"Of course it does," his wife said promptly. "But Master Lindstrom here can best judge of that, and of what course it will be safest to take."
"It depends," our host answered slowly, "upon whether the dead man be discovered before night. You see if the body be not found----"
"Well?" said my lady impatiently, as he paused.
"Then we must some of us go after dark and bury him," he decided. "And perhaps, though he will be missed at the next roll-call in the city, his death may not be proved, or traced to this neighborhood. In that case the storm will blow over, and things be no worse than before."
"I fear there is no likelihood of that," I said; "for I am told he had a companion. One of the maids noticed them lurking about the end of the bridge more than once this morning."
Our host's face fell.
"That is bad," he said, looking at me in evident consternation. "Who told you?"
"Mistress Anne. And one of the maids told her. It was that which led me to follow your daughter."
The old man got up for about the fortieth time, and shook my hand, while the tears stood in his eyes and his lip trembled. "Heaven bless you, Master Carey!" he said. "But for you, my girl might not have escaped."
He could not finish. His emotion choked him, and he sat down again. The event of the morning--his daughter's danger, and my share in averting it--had touched him as nothing else could have touched him. I met the Duchess's eyes and they too were soft and shining, wearing an expression very different from that which had greeted me on my return with Dymphna.