried Lady Betty, hysterically.
"Yes," said her Grace. "See, I am shuddering—I, who am built of Wildairs iron and steel." And she held out her hands to them—her white hands—and indeed they were trembling like leaves.
The evil thing they had spoke of had surely sunk deep into her soul and troubled it, though she had so laughed and lightly changed the subject of their talk, for in the night she had an awful dream, and her lord, wakened from deep slumber—as he had been once before—started up to behold her standing in the middle of the chamber—a tall white figure with its arms outflung as if in wild despair, while she cried out in frenzy to the darkness.